Skylar • Ethan Dolan

1

                  

I'd always hated flying. It wasn't the fact that you were flown millions of feet off the ground, heading to a destination you weren't familiar with. It was just something about the atmosphere while you were on board that really got to me.

First of all, there's the person who refuses to get off their phone until the flight attendant closes the doors, holding the entire flight up by yelling desperate 'I love yous' into the receiver. Secretly, I bet the person on the other end was glad she was flying away for a good few weeks.

Then there's the person sitting beside you, who seems to be so tired that they pass out onto you as soon as the plane is in the sky. They think it's acceptable to drool on your clothes and take up half of your chair as well as their own. Jesus, move along fat ass.

There's the old woman that insists on telling you her life story from birth to present day. She just won't stop talking. I'm sorry Brenda, but your days in the war as an evacuee doesn't interest me.

And, the baby who will inevitably cry the entire flight, the kid behind you that will kick your seat until you lose your patience and their mom's tell you to 'calm down' because 'they're just kids'.

You see, the thing was, I should've been in first class. By this time I would probably be sleeping in a bed, listening to music while I made this short journey to New York- alone. But no, my parents decided to send me here, to go to school, in standard seating. You're out of control, they said. You're ruining our reputation and career, they never failed to remind me.

And so that's why I was relieved when I finally stepped off this airplane, wiping the sweat that ceased to exist on my forehead as I walked towards the airport to collect my luggage.

Luckily, nothing was missing, and I was able to catch a cab pretty quickly as I stood out in the middle of the street. I'll admit I wasn't used to this, I had a personal driver at home that would drive me wherever I wanted, whenever I wanted. All with the click of a button. There was no yelling or waving of my hands around necessary.

My parents are rich. They thrived in Los Angeles and I'm the bratty teenage daughter with behaviour issues. I act impulsively and pretentiously toward anyone and everyone because I crave attention. Or at least that's what Steve thought.

Steve was a guidance councillor in my old, private school. He was boring, old and whiny, so I skipped most of our sessions. He was the one who managed to convince my parents that a change of scenery would do me some good.

Consequently, here I was, stood outside of NYC's Boarding School For Challenging Children. I wasn't even a child! I was seventeen years old, eighteen in the summer.

It was fall here, my favourite time of year. Leaves had fallen from the branches of trees and laid around on the floor, crunching beneath my feet as I walked, trailing my suitcase behind me.

I noticed that pumpkins had been carved and were placed outside of the large wooden doors which were open, with people filing in and out of them, dressed in assigned uniforms. I hoped I didn't have to wear one of those.

The roof was high and the walls were decorated with thousands of posters and sign up sheets, obviously advertising for new candidates for the new semester.

I didn't have much trouble finding the main reception, as it was located right at the entrance. Walking up to it, I let go of my suitcase, looking over at the red haired woman behind the desk in front of me.

After a while of just standing there, I decided to cough, grabbing her attention. She noticed me, pushing the red glasses up on the bridge of her nose.