I could tell she didn’t want to be there. She had that anywhere-but-here look that I would totally wear around the school if I could. Not judgy or anything, but like disappointed as hell maybe, even sad. I couldn’t exactly figure what it was, but it looked like she was dying to run away or something. And, I mean, like who could blame her. Five years later and I still feel that way about St Mary’s. Honestly, if I wasn’t trying so hard to be liked, I’d have this anywhere-buthere look that would be 10 per cent disappointment, 15 per cent sadness, 20 per cent boredom, 25 per cent pure hatred, maybe about 30 per cent jealousy and like an extra 5 per cent of cringe and cranks thrown in like Domino’s oregano or something, but with extra of that garlic.

And I’m only a day scholar, which means I am out of here by 3.30 pm, 5.30 max on days there is some kind of practice, which does happen often actually. Of course, being a day scholar probably is a big reason for my hatred for the place; that and the nuns who have this annoying thing about turning us into “ladies”, whatever that even means. Although they also have these long masses – really hugeass productions of sorts that the whole school has to be part of, with choir practice and stuff, which can be really exhausting, but that is a story for another time. I was saying … oh ya, St Mary’s. God, just the name makes me want to throw up.

But also, now that I think about it, I don’t understand why like families send their kids to boarding schools far away from themselves, all the way to Darjeeling in St Mary’s case. Maybe parents want to get rid of their annoying kids, straighten them out and whatnot (I mean, I’ve watched Udaan and Taare Zameen Par and Warrior High, so I know what parents think will happen in boarding schools. Of course, you’re hoping for an Ishaan and not Rohan. Even the whole Poppy Moore transformation in Wild Child could work, I suppose). But none of them seem like her at all. Anyways, it isn’t like I have any real friends in this school to base all this grand theory on (probably the shittiest thing about my life might I add). For all I know, people actually believe that it could be great for their like angelic kids or something. Wait, but that wasn’t what I was talking about. Seriously, I get distracted way too easily, but I’m kind of working on it so I guess it’s kind of okay.

Oh ya, I was saying, I can’t imagine what it would be like for her. I mean, she’s come in weeks after term started, plus in the tenth grade. No one ever comes in the tenth or twelfth grade, like it doesn’t make sense with the board exams and stuff, which makes me wonder why she’s here. From all the gossip I have eavesheard … is “eavesheard” a thing? I think it should be. Anyways, from all the gossip I’ve eavesheard over the years, I want to guess it is because something life-altering happened, maybe even like tragic AF or something. I’ll probably ask her when we become friends. Obviously, I knew as soon as she walked into class that we’d be friends, for a while anyways (which kind of always is the case with me). Mainly because she was going to need one – people here can get quite cliquey, especially with newcomers (unless, I guess if a Bollywood nepo baby showed up tomorrow spilling insider secrets about nose and boob jobs and dating histories or something) – and, because I don’t really have any, I’m not all that picky. In fact, I am going to try my hardest before she somehow becomes friends with the others, which also always happens after a bit.

Now I feel like I should explain why I have no real friends when I’ve been here for so long before I come across as some sort of total psycho. Like, I’m not evil or anything as the nuns call it. But I am a day scholar, which means that while I’m part of everyday chats about which new Wattpad story is about Harry Styles, the latest Marvel and One Direction releases, whether Bieber and Selena are back again, or a debate of TWICE vs. EXO vs. Red Velvet, I’m not really actually part of the groups. I mean, you get it. I guess there is a lot I miss once I go home and, somehow, it’s never the same, no matter how hard I try. Plus, there’s the whole cliché that I am a teacher’s daughter. Baba teaches physics at St Mary’s and there is always the “she’ll go tell her father” thing. Like, there have been so many times when the girls were busy gossiping about teachers and other girls and their boyfriends, making late-night plans of tuck raids and parties, and have quickly shut up or pretended to talk about something else when they saw me. But I guess at least they’re always sweet to me because of it, and I do have a few class friends type situations that aren’t all bad – like Shefali, and Charu, Aabha, even Shivangi to a certain extent. I once tried blackmailing my parents into letting me become a boarder, I am pretty sure that is the solution for most of my problems (my looks I can’t do anything about myself really), but they said they didn’t have the money for the boarding fees and that was that.

“Hi … umm … is it okay if I sit here?” she whispered as she walked to my desk.

You don’t really have a choice, do you? All other desks are taken. I shushed my mind. It has this habit of being super negative about everything and jumping to just like awful assumptions all the time. Aama says I must train it not to.

“Ya, sure,” I smiled instead, “I’m Pema.”

“Inayat,” she gave a quick smile before sitting down to unpack her bag into the desk, arranging her books into proper piles, not like my messy dump.

Neat freak, my mind said. I shushed it again.

She looks shy as hell, Inayat does. Maybe it’s because she’s like so tiny. Or maybe because her short hair falls all over her big glasses, almost hiding her face, even though she has these huge eyes and her gold nose ring shines against her crazy white face. But it feels like she prefers it like that, like she is trying hard to stay as invisible as possible.

I watched her pile her books on one side, her notebooks on the other. The short English novels she kept in the middle along with an old wooden case for her pens.

“That’s a cute box,” I tried chatting.

“It’s my Nana’s … my Nani painted the prairie daisies on it,” she mumbled, looking down at the box. Her eyes began tearing up, and she quickly distracted herself with her desk again.

Looks like she misses her grandparents, I thought. And I guess she likes these prayer daisies. Maybe I can show her the tiny daisies that grow in Darj someday, she might like that. They look pretty much the same as her box ones to me. I love the ones we have. They’re so cute and friendly, like they’re always giggling or something, like they’re all best friends having fun. And we could even play the yes-or-no game with them, you know the one where you ask a question and then pluck each tiny petal for a yes or no until the last one left and that is god’s answer or something.

Ya ya, I know, I am getting distracted again.

She kept a letter-writing pad in front and of course I wondered about who she’d be writing to. Maybe she has a lot of friends back home, even a boyfriend. She wouldn’t need you then, would she? My mind piped up again. She’ll use you like the others – just to chat with a little in class, get favours outside of school, and then forget about you when she’s made other friends in the hostel.

She stuck a few photos of …

“Are … are these your grandparents?”

She nodded.

… and a calendar of the first term with a drawing of a house at the end.

I smiled and opened my desk to show her my term calendar, the days gone struck out on it with ginormous red Xs. She looked at me and gave another small smile, and I could totally tell then that we both felt the same way about being in this school – basically not wanting to be here. I’m kind of psychic like that

Excerpted with permission from Daisies in the Wild, Stuti Agarwal, HarperCollins India.