Lights Out, Campers

Chapter Three

It's still pitch black when I wake up. For a second, my body tenses with terror and confusion about where I am. This isn't my room. Then, I remember my full day of travel and am put slightly at ease. It doesn't last long, because the disorientation is replaced with severe homesickness. I know it's silly. I wanted to move away more than anything, but now that I've done it, I wonder if it was really all that bad. Sure, I spent most days rotting away in bed but at least it was my bed. I knew where I was. I was comfortable. Now, I'm in a new place and I have absolutely no idea how anything works. Am I going to be the bumbling foreigner who embarrasses herself on a day-to-day basis by doing silly little foreign things? Do I tip? If I do, who do I even tip and how much? Is the coffee really as bad as everyone says? How do I order it? Do they know what a flat white is?

I roll over and reach for my phone. It's three a.m. The brightness from the screen blinds me so I quickly turn it off. The rest of the counsellors are meeting me here at nine. They're from all over, Colorado, New York, Ohio, and Michigan, but they all arrived a day ago and have been staying with Levi's family. He has a minivan, so we'll all be able to fit. It's going to be fun, sort of like a good old American road trip, but it's going to be the first time they see me in person. The girl named Robyn, from Manhattan, is literally one of the most gorgeous people I've ever seen. Maybe she overly touches up her Instagram photos, but she's signed with a modelling agency, so I doubt it. She has been the least active in the group chat, and when she does engage, it's curt, disinterested responses. What if she sticks her nose up at me for being some weird, ugly loser?

I need to make myself presentable.

I turn on the stark white bedside lamp and squint my eyes as I hobble to the bathroom. My clothes still smell like an aeroplane, so I strip them off my body. I hop in the shower immediately and use the hotel shampoo and conditioner. I practically drain the entire bottle in one go.

Note; buy good shampoo and conditioner.

I step out of the shower feeling a little more fresh. The body wash and water are kind of making my skin itch but still, I'm grateful not to smell like I was sitting next to a toilet for twenty-four hours. I grab my toiletry bag from my bag, take out my hairbrush, toothbrush and toothpaste, and get ready for the day ahead. I try to use the hairdryer but after a minute of suffering through the weakest air pressure known to man, I decide to let my hair air dry.

I sit back on my bed. The time is three forty-five, meaning I have over five hours to kill, and there's not much to do this early in the morning. I google the opening hours for the Starbucks right next to the hotel. It opens at six. So, for two hours I have to sit in my hotel room, nervously gnawing at my fingernails, wondering what the next two months are going to be like. My stress has now shifted from what my coworkers will think of me, to what the children will think. Kids are notorious for saying some pretty out-of-pocket things. Will one of them call me ugly? Will one of them point out the pimples on my chin? Will one of them call me fat? What if they take the piss out of me for my accent? Will they call me a terrible person?

Come on, Phoebe, they're fucking kids. Stop being so pathetic. None of these people know what I've done. There's no reason to believe they will treat me like a criminal.

I sign in to the hotel wi-fi and scroll on my phone. I'm still not used to being a pariah because when I connect to the internet, I am expecting an influx of messages. All I get, however, are two messages from Mum.

'Miss you already!', and 'How was the flight? Text me when you get online.'

'At the hotel! It's early :( This jetlag is taking me out', I message back.