TAMARA'S POV
"You can choose any unoccupied bed you want," Mrs. Austin says, glancing at her watch. Then, turning to Felix and my parents, she adds, "I'll have to leave now — still have many students waiting for admission."
She walks off briskly, her heels clicking against the polished floor, leaving us standing in the middle of the dorm.
The room is quieter than I expected. Maybe because we cut the line — there are only about ten girls inside. I look around slowly, taking it in. The dorm isn't that big; more like a wide hall filled with rows of double-decker beds, arranged in neat lines.
I feel a little disappointed.
I wanted a cubicle dorm — the kind with privacy, little curtains, and space that feels like your own. But this? This is open, shared, and noisy-looking already. Fifty girls in one room. Fifty. I can already imagine the whispers at night, the chaos in the morning… ugh.
I let out a small sigh. So this is it? My new life?
Near the far-left corner, a girl has already unpacked. Her bed is neatly spread, and she's arranging her suitcase with quiet precision — not looking at anyone. She seems serious, focused… maybe even shy.
Mom's voice pulls me back. "Which place do you like?"
I point toward the corner. "That one."
Dad grabs one end of my box while Felix lifts the other. "Let's take it there," Dad says.
"I think the upper bed near the window is better," Dad suggests, scanning the rows.
"I don't want the upper one," I reply quickly. "I want the lower bed."
Mom has been silently watching us, her eyes darting from the window to the beds. "But at the window, someone might steal your things," she says.
"I'll be fine," I answer. "Through the window, I can reach something easily if the door's locked — like during class hours."
Mom studies me for a second, then sighs. "Alright. Let's arrange, then."
We start unpacking. The girl in the corner doesn't even glance our way — totally focused on her own world. She must be an introvert, I think, and smile slightly.
Just as we finish spreading my bed, a matron walks in, her uniform crisp and voice sharp. "Parents aren't allowed inside the dorm," she announces.
Mom and Dad exchange surprised looks. Clearly, they didn't know that rule.
"They should say their goodbyes at the door," the matron adds.
Good timing — at least my bed's already done. My things are half-arranged too. Lucky me, I think with a quiet laugh.
I walk them outside. Felix is already waiting by the car, talking to Mrs. Austin. Mom opens her purse, pulls out a 500-shilling note, and presses it into my hand.
"Use this for now," she says softly. "We'll send the rest to your class teacher. He'll give you a little each week."
(She means the class teacher we met briefly at the admission office earlier — the one organizing our files.)
"Okay. Thanks," I say, smiling.
Mom nods. "Be good. Remember what we talked about."
I roll my eyes playfully. "I know, Mom."
We hug tightly — her perfume, familiar and warm, clinging to my sweater. Dad pats my shoulder gently.
"Work hard, soldier," he says, grinning.
I laugh. "Yes, sir."
As they leave, I notice a few girls around me crying as their parents wave goodbye. I find it funny, honestly — maybe because I don't feel like crying. At least not yet.
I rush back to the dorm.
Inside, two girls are talking near my space — one of them is the quiet girl from before, and the other…
She catches my attention immediately. She's a little shorter than me, her skin a deep, glowing brown that looks almost golden in the afternoon light. Her hair is short, neatly combed, and her eyes are bright and lively — like she's smiling even when she's not.
She turns to me with an easy grin. "Hey! I'm Lewinsky. And you?"
Social butterfly, I think instantly. "I'm Tamara," I reply, smiling back.
Lewinsky's bed is opposite the quiet girl's. That makes us three in one corner — perfect.
As I unpack, I notice the quiet girl's suitcase has a name neatly written on it: Natasha Liz.
So that's her name. Cool. Now I don't have to ask, I think, hiding a little laugh.
A few minutes later, another girl walks in — short, dark, and curvy, with a body shaped like an hourglass. Her steps are confident, and she scans the beds before pointing to mine.
"Is someone already in this bed?" she asks.
"No," I say. "Those are my things, but you can come here."
She smiles gratefully. "Thanks. I'm Shekina."
"I'm Tamara."
As she starts arranging her bedding, she asks, "Which stream are you in?"
"Form One Eagles."
Her eyes widen. "Wait—me too!" She bursts out laughing, jumping a little, then clears her throat. "Sorry… I'm just happy we're in the same stream."
I laugh too. "Wow, really?"
Lewinsky turns, jumping onto my bed. "What's going on here?" she asks playfully.
"Shekina and I are in the same stream," I say.
Lewinsky grins. "No way! I'm in Form One Eagles too!"
I squint at her. "You're lying."
She crosses her arms dramatically. "Nope. Swear I am."
We all burst out laughing, our giggles echoing around the half-empty dorm.
"Looks like fate just grouped us," Lewinsky says proudly. "I'm Lewinsky — don't be shy to talk to me, okay?"
Shekina laughs shyly. "Yeah, okay."
And just like that — in one afternoon — my first friendships are born.
It's 6:30 p.m. After our interaction, a bell rings. We hear the matron's voice echoing through the dormitory corridor, calling all Form Ones to the hall.
We quickly step outside, joining the other girls heading in the same direction.
"Form Ones, you'll go to the dining hall," the matron announces once we've gathered. "Take your supper, then proceed to your classes for evening preps. From there, you'll be notified about the rest."
We rush back to the dorm to grab our plates, then head to the dining hall together.
