The Small Square of Paper

My new school in Bristol gives you a timetable on your first day. Mine is a small square of paper with eight boxes on it, and my uniform has a dark blue jumper with a pocket exactly that size. Nobody has told me where anything is. The timetable tells me.

The school bell rings at nine. I check my timetable. It says assembly, so I follow everyone into the hall and sit on the floor. The head teacher greets us and talks for ten minutes about the new library.

The bell rings again. I check my timetable. It says biology, room 12. I find room 12, and for half an hour I draw a leaf.

The bell rings. I check my timetable, but break time isn't on it. A girl with red glasses points at the door. “Playground,” she says. “Everybody goes out at break. Even when it rains.”

The bell rings at half past twelve. I check my timetable. It says lunch. In the canteen the girl with red glasses moves her bag off the chair next to her, so that's where I sit.

At ten past three the last bell rings, and I reach into my pocket.

“There's nothing after that one,” she says. “That one means go home. Are you walking down to the gate?”

So I leave the timetable in my pocket. On the way to the gate she tells me which teachers let you finish your lunch and which ones don't, and for that I don't need any paper at all.