I sighed as I got out of the car. The first day of school. I walked into school with about as much confidence as a reception child. I smiled inwardly as I passed the primary girls in their mustard-yellow uniforms. I missed being in standard 6–the oldest and the smartest of the primary school. We strived and worked so hard to be at the top of the (mustard-yellow) ladder. Now, we were all the youngest of the secondary school, at the very bottom rung. I felt as if I had faded to grey, or in the school’s words, charcoal-black.

I welcomed the familiar sounds of school. I saw my class and quickened my pace. Just as I put my bags down, a prefect passed by and informed us to line up for assembly. Like a stampede, everyone headed up the stairs. I felt slightly claustrophobic. Everyone was so tall! All the Form Ones took their seats in the hall, exchanging glances. Assembly was full of ‘Welcome Back’ speeches and expectations for the year ahead of us. When assembly was dismissed, we headed to our assigned classes.

Us Form Ones had made a vital mistake; we had brought all our books. Floating classes weren’t at all bad, but with two bags full of books (or stones, I wasn’t sure) and a MacBook, it was quite a challenge. Our new teachers introduced themselves and we, in turn, introduced ourselves. They told us what they expected of us and, in return, they asked what was expected of them (this was answered with a few nervous glances).

By break time, I was smiling again. I had adjusted to the white and charcoal-black. As I passed by the primary classes, my eyes hurt from the yellow glare. I watched a group of boisterous Form Fives pass by, full of confidence. I thought to myself, secondary school won’t be so bad after all. I’ll take it one day at a time.

Now it’s just a matter of finishing the assignments before they’re due.