The Chardsbray Station, just south of Notch, was dirty, scruffy, and dull. The walls were covered in graffiti, and a revolting ‘Non-smoking’ or ‘Stop-rape’ poster satisfied any space not painted. The only colour came from the flashing blue and green uniforms worn by the numerous primary school children who were giggling, spreading the gossip from that holiday, and who seemed to be under very little supervision.

I saw dad’s face transform from a pleasant smile to a look of worry and concern as he sighted the girls my age, over by the transport bus, smoking and curling their hair in a seductive manner as the seniors walked past.

Managing to pull him away, I asked the nearest station assistant for my carriage number, and noticed what she was wearing. Her brightly coloured blue hair was hard to miss but a T-shirt that was obviously second-hand, and which portrayed a rock band from the 70’s, was cut too short so that any passer by had a full view of her belly button and the bottom of her breasts. Her dark black leggings were also modified and were cut to a hideous length of roughly ten centimeters below her hips. Her knee-high boots, however were a similar colour and were covered in what looked like gum, but, as I found out later, it was an ‘advanced exploration into the world of style’.

“Stacie, sure, you are carriage.....um.....um....um....15.” She said to me with a half-fake smile and a look in her eyes that suggested she would rather be at the nearest concert than where she was now.

I decided not to wait another minute on the platform, so I said goodbye to my younger twin brothers, who soon ran of to go and stalk the senior girls, and to my father, who after telling me he loved me, and that he was proud of me, and that he would see me soon, kissed me on the cheek, and went to go give the other girls a lecture. Boy, that’ll make me popular! The carriage doors shut and I pivoted round to see the introduction to my next five years of schooling life...and I was shocked.