"Wah, we are so many," I say, staring at the long line and the crowd still streaming in. Then I remember my mom saying there are 500 of us. The number suddenly feels heavy in my chest. I need to be in the top ten. My stomach twists a little at the thought, but I shake it off and look around, trying to distract myself.
Faces everywhere. Some girls are beautiful—like, catchy in my own way—and others… not so much in my own way. Wait, what am I even saying? Everyone is beautiful and wonderfully made, but—ugh—some are just hot. Wait, no, I'm lying—
"Hand over your plate," Lewinsky interrupts my daydream.
I blink, realizing we're already at the serving counter.
"Oh," I mutter, embarrassed.
Lewinsky and Shekina burst out laughing.
"You were thinking about your boyfriend," Lewinsky teases.
"Eww, no! I don't have one," I defend quickly.
"It's not that serious. You don't know jokes?" she says, giggling.
I roll my eyes but end up laughing with them.
We're served boiled maize and beans mixed together—we call it githeri—and a cup of black tea with barely any sugar. After one sip, I frown. It's almost bitter. Then I remember the sugar I'd sneaked in from home. I tell my friends and rush to get it.
When I come back, they stare at me.
"How did you even get in with that?" Shekina asks.
I smirk. "My ways," I say lightly. I don't want to continue that conversation—not here in the crowded hall.
After finishing our meal, we're led out by the prefects. We don't know where the classes are, but we just follow the group of students ahead of us.
The path is long and wide, covered with small gravel that crunches beneath hundreds of footsteps. On our right, there's a field separated by a fence made of trimmed green hedges. On the left, I can see the dim glow of lanterns near the toilets. Farther down are trees and what look like teachers' quarters, their windows glowing faintly in the dusk.
The evening air is cold and filled with the mixed sounds of chatter, laughter, and shoes brushing against the ground. The sound of footsteps is endless—like a river of students flowing forward.
We pass through a gate—the same one we used earlier—and I realize it leads to the tuition section. The buildings ahead rise tall, with long verandas, staircases, and corners that echo with voices.
Our Form One classes are near the gate, probably to keep us close to familiar places so we won't get lost. From here, I can even spot the dormitory gate. It makes sense. We're still new, after all.
It's getting dark when we finally reach our classroom. Inside, chaos has already begun. Everyone is rushing to choose a seat. Some are dragging desks; others are calling their friends. The sound of scraping chairs and loud laughter fills the air.
"Shekina! Lewinsky!" I call, but they're nowhere near me. I spot an empty desk at the front and hurry there. I want to sit close so I can hear and understand teachers well.
I set my books down and glance around the noisy room. Some girls are arguing over window seats, others are laughing like they've been friends for years already. It's a mess—but an exciting one.
As I scan the room again, I see Lewinsky near the door, waving at me with a big grin. I wave back. Then someone taps my shoulder.
"Mamaaa!" I almost shout, my heart jumping.
Shekina bursts out laughing. "Relax, it's just me."
I sigh and laugh too. "You scared me."
She sits behind me, still giggling. On my left, the seat is empty. On my right, there's a short girl flipping through a small dictionary, her face calm and serious. Everyone seems to be settling down now.
Just as the room grows quieter, there's a gentle knock at the door. Lewinsky, sitting near it, rushes to open.
The door swings open with a slow wiiiii sound, and every head turns.
A girl steps inside.
She's short—again, shorter than me—but stunning. Her brown, light skin glows softly under the classroom's weak light. Her long hair is tied into a perfect ponytail. Pink lips, neatly moisturized. Her white shirt fits flawlessly under a maroon-striped skirt that hugs her tiny waist. Her tie is neatly knotted, and on her feet are a simple pair of blue slippers that somehow make her look even more graceful.
She hesitates, glancing around shyly, then steps back to check the writing on the door. When she sees "1E" painted on the frame, her lips move—One Eagles. She nods slightly, confirming she's in the right class.
She steps in slowly, scanning the room for a seat. No one says a word. Maybe her beauty is intimidating—at least, that's how it feels to me.
Then my desk mate on the right points to the empty seat beside me.
"This one's empty," she says.
The girl nods and walks toward me. Her steps are quiet, confident, almost too graceful. She sits down beside me, still holding her plate and cup—she must have come straight from supper.
I glance at her, and our eyes meet. Her pupils are deep black, framed by thick, naturally curved eyebrows. There's a tiny red mark at the center of her forehead—like an Indian bindi, but it looks natural, faint, and only visible this close.
She catches me staring and tilts her head slightly. "Is something wrong?"
I blink fast, realizing I've been staring too long. "Um… a-a-a, no, nothing," I stammer, snapping my eyes back to the whiteboard.
She giggles softly. "You're funny. Why are you stammering?"
I laugh nervously, pretending to focus on my pen. She places her plate and cup inside the locker, then looks around the room again before turning back to me.
"Hey," she says gently, trying to get my attention—unaware that I've been secretly side-eyeing her this whole time.
"I'm Savina," she says, her voice calm but warm. "I like your watch."
"Oh, thanks," I say with a shy smile. "I'm Tamara."
For a second, it feels like the whole class fades away—the noise, the scraping chairs, the murmurs. It's just her, sitting beside me, and something about the moment feels different… like it's the start of something I don't yet understand.