September 1997

Ridley scowls at the girl in the mirror. She wonders if that really is her; the short, skinny child whose face is as round as the moon, whose nose is so upturned she's often considering cutting it off. Ridley wonders if that really is her; an ugly, skinny child with fiery red hair that matches her temper. And she sighs and looks away. I'll never be like her; she thinks wistfully, I'll never be like mummy.

Ridley glances up at a picture she's stuck up in the yellow-ish wallpaper of her poky bedroom. A picture of her mother. Ridley reaches out and touches the picture, and strokes it softly, and another sigh escapes her lips. It's black and white, scuffed at the edges, with a few stains here and there. Her mother isn't pretty, but to Ridley, she's the most beautiful woman in the world. Past the frizzy hair, past the round glasses she wears, is a woman Ridley admires and craves for dearly.

Ridley then proceeds to sling her tattered school bag over her shoulder and walks out of her room. It's her first day of school. Ridley never thought she'd be so nervous because she's walked past that school so many times during her early childhood. It's a tall, towering building that is grey and boring and very school-like. But the thought of making new friends, the thought of finally being able to write her name on a piece of paper, R—I—D—that's all she can spell for now, is both terrifying and exciting.

Her older sister Marcy calls her name from the kitchen downstairs and Ridley hurriedly rushes down the stairs. Marcy's six years older than her, but she has experience. Marcy's smart. She's street smart, and from what Ridley already knows, Marcy's popular at school. She's already given Ridley tons of advice—how to act around the older kids, how to act around teachers, how to act around boys—Ridley makes a face. She can't imagine why she'd ever have to act different around boys. They're...they're boys.

"Is Daddy home?" Ridley asks she sits down, waiting patiently for Marcy to give her some cereal. Marcy shrugs at Ridley with blank eyes.

"Not today," she tells her. "He's looking for a job, remember? Got to start early. We don't have any food—here have a mint."

Ridley takes it gratefully and pops it in to her mouth, ignoring the loud grumbling of her stomach. Marcy grabs the house keys from the kitchen counter and ushers to Ridley.

"Hurry," she says impatiently. "Don't want to be late for school, do ya?"

Ridley shakes her head and hops off her chair, following behind Marcy like an obedient puppy. They get out of the house and Marcy firmly locks the door. Ridley chews silently on her mint—it's about to lose its flavour soon. Marcy observes Ridley with narrowed eyes and her eyes land on a speck of dirt on Ridley's cheek. She rolls her eyes and uses her thumb to rub it off.

"I told you, Rids," Marcy says. "You've got to stay clean. Don't want the social services people suspecting anything wrong do we?"

"What happens if they s'pect anything wrong?"

Marcy clucks her tongue as if it's supposed to be glaringly obvious to Ridley. "Oh, you know," she says. "They take you away."

Ridley's eyes widen. "For...for...keeps?" she whispers. Marcy nods gravely—almost knowingly.

"Yeah. They take you away to a horrible care home—dumping ground, they call it. And they put daddy in jail for not taking care of us. And they give you new parents. You have to move homes and schools and everything," Marcy explains as they walk through a narrow alleyway. Ridley opens her mouth to say something but thinks better of it and clamps it shut.

I wouldn't really mind, she thinks rather wistfully, I wouldn't mind having a new mummy and daddy.

At least they'd give her food, at least she wouldn't have to steal from the neighbours, at least they wouldn't shout at her for talking too loudly, at least she wouldn't have to be scared whenever they came home.

They arrive at the school, finally and Ridley marvels at the size of it. Children, parents, teachers mill in and out, chattering very loudly and excitedly. Marcy drags her in to a building, leaving her no time to see the rest of her surroundings. They weave their way through a thick crowd of really loud, and really annoying ten year olds. Marcy rolls her eyes.

"Year fives are the worst," she mutters. "They think they're all that just because they're almost the oldest kids in school."

"You were a Year Five just last year," Ridley points out bluntly. Marcy tugs at Ridley's hand sharply.

"Yeah, but we were different, see?" she says. Ridley disagrees.

Finally, they reach a rather isolated part of the building, although it's slightly more colourful. Ridley gulps. "Is this where my class is?" she asks. Ridley nods thoughtfully.

"Reception," she mumbles, scanning the area. "Yeah, that's right."

