The Perks of Being a Rowling

ii. the boy who lived

Dedicated to Defend (Mariam) because if it wasn't for her I probably would have never gotten into Harry Potter in the first place. 

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             So far, America isn’t great. Now, it’s not like I was expecting a welcome parade for my honor, but a “Welcome to America!” sign would have been nice. Or even a simple hello from anyone would have been nice as well. Instead I get pushed out of the way by everyone, and I’m pretty sure my shoe was not this dirty going into the flight.

            That wasn’t even the worst part: the worst part is that I’m lost.

            People were rushing through the airport, either trying to reach for their luggage or catch a last minute flight. I have no idea how many times someone has pushed or shoved me in the last hour but I’m pretty sure it was enough to realize that I was lost.

            Usually, in situations like these, I would never ask a soul for help. I hate asking people for help, because that involves communicating with someone. However at this point, I was desperate and I needed to make it to the campus before the sun set. So I toughed it out and went up to the first stranger I saw.

            “Excuse me sir, I was wondering if you locate me to where-“

            “No.”

            “But, I really need to find-“

            “No, I have 3 kids who need to pee, now leave me alone.” And with that, the man keeps walking.

            Another thing I learn about Americans under an hour: they’re rude.

            This is going to take forever! I have no idea where my bags are and at this rate they might as well be in California or something. I sit down and groan. Even though I have always wanted to be my own, I had no idea how hard it would be. At this rate, I was never going to make to Brown in time.                      

                Then, somehow, a miracle occurs.

            “Excuse me miss, but are these your bags?” A little boy who couldn’t be any older than 12 asks me. I take a look at the familiar luggage and realize that those are mine.

            “Yes!” I scream. I’m so relieved that I grab the boy and give him a tight hug. After I stop hugging him, he runs off as fast as he could.

            I guess Americans don’t like hugging.

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            After getting checked in, I find myself standing in front of my dorm room. Right behind that door, however, is my roommate. She’s the girl that I’m going to spend the next four years with, and as scary as that is, I really hope she isn’t some kind of freak.

            Most importantly, I hope she isn’t some kind of Harry Potter freak.

            I slowly unlock the door as if I was in some kind of really bad horror film. I open the door to find a girl wearing a Japanese kimono decorating her side of the room. I was positive that she didn’t even hear me come in, and soon I realize that I was right because the music in her headphones is destroying my eardrums. I didn’t even recognize the language it was in, but it didn’t take a genius to guess that it was in Japanese.

            “Finally!” She shrieks, “I was beginning to think that my roommate died or something!”

            “Hello.” I nervously wave at her. I wasn’t exactly the best at meeting new people, or talking to new people. There was something strange about this girl- for one thing I notice that even though she is wearing Japanese clothing, and listening to Japanese music, she wasn’t Japanese.