Shan, Darren - Cirque Du Freak 08 - Allies Of The Night

"I hope not, sir," I replied meekly.

The tour concluded back at his office, where he furnished me with my timetable. It was a frightening list — English, history, geography, science, maths, mechanical drawing, two modern languages, computer studies. A double dose of PE on Wednesdays. I had three free periods, one on Monday, one on Tuesday, one on Thursday. Mr Chivers said these were for extra-curricular activities, such as music or extra languages, or they could be used as study classes.

He shook my hand again, wished me the best of luck and told me to call on him if I ran into difficulty. After warning me not to break any windows or give my teachers grief he showed me out into the corridor, where he left me. It was 9.40 A bell rang. Time for my first class of the day — geography.

The lesson went reasonably well. I'd spent the last six years poring over maps and keeping abreast of the War of the Scars, so I had a better idea of the shape of the world than most of my classmates. But I knew nothing abouthuman geography — a lot of the lesson revolved around economies and culture, and how humans shaped their environments — and I was at a loss every time talk switched from mountain ranges and rivers to political systems and population statistics.

Even allowing for my limited knowledge of humans, geography was as easy a start as I could have wished for. The teacher was helpful, I was able to keep up with most of what was being discussed, and I thought I'd be able to catch up with the rest of the class within a few weeks.

Maths, which came next, was a different matter entirely. I knew after five minutes that I was in trouble. I'd covered only basic maths in school, and had forgotten most of the little I used to know. I could divide and multiply, but that was as far as my expertise stretched — which, I quickly discovered, wasn't nearly far enough.

"What do you mean, you've never done algebra?" my teacher, a fierce man by the name of Mr Smarts, snapped. "Of course you have! Don't take me for a fool, lad. I know you're new, but don't think that means you can get away with murder. Open that book to page sixteen and do the first set of problems. I'll collect your work at the end of class and see where you stand."

Where I stood was outside in the cold, a hundred kilometres distant. I couldn't evenread the problems on page sixteen, never mind solve them! I looked through the earlier pages and tried copying the examples set there, but I hadn't a clue what I was doing. When Mr Smarts took my copy from me and said he'd check it during lunch and return it to me that afternoon in science — I had him for that as well — I was too downhearted to thank him for his promptness.

Break was no better. I spent the ten minutes wandering alone, being stared at by everyone in the yard. I tried making friends with some of the people I recognized from my first two classes, but they wanted nothing to do with me. I looked, smelt and acted weird, and there was somethingnot right about me. The teachers hadn't sussed me out yet, but the kids had. They knew I didn't belong.

Even if my fellow students had tried making me feel welcome, I'd have struggled to adapt. I knew nothing of the films and TV shows they were discussing, or the rock stars or styles of music, or the books and comics. Their way of speaking was strange too — I couldn't understand a lot of their slang.

I had history after the break. That used to be one of my favourite subjects, but this syllabus was far more advanced than mine had been. The class was focusing on World War II, which was what I'd been studying during my last few months as a human. Back then I'd only had to learn the major events of the war, and the leaders of the various countries. But as a fifteen year old, who'd supposedly progressed through the system, I was expected to know the detailed ins and outs of battles, the names of generals, the wide-ranging social effects of the war, and so on.

I told my teacher I'd been concentrating on ancient history in my old school, and complimented myself on such a clever answer — but then she said there was a small class of ancient history students at Mahler's and she'd get me transferred first thing tomorrow.

Ai-yi-yi-yi-yi!

English next. I was dreading it. I could bluff my way through subjects like geography and history, by saying I'd been following a different syllabus. But how was I going to explain my shortcomings in English? I could pretend not to have read all the books and poems that the others had, but what would happen when my teacher asked what I'd read instead? I was doomed!

There was a free table close to the front of the class, where I had to sit. Our teacher was late — because of the size of the school, teachers and pupils often arrived slightly late for class. I spent a couple of minutes anxiously scanning the book of poetry I'd bought last Friday, desperately committing a few scraps of random poems to memory, in the hope that I could fob the teacher off with them.