Evansville

My life has always been shitty. Yeah, I’ve done drugs, I’ve drank ‘til I passed out, and yeah, I’m kind of a slut. I’m not innocent. I’ve been caught many times at my high school in the girls’ bathroom smoking, but maybe that’s ‘cause I set off a couple alarms. I’m the girl that you see at your school who fails and doesn’t give a shit about life anymore, I guess you could call me a “Rebellious Teen” or “Pothead” whichever, and that I’ll get over this stage and choose the right path. I had that chance a long time ago; I wanted the path that leads to excitement and parties, the wild life. I didn’t want the path like on the game of Life that says “Take this one right here! Go to school and graduate! It’s fun as hell!” My version of fun is going to a party where there’s, well you guessed it, sex, drugs, and good ‘ol alcohol. I can’t begin to tell you how many times I’ve been arrested and taken to the local jail. Several times my gramps was the one who bailed me out and gave me that “Where did I go wrong” look. “What can I say, Geoff? I’m addicted and there ain’t nothin’ you can do ‘bout it.” Then I would pass out in the backseat.

I’ve been to rehab three times too. Think that’s helped me? Then why am I on a plane to some “Troubled youth” boarding school in London? I would’ve gotten my mom to try and get me out of this situation, but she doesn’t give a shit. Ever since my dad left us, she quit playing mother. She no longer packed my lunch for school when I was still in elementary. She no longer picked me up from school. Not even a “Good morning” or a damn hug. When I asked her why she didn’t care anymore she answered, “I’m just tired of playing the role of mom.” and went back to watching TV. So after that night, my gramps moved me out of my mom’s nice apartment in Manhattan and into his big mansion in upstate New York. I liked it for awhile; he started parenting me and setting curfew and even took my phone away when I got in trouble. Then after awhile, he sort of gave up too. He came in my room one night and told me about the boarding school and how it would be all better once I finished school. He said he would even help me pay for college and I could apply for a job at his law firm as an assistant or something like that. I begged and pleaded with him not to make me go, but in the end the parent won. The parent always wins.

The plane landed and all the passengers stood up and started taking their stuff out of the overhead bins. I sat there and watched an old woman struggling to get her big bag out of the compartment. She looked at me, telling me with her eyes that she couldn’t do it. I sighed and stood up and yanked the bag down for her. At least I did something nice for someone instead of pissing them off like I usually do. I waited until the hallway was empty and walked into the busy Heathrow airport. Everyone around me was either hugging friends and relatives or bustling their way to the baggage claim like I was. I stopped by the bathroom and checked my make-up. I had to do a few touch-ups and combed through my long brown hair with my fingers. It’s naturally wavy and reaches to the middle of my back. I did get it styled and my bangs come almost all the way across my forehead in what some morons call a “scene” hair style. First off, I don’t have big ass poofy hair. Second, my hair is calm and long and wavy. Third, the only make up I wear is little black eyeliner that just outlines my brown eyes, black mascara, and that’s it. I don’t attack my face with a fucking sharpie.

I shifted my coat to my left arm and went to baggage claim to wait for my big green army duffel bag full of all my clothes, and my big black and gray checkered suitcase full of my shoes and all my other stuff like extra make up and handbags and shit. The conveyor belt had already started and a lot of people had their luggage already. I waited another ten minutes before I saw a big hunk of ugly green and the checkered case coming my way. “I’ll get that for ya.” I looked to my side and saw a guy about a few inches taller than me with black hair, soul patch, pierced right ear, and light blue eyes. “Er, thanks.” I muttered once he handed my bags to me. “Off to that evil boarding school, are ya? He had a Scottish accent. “Yeah.” I said. “I went there too. Name’s Kendall McHale, by the way.” He replied. “Cleo Janus.” I replied, “What’s it like?” He smiled a surprisingly gorgeous smile. “Teachers are kind of douches and snotty bitches, but there are a few that are decent. Pretty big campus, it’s within walking distance to the city.” I nodded. “Well, thanks for your help. I guess I’ll see you around.” and started walking away. “I could take you there. I’m the science teacher, well, and math too.” I stopped, wasn’t it a bad idea to go with strangers in a country you’re not familiar with? Those Hostel movies can really freak a person out… “Sure.” I said. Well, great job Cleo. You’re gonna get yourself hacked into a million pieces by some rich fucker who has a blood fetish.

I followed him to a taxi outside. The driver loaded both our luggage into the back and we climbed in. “Thanks.” I said. “No problem. Gives you a chance to get to know a familiar face, at least you won’t be too frightened on your first day.” He smiled. I smiled back as we headed towards my new home for the next three and a half years.

I wasn’t happy about it, though.