Don't Instruct the Wind

Chapter 2

The rattling train disrupted the peaceful nap I was indulging in. Damn, I thought by the time I would wake up, I'd be close, but looking out the window and seeing only an ample amount of verdant hills told me I wasn't anywhere near a kingdom.

The stunning sights of the countryside weren't enough to distract me from my thoughts. I'm not sure what to expect of this school. Am I used to foreign environments and not being around family every day? Not at all. Literally every day for me is a family get-together. I'm on my own here now—for a week too. Is this what growing up feels like?

Let me not think about that. Instead, I'll think about how I hope not a single human on this rattle-snake-of-a-train saw me sleeping. Malia told me that when I sleep, my mouth is always wide open, as if I'm trying to catch flies, and that my eyes roll back like I'm possessed.

I pulled out my notepad and began to list the things I needed to do later in the day: unpack, meet the other nitwits, and check to make sure the bedsheets are actually washed.

There's no point in me jotting down the rest of my important crap if this rattling train is going to make my words look like they were written blindfolded. Staring out of the window and glancing at the hills, the cows, and the run-down barns wasn't the worst.

Before I knew it, I arrived at my destination: the marvelous Kingdom Hydrangea—just joking, it literally looks like any other pretentious kingdom. I grabbed my valise and hopped off. All I have now is the letter with the school's address on it. A fucking map would have been nice.

After walking for a little longer, finally away from the crowds, I began to look for someone that seemed like they knew this kingdom like the back of their hand.

I walked up to a random man, who was standing around as if he wanted to be spoken to anyways. "Hey! Hey! Sir, do you have any idea where this place is? It's just some school." I questioned, pointing to the address on the letter.

"Oh, that school is down that road," he pointed, "and then make two lefts. It's right across from what I believe is a graveyard. You know what, I can walk you there. I'll be your travel guide—your cicerone—"

"No you won't. Thanks though," I blurted before he could step one foot out to accompany me.

Trust me, he's better off just standing where he is. Maybe some prostitute will find him and toss his solitude out the door.

I finally made it to the campus, and kept double checking if the numbers on the masonry fence matched the numbers on the letter.

This is it. I wonder how many people have had sex here.

If you told me this school was shut down decades ago, I'd believe you, for it was desolated. The school, made of stones as dark as thunderclouds, sat in between an abundance of trees. There were picnic tables with vines twisted around them scattered in the wide front yard. I strolled up the river rock pathway that led to the immense timber doors.

Pushing the doors open, I was reassured to see other faces in the school's main lobby. Groups of teens were scattered around velvet sofas or on the polished grand staircase in the center. The sounds of distant instruments and laughter rang in the background. I looked over towards the scattered groups by the sofas and began to walk towards them. How the hell am I supposed to know where my group is?

Glancing back down at the worn-out letter, I noticed tiny words written on the corner of the paper, which read: Our group name is Triangle.

I know I didn't come all this way to be in a group named "Triangle."

After seeming to be lost, which was quite embarrassing, I glanced over to a group that was circled around a table far from the other crowds of people and walked up to them. For some reason, I feel as if this is where I should be.