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of my new school I realized ‘ ridiculous ’ was the absolute contrast of Samoa College with Washington Girls – my old school back home. Was it possible to find a more different place of learning in the world no, make that in this solar system?! I stood and tried not to gape at the crowds of teenagers walking through the front gate, resplendent in their blaring sunrise colors. Even the huge cement walls lining the entrance were painted orange and yellow. Just in case you missed the turn-off in the dark, perhaps? A sloping driveway lined with coconut palms led to the main building – a double-storey block of classrooms. On the right of the drive was a traditional Samoan fale with groups of students leaning on its wooden posts. There was so much color it hurt my eyes. Scarlet hibiscus bushes dotted the campus. Clumps of yellow leaves swayed in the morning breeze. Boys with no shirts on chased a rugby ball on the green fields to the left, sweat glistening already on brown skin and lean muscle.
    Boys. There was something else you didn’t see at my old school back home. Half-naked boys. Hot, sweaty boys with dark eyes and loud shouts of laughter. I smiled against my will as I imagined what my uptight grandmother would make of that! I almost laughed out loud as I then thought of the reaction of girls back home if they could see this. A private all-girls school in the heart of D.C that catered for the daughters of the rich and richer – certainly didn’t get many shirtless Polynesian males running around the campus. Shaking my head at the thought, I gripped my backpack a bit tighter and made my way through the front gates. I reminded myself that having to endure boys in the same classroom would probably be the least of my worries as I tried to adjust to a new school in an alien place.
    Uncle’s directions to the office were easy to follow. Seeing as how there were only three buildings in the entire school and one of them said OFFICE. Finding the office was one thing. Getting someone to help me with a class schedule was a totally different story. A frazzled-looking woman with hair pulled back so tight she probably gave herself headaches told me to “sit there and wait for the Principal. He’s busy right now.”
    Nobody paid the slightest attention to me as I perched on a bench outside the staffroom. I looked around, interested in finding clues about this, the supposed ‘number one school in Samoa.’ It certainly didn’t look like much. Paint peeled from the corridor walls. There were no window panes – just chain link wire all along the length of the hall. Better for catching the breeze in this humidity I guessed. But not so great at keeping out the rain I thought, noting the slick puddles of water from the morning showers. The staffroom doors were wide open. A set of shabby tables dominated the room with an odd assortment of broken chairs arranged around them. Open shelves overflowed with textbooks and planners, here and there a chipped coffee mug.
    The raucous clang of the bell halted my inspection. Great, now I would be late to my first class, wherever it was, and stick out even more. Where was the Principal? And wasn’t there anyone else in this place who could give me a timetable for goodness sake? I stood and walked to the window hoping to catch a glimpse of someone, anyone who looked vaguely Principal-like.
    The entire student body seemed to be gathering for an assembly at the head of the long driveway. I had to admit the sea of orange and yellow wasn’t that bad. It was kind of eye catching and complemented well the fiery colors of a sunny morning in ‘paradise.’ I observed with interest that select senior students rather than teachers seemed to be in charge of the assembly. Staff stood in a row in front of the school and waited until everyone was settled and quiet. A short stocky girl with thick braids down her back, led the school in a hymn. The singing was beautiful – unlike anything I had heard back