Leuthold Preparatory | ✓

Chapter One

The Birthday Present 

 Home existed on 5438 North Abbot Street. A stone wall bound property that had wooden siding and green shutters along the bat-shaped house; tightly clustered together despite its size, having many curved doors and cutoffs from the spiral staircase that were all a stark white. It was hidden amongst large trees and forestry, one might miss it if they weren't looking closely.

Home existed on North Abbot Street. A nice, peaceful street where a noisy muffler was certain to alert the police. A nice, peaceful street where trees grew in straight, little rows. A nice, peaceful street where the cars were nicer than the people. A nice, peaceful street where nothing ever went wrong. A nice, peaceful street where nothing ever happened.

Home did not exist in an airplane bathroom where the only child of 5438 North Abbot Street clung to his phone as if he were sure to drop it as he had for most of the contents of his stomach. Home did not exist on an airplane at all. Airplanes were small, cluttered, no space, no closed off doors, all eyes upon him. Home did not exist flying thousands of miles in the air.

Still, Noah had his elbows on the sink, his phone in his hands, pressed to his forehead as if in prayer; his eyes were focused on the running water in the sink. The noise was comforting, it reminded him of the water feature outside of his bedroom window. An installation that had sent his father through the roof at his mother's spending habits once again. An installation that stayed no matter how it made them shout, then deny they were fighting at all.

The Coopers' lived a nice, peaceful life on the nice, peaceful Abbot Street. Nothing went wrong on the street. Nothing went wrong inside the home. There was a reason the curtains were drawn, a reason the doors were closed, a reason one could hardly see more than ten feet into the house, walls encasing them like zoo cages. However, Noah might have preferred those toxic walls to the ones that now contained him, somehow all-too thick yet all-too thin for his altitude and speed.

It didn't matter how many times the stewardesses told him that he had to sit for the landing, it wasn't changing his stomach's mind. If anything, the idea of landing after nothing but turbulence was a horrific reminder of his situation.

Not even when he was flown forward, knocking his head into the plastic mirror, did his mind change. The stewardess outside the door was getting testy but he could hardly hear her voice as the captain came over the intercom, his message was in French, then translated to German by another voice, then English by another, telling them they were descending.

Noah kept his hand on the door out of desperation to keep the persistent stewardess out. He could hardly think, hardly breathe. 

("You have two choices," his father's voice rang clear in his ears when he was shown pamphlets that showed far-off capitals of Europe. Noah remembered taking one, looking it over and thinking that his parents were planning another trip that would miraculously fix their marriage.

"Either," his father had continued, dragging Noah's attention to him, "You go away to university or a preparatory school."

"I'm in my last year of high school. I graduate before the summer." Noah had said.

"Precisely." His mother said, her drawn-eyebrow arching, "What have you got to show for it?"

Noah had felt as though his school uniform was choking him as his mother looked over him with a scowl. No matter what, if there was a drink in her hand, her face could not lie. She couldn't hide her disgust.

"A post-preparatory school," his father elongated 'post' so much that Noah averted his attention to the birds outside of the window.

"I can take care of myself while you two leave. I've done it a thousand times by now." Noah said bitterly before his father could speak.

"Either!" His mother boomed over them, it seemed she was fed up with how long they were dragging the conversation on. "You leave to a post-preparatory school or you stay here!" There was a pause, "Should you stay here, your father and I will get divorced."

"What?" Noah had asked, he had felt his jaw tremble as he looked from his mother to his father. The announcement was so sudden, Noah had felt as if he were snapped around. His eyes fell different upon his parents. He had felt more seasick then, as if the world were shaking more than in the airplane and storm that had forced him into the bathroom.

"You either go away, or we divorce." His father confirmed. His words were so harsh, Noah felt as though they were on repeat inside of his mind the entire plane ride.

At a loss for words when he had heard them, Noah had only gripped his summer uniform tighter. Staring at his parents, he knew that his eyes must have begged to give another option.

"It's your choice," his mother had told him before taking a drink of her wine. "Leave and we stay, stay and one of us leaves.")

Home should have existed on 5438 North Abbot Street. All eyes and thoughts of the Coopers were of how nice and loving they were. A pity they only had one child. A quiet, pretty child with his father's dark hair and mother's dark eyes for a nice, peaceful house on a nice, peaceful street. A nice, peaceful eighteenth birthday for the nice, peaceful child of 5438 North Abbot Street. What could a quiet, pretty child do but accept?