Bad Attitude.

The train into Yorkshire was long, thought the brunette as she flicked through pages of her book slowly, not paying any mind to what was written on them. Instead, her mind was elsewhere, thinking of how her life drastically changed in the bare minimum of seventy-two hours. It was nearing six o’clock in the evening, and she had already taken a plane from L.A to London, and was now on train into The Yorkshire Dales, where the preparatory was located. It was a large school centre in the countryside of England, where wealthy parents sent their kids so they needn’t have to deal with them. The school had a reputation of straightening out juveniles, and the rules were as strict of those at a high security prison.

Bryony gazed out of the train’s window, the vast land of green and russet seemed to lull her into a sleepy daze. Her emerald eyes felt heavy as they watched the passing blurs of colour; she placed her novel down and laid her head against the wall of the train car. She pulled her legs up onto the seat, stretching them out, making herself comfortable as she planned on taking a quick nap before arriving to the station. The school was sending someone to fetch her; she thought about making a dash for it. But she was in a foreign place; how would she make it on her own? She’d just take her chances at the school. Maybe it wasn’t as bad as she was making it to be.

***
A light tap was felt on Bryony’s shoulder. She wakes then, rubbing her eyes and staring up at an unfamiliar face. She sits up abruptly, blinking her eyes frantically, remembering where she was once the sight of the inside of the train car’s welcomed her vision. She stares at the train’s conductor, who wore a worried expression.

“I didn’t mean to startle you miss, we have arrived at our destination.” She finds that she was the only one left on the train car, and quickly grabs her bag and novel and stands.

“Right, sorry.”
She speaks meekly, still awakening from her nap. She hadn’t planned on sleeping the entire two hours. But she felt rested; jet lag was a pain. She still felt like she could take another nap. But it had to wait till she arrived at the school. The idea of Mandrid brought a groan from her lips. She stepped off the train and retrieved her luggage. The weather was chilly, and a gust of wind made her snuggle further into her cardigan. Jeans and a sweater didn’t seem to keep her warm enough. She regretted it then.

She stood around, looking for a person holding a sign with her name on it. After a good five minutes of constant head turning, she found a man in an all black suit, holding a white sign with her last name, James, written neatly. She stepped up to the man, and smiled weakly.

“I’m Ms. James,” Her voice was hoarse from just waking up, but the tall older man understood her. He stared down at her with his pale blue eyes, and nodded.
“I’m Mr. Jenkins; I’ll be taking you to Mandrid. Allow me to take your bags.” He tossed the sign in the nearest rubbish bin and grabbed Bryony’s luggage. She followed him to a black Jaguar. He placed her bags in the boot of the car, and opened the back door. She thanked him and slipped into the back seat, sliding against the smooth leather. It smelt brand new, and looked it too. She fastened herself in, and waited for the driver. Once he too was inside, and started the car’s engine, they were off.

She had time to contemplate the events that had led her to England. Her parents weren’t too pleased with her behaviour back in Los Angeles. She couldn’t blame them really; she lost control. Picking the wrong friends and boyfriend was what left her in a heap of trouble. But for them to send her across the Atlantic Ocean to a country she’s never been to was insane. She didn’t deserve that—at least that’s what she thought.

The drive was fairly decent; it was a good thirty minutes. They drove up a paved road, and along side of them was a tall brick fence, obscured by trees that lead on for miles. She tried to see beyond the braches but couldn’t—the school was well hidden. They pulled up to a rod iron gate, which was automatically opened. She unbuckled and leaned in for a closer look.

The school was too made of the reddish brick like the fence; a sense of elegance emitted from the building and its surroundings. She felt like she was stepping into a Jane Austen novel. Mr. Jenkins took in Bryony’s awed expression, and let out a soft chuckle.

“This is just the girl’s dormitories. The boy’s sleeping quarters is on the other side.” She let her jaw drop a smidge.

“You mean this isn’t the entire school?” Jenkins laughed again.

“No, this is just the dormitories. The actual school is in the middle of the field to your west. I know, you’ll get lost your first time around, but it’ll get easier. I’ll let you out here. You just go into this building and Mrs. Walsh will tend to you.”

She wasn’t use to the politeness I was getting from everyone; the air hostesses, the train conductor and now Jenkins. It was way different from America. Maybe that’s what her parents had meant by, “Better for you.” But still, England was too far from home, she thought.

Jenkins had helped Bryony with her bags until they reached the door. She said thank you, and he promised to see her again. She watches him drive away, and it saddened her. She had the feeling she got whenever summer was over and the idea of going back to school set in. Bryony was nervous, and felt like a caged bird with its wings clipped. She hated this feeling—more than anything.

She took a deep breath before opening the door and going inside. Once she was in the foyer, her breath was stripped from her. This place was more like a palace from a hanging crystal chandelier to a mahogany staircase. Elegant was an understatement now. She continued to look around, finding no one in sight. She stared at the pictures that hung on the walls; they were portraits of ladies from the 1800’s. The frames were painted gold, giving it a prestige finish.

Bryony continued to stare about like a tourist. Was anyone home? She started to get agitated and just wanted to settle into her room. She was dead tired and her stomach roared with hunger. She sat on the last step of the staircase, tapping her feet hard against the marble floor.

“Who are you?” An accented voice calls. She turned around to see a petite red head in a navy and plaid skirt and white color shirt standing behind her. She stands quickly.

“I’m Bryony, I’m new here.” She extended her hand, and the red headed girl stares at it for a moment with cautious blue eyes, unsure. It took her a moment, but then she placed her small hand into Bryony’s.

“I’m Charlotte. And if you’re looking or Mrs. Walsh, everyone’s at the cafeteria eating dinner. I just came back to get my sweater. I’ll take you there if you want.” She smiled, thankful for an explanation to why she was alone. Silly Jenkins must have forgotten to mention, she thinks innocently.

“That’d be great! But where do I put my stuff?” Charlotte stares down at Bryony’s luggage and shifts her lips to the side as if she was thinking hard.

“You can put them in my room until we get back.” She hurries down the stairs and grabs one of her bags. Bryony picks up the other and follows suit as she charges up the steps.

“I’m excited. I’ve never met an American before.” She states casually as they make it to the top. Bryony suddenly felt like an alien. But was flattered to be her first.

“Really?” Was all she could say. They walked down a long hallway, which resembled downstairs. The doors were made of mahogany as well, and the door knobs were golden. Each door had a number inscribed on it. Charlotte stopped at door number thirty-six. She retrieves a key from around her neck, and unlocks the door.

“Just drop your bag here,” She places her other bag on Charlotte’s bed. Her room was simple and clean. It looked more like a guest room. A single bed was against a large curtained window. A nightstand was beside it, which held a lamp, an alarm clock and a book. A dresser was across from the bed, and perfumes and more books lay atop of that. She liked to read, Bryony had figured. She obliged Charlottes request and tossed her other bag on to the bed with the other one.

“Now, let’s go eat. I’m starved!”

Me too, she thought. Her stomach roared, agreeing.