Victim

Chapter 3

Heathrow Airport was very crowded, but I was now through Passport Control. I sat on a metal bench, pulled out my laptop, and looked up the school: Rio de Janeiro Boarding School for Girls (it actually read Rio de Janeiro Escola de Embarque para Meninas, but I changed the language to English.) It seemed very fascinating, with a swimming pool, an art studio, a music block, a language block, a science block and a huge sports hall. Apparently all the pupils got their own Samsung Tablet, so they could do what they wanted in their spare time. They also got to choose their timetables, so they could pick the subjects that they wanted. It would definitely have to be Music and The Arts for me!

I clicked on a photo of the dormitories to see what they would be like, and they were stunning. Each pupil got their own bed, wardrobe, bookshelf, chest of drawers and their own en suite bathroom! Photoshop, I decided. Even though the whole learning Portuguese thing was gonna be tough, anyway. I checked the flight board and my flight was scheduled for 10:30. The flight was gonna be 6 tedious hours in a hot plane, whilst scoffing Murray Mints constantly. Then a voice called, "Would the passengers who are flying to San Paolo airport please board within the next 15 minutes. Thank you."

Well, this was it: time to say goodbye to England and hello to Brazil for what seemed like forever but was really only 3 months. My mum gave me my rucksack and picked up hers too, her short blonde hair swaying in the wind, aka the air conditioning. There were people eager to get to their plane, some enjoying instant black coffee, in no rush at all. The way they were so relaxed made me feel calmer. My parents were sending me to Brazil for my own benefit - but why didn't it feel right? Maybe they had left out an important detail that I would be better off knowing. That thought sickened me, so I stopped thinking about it.

Sadly, I wasn't the type of girl to repeat cheesy lines from soppy movies to comfort me - like 'everything's gonna be okay', or 'don't worry, you'll be fine', because in those movies the heroine usually got swallowed whole by some CGI monster: that was pointless junk. My music normally reflected my attitude - one day hard core, another classical, another maybe Caribbean or some retro electric guitar ensemble with galactic drums. The possibilities were endless.

After scanning my passport, they directed me towards the plane. A smoky whiff came through the door, and it was freezing cold outside, which didn't help. The engines were warming up as I walked up the stairs, various passengers behind me. Whilst settling down, I took in the view - a huge glass building with the monotonous grey sky behind it. Fluffy white clouds were drifting by, in comparison with the black of the tarmac which had been placed on the ground. The aeroplane had almond coloured leather seats, with tables attached to the back of them, for passengers behind to lean or eat on.

It seemed that once we were in the air, the travel sickness kicked in instantly, making my stomach twist unexpectedly. I scrambled through my belongings and popped a Murray Mint in my mouth. Instead of trying to swallow it, I let it linger, because it was keeping my mouth pleasantly cool. There were some old scraps of paper on the floor, so I picked them up and started flicking through them. They were just ripped brochures of Brazil, but one of them surprised me, so I decided to study it closely. It read:

The Rio de Janeiro Boarding School for Girls has been highly praised for its cleanliness and its overall attitude towards educating " little princesses" . The girls who live there are treated like the queens they were born to be. We went to interview Inspector Garcia and he said: "I have never seen any school quite like it. It certainly beats my principles."

One line in particular caught my eye: 'The queens they were born to be'. Did they feed us cucumber sandwiches or fancy little pancakes topped with caviar? Would they be there when we were weary and sick? Probably, but it still didn't make sense. I was not going to be some petty princess: I was born to be the English loser who everyone called 'Jelly Belly'. My life had no other purpose. Before anyone else could notice my curiousness, I swiftly folded the scrap of paper and tucked it into my rucksack for safekeeping. Yeah, like that was going to stop the girls who went prowling round, and rummaging through people's personal belongings.

It was a long, painful journey, but I made through it all the same, still clinging on to that fateful image which I had packed in my suitcase. Tears stung my eyes, but I swiftly brushed them away. Of course I didn't want to look like a homesick idiot on my first day. It was a fresh start.