Suddenly, a teacher opens a classroom door. She's a skinny lady with a bony face, sharp eyes and a stern expression that leaves Ridley squirming under her gaze. The teacher looks at Marcy and gives a thin-lipped smile.

"Your little sister?" she asks. "Ridley, is it?"

Marcy nods, smiling back. "Yeah, Ms. Cooper," she nudges Ridley playfully. "Cute little thing, isn't she?"

The Ms. Cooper lady turns her attention back to Ridley and her smile falters a little as her gaze shifts to Ridley's too-big-for-her-face eyes. "Yes," she lies. "Very cute."

She pats Ridley on the head and Ridley feels like pushing her hand off her head. Ms. Cooper suddenly takes hold of Ridley's hand. "Alright, Marcella, off to class with you." Ms. Cooper beams proudly. "You're in Year Six now, aren't you?"

Marcy nods. "Yeah," she says. "Just a year away from Secondary school."

Ms. Cooper nods. "Indeed." She sighs and pulls Ridley in to her classroom. "See you around, young lady. And don't get in to too much trouble."

"Oh, I won't." Marcy gives her grin and turns her attention back to Ridley. "See you around, yeah? Take care, Rids. No fighting." And she leaves.

Suddenly, Ridley feels like running after Marcy and burying her head in to her older sister's shoulder. She feels young (which she is, but, you know, she feels younger than usual). But it's too late to do that now as Ms. Cooper shuts the door behind her and gives Ridley a rather wan grin.

Ridley can finally observe her surroundings carefully. The classroom is bright and colourful, pictures of butterflies and footballs and drawings are plastered all around the entire place. There are a few children sitting on dinky little yellow chairs and Ms. Cooper leads Ridley to a table where three children sit, their faces looking just as nervous as Ridley's.

"Here, you can sit next to Benjamin for the time being—go on, don't be shy, love," Ms. Cooper says a little too gently. Reluctantly, Ridley sits on one of the yellow chairs next to a curly-haired boy whose dancing blue eyes seem to scream I'm trouble!

"Hiya," he says in a friendly way and Ridley is slightly startled—the boy has an accent. Not a British one—but those accents people on the T.V. have—an American accent. Ridley smiles unsurely.

"Hi," she says shyly. Benjamin grins and suddenly grabs hold of one of Ridley's pigtails and gives it a slight tug. Ridley's jaw drops.

"I like your hair," he says as though Ridley cannot detect sarcasm. "Red, ain't it?"

Ridley slaps his hand away and scowls; the boy pretends to cower away while letting out a little giggle.

"Yes," she snaps angrily, staring at this impertinent little creature who seems to show no signs of remorse. Ridley's always hated how red her hair was. Marcy's always had rich, strawberry-blonde locks while she ended up with her dad's frustratingly red hair. The topic is rather a touchy one for her.

Benjamin seems unfazed and he proceeds to wrap his fingers around her pigtail once more. "It reminds me of carrots," he continues, the oh-so mischievous smile growing bigger and bigger as Ridley's own cheeks grow redder and redder, like her hair.

"What did you just say?" she mutters, trying her hardest to keep her voice even. Her anger should be obvious to him, but it isn't. Benjamin smiles in what is supposed to be a friendly way, but for Ridley, it's the last straw. Carrots indeed! Quite impulsively, she throws the closest thing to her at Benjamin's face—a book. WHAM! It hits him square on his jaw. Benjamin looks slightly bewildered, slightly embarrassed as a few children start laughing at him and his face crumples up.

"Alright, what's going on here?" Ms. Cooper says, coming over to Ridley's table. Ridley gulps. A girl with dark hair explains everything to Ms. Cooper with a slight smirk on her face. Ridley shoots her a deathly glare.

Ms. Cooper tuts and pats Benjamin on the head. "You don't look too hurt," she says, checking his red face. Her attention diverts to Ridley.

"That was a bad, bad thing to do Ridley Denvers. Say sorry to Benjamin immediately."

"Miss, I started it—" Benjamin begins but Ms. Cooper silences him. Ridley is embarrassed as everyone's eyes train on hers. With clenched fists, she mumbles an incoherent apology to Benjamin.

Later that day, Benjamin tries to talk to her but Ridley ignores him, deciding firmly to herself that she will never forgive the boy who so badly wounded her ego on her very first day of school.

****

Fiiiiirst chapter of Finding Gilbert Blythe. How did you like it?

-thatshirleygirl