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home. A prayer followed the song and then the girl relinquished her spot to a boy who strode forward with confident ease. I was puzzled – surely he couldn’t be a student? He was tall and broad, built like some kind of body builder – his yellow shirt doing little to disguise his finely toned physique. With his back to me though, I couldn’t make out his features. He spoke at length to the school – I caught fragments on the morning breeze “ reminder about school code of conduct…a reputation to uphold ” He had everyone’s rapt attention – it was obvious he held a position of some authority. Even from this distance I was impressed by his assurance and poise with speaking to such a large crowd of his peers. There was no hesitation or nervousness in his demeanour. Hmm, definitely not your average loopy teenage boy.
    At the end of his address, the school dispersed and the staff began making their way back to the staffroom. Yes! Surely now I would get some help.
    Help arrived in the form of the Principal, Mr Raymond. He hadn’t heard of me, and of course had no records of my educational existence. None of that seemed to faze him – as if he was used to total strangers showing up at his school every day, expecting to get admitted. He was a broadly built man with a smiley face and a dented nose that looked suspiciously like it had been broken several times, almost like a teddy bear that had been beat up one time too many - I thought absent mindedly as he explained my schedule. It seemed straightforward enough. They didn’t need to see any of my grades since I was from an overseas school (the assumption being, that guaranteed I could at least read and write with some degree of skill) There was no vocab or maths skills testing because there was only one level of English and math class to go to. I had to choose an option for my subjects – and that was easy since there were only eight to choose from, three of them compulsory. English, maths and Samoan language. I wasn’t too happy about the Samoan language but Mr Raymond assured me that I would be “put together with the other palagi kids who don’t know any Samoan and the teacher will go easy on you.” The entire exercise took all of five minutes. Mr Raymond spent more time reciting the school rules to me. Some of them were routine – no alcohol, drugs, smoking or profanity. Others had me raising a mental eyebrow. Things like – no iPods, no makeup, no jewellery, no strange hairstyles and only yellow jandals allowed. What the color of one’s jandals had to do with one’s learning I had no idea but again the mantra breathe, smile, nod, agree, you are a visitor here. Once done, Mr Raymond summoned a passing student, a tall skinny boy with velvet black hair, to take me to my first-period class.
    My tour guide regarded me with frank interest. Mr Raymond introduced him as Simon – from my new form class – but as soon as we were out of the Principal’s range, ‘he’ hastened to set the introduction straight, with an airy wave of his hand.
    “What-everrr! I’m Si-mone.” He said the name like how I imagined a French supermodel would pronounce it. “You’re in our form class and Ms Sivani is our form teacher. Come on, she hates latecomers.”
    I quickly realized that Simone was what my uncle termed a ‘ fa’afafine . ’ On our shopping trip to town for my school uniforms, we had stopped to buy bread and the cashier had been a man in a tight red tank top and floral mini skirt. Pink fingernails and expertly applied makeup had completed the ensemble. I guess I hadn’t expected full drag queen attire in a Samoan dairy on a Saturday morning. Reading my mind, Uncle Tuala had waited until we were back in the car and then gave me a one-word explanation.
    “ Fa’afafine. ”
    “A fa’a – what?” I had asked, completely befuddled.
    “You know – a boy who wants to be a girl? A boy who acts like a girl? Fa’afafine translated loosely means umm, like a