Taking The Chance [A Niall Horan Fanfiction]

// Chapter One //

The wheels of my luggage bounced along the pebbled sidewalk as I dragged it across the front of the Gare du Nord. I gripped my duffel bag’s strap and turned to face my parents and my sister: my dad looked as collected as ever and my sister acted tough (but I know she was about to break down inside; she hated goodbyes), but my mom had tears at the brims of her eyes. I held back my own tears as my mom pulled me into her warm embrace.

“I’m going to miss you, Mara,” she softly murmured, her voice losing clarity in the tangles of my hair.

“I’m only going to be gone for about 9 months,” I replied as she tightened the hug, “but I’m going to miss you, too.”

“No bad behavior or we will come and take you out of the school personally.” I secretly rolled my eyes and nodded; same old mom talking with her “loud” voice and threatening me, even when she’s on the verge of crying.

I heard my sister snicker at my mom’s remark behind me. I turned around and embraced her. “I’m going to miss you too, ate!”

She scoffed, wiggling in my arms. “You’re so lucky. You get to go to this cool European school and I had to live through years of terrible public education and now have to face expensive college tuition?”

She pouted and I hugged her tighter. “I know you’ll miss me though.”

She sighed before blinking away her tears and embracing me back. “I know. I’ll miss you a lot. The least you could do is bring me back some cute English or Irish guy, okay? Hook your sister up.” I released my arms around her as she nudged me, winking.

I giggled and approached my dad for a hug. He remained quiet, basking in the moment of holding his daughter for the last time until the term was over. When I pulled away, he revealed a small, white envelope and handed it to me. “That’s one thousand pounds. I know you won’t need it since we paid for all the expenses at Mullingchire already, but it’s for emergencies. Don’t spend it all.” I nodded as I put it safely in the depths of my duffel bag. “Remember, we paid a lot of money for the tuition… you know how the conversion rates from dollars to pounds is… so we expect near-perfect, if not perfect, grades. And remember to Skype call us often. And most importantly, be safe.” He gave me a kiss on the forehead.

“I will!” I reassured and started to walk towards the inside of the station. French men and women rushed by me, nearly tripping over my luggage as I fought my way through the crowd to the giant timetable of trains’ arrival and departure. My family and I spent the past couple of days in Paris, sightseeing and doing the usual tourist stuff… family bonding time before my long-term absence attending school abroad, I suppose. My parents got fed up with the constant education budget cuts in Las Vegas and the raising prices of college in the US—not to mention my constant begging of going to study abroad—so they decided to send me to Mullingchire Heights Academy, one of the best (and priciest!) boarding schools in the UK. It was recommended by one of my mom’s hundreds of co-workers. And after preparing for about two years to apply for this school—saving money, studying for hours a day, actually reading books, memorizing flashcards, completing math workbooks on the weekends, and leaving little relaxation time in between—I passed the entrance exams and I’m finally on my way to the prestigious academy.

I repeatedly looked for my train’s platform number, but I saw nothing. The train was leaving in 20 minutes; how was there no platform number? I blankly stared at the timetable for another five minutes, but saw no change. Frustrated, I stumbled over to the help desk.

“On what platform is train number 913 arriving at? The one heading to London at 9:43 AM?” I pointed to my boarding pass and talked slowly and enunciated every syllable. It is hard to convey a message to the natives, being American and all.

The lady furrowed her eyebrows, confused at what I was asking. In a thick, French accent, she pointed upstairs and said, “All passengers going out of the country board on the upper floor, mademoiselle.” My eyes widened as she continued to speak. “They check passports and luggage up there too.” My eyes darted to the line of people upstairs at security. What?!

I hurriedly thanked her for that vital information and dashed up the escalator. My train leaves in about ten minutes, and there was an extensively long line of people filling out security cards and waiting for the security to check their passports. Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap!

I cut to the front of the line, hearing small shouts and groans from the other passengers behind me, and approached a guard. “Bonjour, sorry to interrupt, but my train leaves in ten minutes, and I can’t miss it.” I begged to him, enunciating every syllable once again.

He looked unamused. “One moment.” He spoke calmly into his walkie-talkie. I glared at him; didn’t he see from my obviously anxious state that this is not a time to be calm?! He handed me a card. “Answer the questions. Another security guard will come and help you.” I snatched the card out of his hand and wrote all my information in illegible print. If my mom saw this handwriting, she would make me get a new card and start all over, but I didn’t care.

I shoved the card and my passport to the new guard, who stamped my passport and started to rush me through the metal detectors and bag checks. While I scrambled to remove my shoes, the guard said, “Do not worry. If you do not make it on this train, we will try to get you a seat on the next train in an hour’s time.” I nodded, slightly reassured that I could make the next train. I’d be a bit late for my move-in time into the dormitories, but fingers crossed that my roommate won’t be a jerk and take all the closet space.

I made it through the metal detector quickly, but my bags were held up behind an old lady’s massive, cat-patterned luggage with two matching rolling bags. I groaned, tapping my foot and silently sending complaints and threats to the old lady for having so many bags for a small, fragile body. As soon as the handle of my rolling luggage and the strap of my duffel bag came through the lip of the machine, I bolted my way down the hallway. The guard jogged alongside me, hollering into his walkie-talkie and pleading to his buddy on the line to buy me some more time to get onto the train.

Right as I got to the platform, I watched the train down the tracks and away from the train station.