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moving with the times, and was favored by progressive parents who wanted to avoid subjecting their children to any kind of repression. Most of the students had a long-standing association with the school through parents and grandparents who were former pupils.
    Ivy, Gabriel, and I stood outside the gates watching the students arrive. I concentrated on trying to settle the butterflies that were doing callisthenics in my stomach. The sensation was uncomfortable and yet strangely exhilarating. I was still getting used to the way emotions could affect the human body. I took a deep breath. It was funny how being an angel didn’t make me any more prepared for the first-day nerves of starting somewhere new. I didn’t have to be human to know that first impressions could make all the difference between acceptance and ostracism. I’d listened in on the prayers of teenage girls and most of them centered on being accepted by the “popular” crowd and finding a boyfriend who played on the rugby team. I just hoped I would find a friend.
    The students came in groups of three and four: the girls dressed just like me; the boys wearing gray trousers, white shirts, and blue-and-white-striped ties. Even in school uniform, it wasn’t difficult to distinguish the particular social groups I’d observed in the Kingdom. The music posse was made up of boys with shoulder-length hair, untidy strands falling over their eyes. They carried instrument cases and had musical chords scrawled on their arms in black felt pen. There was a small minority of goths who had set themselves apart by the use of heavy eye makeup and spiky hairdos, and I wondered how they got away with it. Surely it must contravene school regulations. Those who liked to think of themselves as artistic had accessorized the uniform with berets or hats and colorful scarves. Some girls traveled in packs, like a group of platinum blondes who crossed the road with their arms linked. The academic types were easily identified; they wore pristine uniforms with no alterations and carried the official school backpack. They tended to walk with a missionary zeal, heads down, eager to reach the sanctity of the library. A group of boys in untucked shirts, loose ties, and sneakers loitered under the shade of some palms, taking swigs from soda cans and chocolate milk cartons. They were in no hurry to move inside the school gates, instead taking turns at punching and leaping on one another. They tumbled to the ground laughing and groaning at the same time. I watched one boy throw an empty can at his friend’s head. It bounced off and rattled on the sidewalk. The boy looked stunned for a moment before bursting into laughter.
    We watched with growing consternation and still hadn’t moved from our position outside the front gates. A boy sauntered past us and looked back with curiosity. He was wearing a baseball cap backward and his school pants hung so loosely on his hips that the label of his designer underwear was in full view.
    “I must admit, I struggle with some of these latest fashion trends.” Gabriel pursed his lips.
    Ivy laughed. “This is the twenty-first century,” she said. “Try not to look so critical.”
    “Isn’t that what teachers do?”
    “I suppose so, but don’t expect to be popular.” She looked resolutely toward the entrance and stood a little straighter even though she already had perfect posture. It was easy for her to be confident; she wasn’t the one facing the firing squad. Ivy squeezed Gabriel’s shoulder and handed me a manila folder with my class schedule, a school map, and other notices she had collected for me earlier in the week. “Are you ready?” she asked.
    “As ready as I’ll ever be,” I replied, trying to steel my nerves. I felt as if I were about to go into battle. “Let’s do it.”
    Ivy stood at the gates waving like a proud but anxious mother seeing her children off on their first day of school.
    “We’ll be fine, Bethany,” Gabriel