I’m sitting in the bus, worrying. It is the first day of school. No, scratch that. It is my first day at a new school.

I don’t know if you have ever had to change schools before. I haven’t, and that makes me even more nervous. How will I know where the right classrooms are? Are there going to be bullies on the playground?

I bite my thumbnail as I look out of the window, watching the buildings flow by. A woman across from me looks at my fingers, looks at my mouth, then gives a disapproving headshake.

Whatever. She’s not the one being dropped into the jaws of a new school today.

The school I am going to is in the middle of town. It’s called Lovecroft Secondary. It was one of the first multiracial schools in Cape Town.

Auntie Jacky says that back in the day (When is the day? The seventies?), schools were separated, white and black and coloured and Indian. That doesn’t make sense to me. Where would Ming go? (Ming is a mate from my old school, and she is Chinese.)

Anyway.

The bus stops at the gates of the school, which is off a busy street that cuts the city in half, and I can see taxis dropping other kids off as I file off the bus. Other kids are jostling to get off as well – I feel their backpacks bump me as they climb off like a herd of bison.

I stand at the gates, let other students stream past me. There’s lots of noise. Parents telling their kids what to do, not to slam the door. There’s kids teasing each other, and some boys kicking a ball – except it keeps getting lost in the traffic of school-kid feet.

My new blazer makes me itch. It’s black, with red trim. I find it kind of ugly, to be honest. The uniform at my last school was a pale blue. Pale blue goes with everything. Red and black do not.

A trio of white girls brushes past me. They’re wearing their skirts super high so that there is lots of leg showing. At my old school they wouldn’t let that slide. My old school was strict. This is the inner city though. I guess things are different.

I walk my way up a broad flight of stairs. They’re big, and made of stone; grey stone with flecks of white in it.

The first thing I notice when I walk into the main hall is all the wood panelling.

“Come, come now,” says an older woman with red hair. She is standing by a big set of open doors at the south end of the school’s entrance hall.

“Don’t just stand there!” she says, and I am dismayed to realise she is talking right at me.

I stand still. I don’t know what’s going on.

“Do you have a name?” she says, sounding a bit annoyed, as students file into a hall past her.

“Prudence,” I say. Then I add, for clarity’s sake: “I’m new.”

Her face lightens. “Prudence Mpande?” she asks, and her tone is definitely lighter now.

“That’s me,” I say with relief.

She smiles again. “Come and see me after assembly. In you come!” She motions with her free hand for me to enter. I do. She shows me where the Grade 9s sit, and I file in beside them. It’s a mixed school – boys mixed with girls.

I sit next to a slim coloured girl. She is sitting with her bag on her lap, waiting for assembly to start. There’s a little white star drawn on her backpack with Tippex. She is sweet and scoots her bum a little to the side to make space for me.

“Thanks,” I say, and I am genuinely appreciative.

“I’m Pearl,” she says softly, with a shy smile.

“Good morning school,” says a man on stage. He is short, and has big droopy eyes. He reminds me of some kind of big dog.

“Good morning Mister Palotti,” everyone around me says together.

“May I take this opportunity to congratulate our soccer team, who yesterday beat Clapton Middle School, by five goals to one!”

A whoop of joy erupts from the school. It’s a bit infectious. I don’t even know the people on the soccer team, but I end up cheering too.

A number of teachers make announcements.

Someone in the auditorium releases an enormous fart, which everyone laughs at. A skinny, angry looking old teacher in a grey suit (whom I later find out is the History teacher Mr Ivor) says that we are “immature”, and “there’s no need to go on.”

During a boring speech about how your uniform is supposed to be worn outside of school, I take a sneaky look around at my new peers. A girl sitting on the other side of the centre aisle catches my eye. She has pale skin and big eyes, which are ice blue. She has a short fringe. Her hair is black. She rolls her eyes, as if to say, “This is so boring!”

I giggle, then Pearl looks at me. She follows my gaze to the girl with the blue eyes. From her reaction I can tell that they are not friends. When the girl sees that Pearl is looking at her, she faces front as if nothing has happened.

As we’re leaving the auditorium Pearl leans in to me and says in a hushed tone: “You should stay away from that girl.”

“Why?” I ask.

“Trust me,” says Pearl. “She’s trouble.”

I don’t argue. I decide I will make my own decisions about people, thank you very much. But I don’t tell Pearl this because I don’t want to offend her.

***

Tell us what you think: So far, is there anything unusual about this school? What kind of ‘trouble’ might Pearl be referring to?