H A U N T E D

f i f t y

f i f t y

The journey to another country, another continent, is magnificent. We fly through some rainy weather, for the first hour or so, and I stare at some lightening strikes off in the distance, that it doesn't last long enough. I was lucky enough to have purchased a window seat, and I don't pull the shade down once exhaustion pulls at my eyelids. In the morning, I wake up to the flight attendant announcing that we will be able to notice the first light of dawn soon, and I eagerly await the golden sky with the rosy clouds in tow.

We land two hours later, and my eyes eagerly search for any hint of ancient cathedrals or windmills to say that we are in Amsterdam, but my teacher politely reminds us that we won't see any of that as it is more towards the countryside of the Netherlands. We soon depart from the airplane and a tour guide awaits us with large smiles, a cardboard sign with a black marker calling for HOMER ART STUDENTS

"Homer!", she calls out with a thick accent, and I notice her struggling to pronounce our hometown's name. Mr André asks us to stay for a minute while he goes to meet her, and I watch him go to greet the woman. My eyes take in the mid-morning rush of the Netherlands airport, with its bright blue lights and the smell of cleaning supplies from scrubbing the large tiles clean. Someone bumps into me, on their phone, bustling to get their location. The man turns around to apologize, lifting his hand to the phone to muffle the mic.

"Tut mir Leid", he mumbles. I give him a sad smile, noticing the knife in his abdomen for the first time. The smell of blood and rust follows the spirit deeper into the airport.

"Hey."

I turn to a voice calling for me, and notice two girls that have been with me the entire school year, smiling up at me. During the year, I've noticed them in my Art class, but they never seemed interested in conversing with me so the fact that they're greeting me now, is strange.

"Hello?", I ask more than saying, raising an eyebrow in confusion. They seem to notice my perplexity, and the one girl, with darker hair and velvet skin, laughs with an airy jingle, brushing her hand in the air.

"Oh, sorry. I'm Alexis and this-", she gestured to the smaller, blonde girl with braces. The girl, who reminds me of Alice, waves at me with a bright smile and squinted eyes. In her hands, an open bag of salted potato chips crinkles in her hand. I notice her chewing on one every 30 seconds or so, and I realize I'm hungry as well. Maybe I should go look for a vending machine of some sorts.

"This is Nikola. You're Ophelia, right?"

I hesitate for a moment, wondering what their alternative motivation is to talking to me. Is it possible that once we're removed from the close-minded town of Alaska, people are more friendly to me? I don't want to get more excited, just to be disappointed.

"Of course you are. Everyone knows who you are. Hey, sorry 'bout your mom", Nikola apologizes with the pull of her lips that contrasts what she's stating. Alexis slaps her friend's chest, scolding her like a disappointed mother.

"Oh my God, Nikola. You can be a bit more sympathetic."

I raise my hand to ward her off, giving a nervous laugh and shaking my head slightly.

"No, it's okay. Thanks, though", I look at Nikola. She seems a bit oblivious to social cues, but she didn't mean any harm in her words. Nikola clicks her tongue, as if to prove her friend wrong.

"See! I told you she's cool. Why didn't you let me speak to her earlier?", she questions her friend, whose face turns bright red with embarrassment. The situation is so hilarious and awkward, I can't help but to chuckle. This seems to break the tension between us, and Alexis' humiliation falls away, replaced with a relieved grin. Strangely, within myself, I find consolation in an abyss which I didn't know existed. Some small, twisted part of me seemed to be fearful of having to spend the next two weeks without anyone to speak with.