Eli & Juno

1- Who we are

There's nothing quite like telling people your parents own a circus. It never goes over well. It's almost like humankind as a whole was programmed to react badly to that statement.

But in Juneau, Alaska, a town with a population of 31,848, fifty-five feet above sea level, 4, 423 miles west of London, I try to make it go well anyway.

I fail.

Obviously.

The conversation goes over a bit like a song: It starts off nice and slow. A calm and sweet melody underlying my words. Not even a string of tension. Then, the beat begins to speed up. The nervous chuckle of ascending notes. The quickening heart rates paint their tune across a canvas of anxious chuckles and forced smiles. To the screaming violins, church bells and crescendo! All the way until the final note, leaving you with a quivering bow and wide-eyed victims.

The scene fades in: The New Kid stands at his desk. The imaginary directions motions for action. Did the dress department design New Kid's costume -outfit- correctly? Vans high tops, jeans, a black t-shirt and an open zip up blue sweater. His hair is fluffy, and a little wavy because he can't shake the habit of braiding it after he showers.

"My name's Eli, by the way," I -New Kid- add to the neverending silence.

Imaginary camera's zoom in on my face as I glance around the quiet room. No one's listening. Of course not. It's high school. I sink back down into my chair, wishing I could disappear into my desk with all the loose papers I'd received today.

I have lived in Juneau for less than a day and I already hate it.

Our flight was delayed, so I spent most of my morning and night in an airport. As I said before, we moved for business. For the Cirque des Etoiles. Which meant we were in a rush.

My mum was pacing. My father was tapping his foot. And my older brother Cassel was sleeping on both our seats. And when we finally got on the plane, my mother leaned over and whispered that I should get some rest too. We had school the next day.

Of course we did. I wasn't even surprised. Ruewen's never missed school or work. Not if we were too nervous. Not if we're sick. Not even if a dinosaur jumped out of an active volcano and landed on Blackfriars Bridge. I would know. On my first day of school in Canada, I ended up getting sick in my water bottle.

Fifty-eight. Fifty-nine. Sixty.

I have officially been in the United States of America for six hours, and I have spent those hours across three places:

The airport

An UBER with a driver who was singing Christmas carols, even though it's only September.

Opportunity High School

I almost hate my dad for having the unique skill for getting through airport security so fast. I have no idea how he does it. Maybe someday he'll teach me. Maybe during the next move.

It also helps that Opportunity is so close to the airport. I could actually hear the planes taking off as we drove here. Plus, our driver was more than willing to speed. (Mum tipped him well.)

I look down at my desk. Someone has scratched the word 'Goodluck' into the wood. I sigh. I'm going to need this. I've done this six times now. It never gets easier.

Here's the problem. I forgot the rule. There are plenty of rules in life, but this must be one of my top three. High school is hell. Do you accept this premise? Do you understand? Of course you do, because it's one of those universally acknowledged things.