I tried to sing, and something about it made me giggle inside, like singing hymns the few times I’d been to church. It got worse when it came to the blessings and the students recited things like:

‘I look into the world in which the sun is shining

in which the stars are gleaming

The plants they live and grow.’

And then Ingrid made everyone in the group hold hands. She said, ‘Please say one word that describes how you hope this year will be.’

Students went around the circle saying things like exciting, productive, relaxing. I wanted to rip my hands from the skinny girl with long brown hair to the left of me and the guy with the sweaty hand to the right.

‘Over,’ I said when it was my turn. I thought I might at least get a giggle from the other kids or a glare from Ingrid, but there was silence.

When we were done with singing, Ingrid said, ‘It’s my honour to take you to your first class.’ We walked through all of these classrooms that looked like places right out of a fairytale. There were all of these little cottages with slate roofs and wooden doors with big brass handles. I was waiting for Hansel and Gretel to skip right past.

Again I noticed that all the kids had the worst fashion sense ever. It wasn’t like you could tell the gamers from the skaters or anything like that. Everyone dressed as if they’d woken up and thrown on whatever was closest to them. And everyone hugged each other. At Wattleside you couldn’t even look at someone outside of your group without another person giving you a hard time.

A guy said hi to me when we passed the drinking fountain and a girl walking out of the library smiled and said hello. ‘Is she okay?’ I asked Ingrid.

‘Who?’

‘That girl who said hi.’

Ingrid waved at the girl. ‘Ruby? Yes, she’s cool.’

I thought: These people are on drugs.

There were old wooden desks in rows and pastel decorations around the classroom. I was sure it wasn’t like that when I first toured the school with Dad and Caitlin. All I remembered was how much light streamed into all of the rooms, and the leafy trees outside of every window.

As we entered the room, the teacher instructed the class: ‘Please sit in a circle on the floor.’ He walked over to me, holding out his hand to shake. ‘I’m Michael.’

He had long, wavy black hair and a beard, and wore thick black glasses. He was tall and thin, and dressed in a white T-shirt, white jeans and black leather thongs.

He looked like a waiter from one of the cafes on what I call hipster corner, a strip of trendy shops at Old Aldinga. Everyone in The Village raves about it, a tiny street not that far back from the beach. Once where there was just an old fish and chip shop oozing grease and heart attacks, there was now a trendy fish and chip shop with lots of gluten-free options, a bakery, a yoga studio, a second-hand store, trendy clothes shops and more. There was even a night market that specialised in paella, freshly shucked oysters and craft beer. Caitlin once took me to hipster corner after an afternoon at the beach. It’s halfway between Willunga and the beach.