Today's Reading
2
FINAL BOARDING CALL
Eight hours earlier, June 21, 4:04 p.m. CDT
My phone, buried in the pocket of my navy school blazer, pings with the thousandth text from Nikki. I ignore it, instead scooping up my messenger bag from the floor and slinging the strap over my shoulder. Our flight is on a private jet, but the clock over the gate shows we're already ten minutes behind schedule. Surely they'll call us to board any minute now.
Last time I counted, all twelve of us were here. Two students each from six private boarding schools across the US, our clashing plaid uniforms like a Scottish tartan factory exploded all over the hard plastic seats of the terminal. We came in on different flights from our respective cities to meet here at Chicago O'Hare, and the last pair arrived forty minutes ago.
I 'should' be using this time to size up the competition, but when the dark- haired gate agent behind the desk picks up her phone to make a call, I give in and dig my cell out. I swipe past the lock screen with its picture of me and Nikki. She looks like a model, with her hair falling in beach-kissed waves practically to her waist, wide-set eyes a few shades bluer than my sea-green ones, and perfect skin. She's got one arm carelessly slung around my shoulders, pinning my too-straight strawberry-blond hair. Freckles splattered across my nose glare back at me, making me look more like the popular girl's project rather than her BFF since childhood. Sometimes I wonder if I'm only popular by proximity.
Girl, u talk to any hot guys yet?
Despite the nerves making my knee bounce like a jackhammer, a smile cracks my lips. That 'would' be the most pressing concern on my best friend's mind. The other student from my school, Dylan, leans across the gray armrest between us and reads over my shoulder.
"You talked to 'me'," he says, one hazel eye winking behind his wire- rimmed glasses.
"I'm pretty sure she doesn't mean 'you'."
He's close enough that his shoulder presses into mine, and I get another whiff of his ocean-scented cologne, the same clean fragrance I've been treated to all day since leaving Hartford this morning. Only years of practice keep me from giving up the secret that I've had a huge crush on him since seventh grade.
That and the fact he's Nikki's boyfriend.
Before I can tap out a response, Dylan swipes the phone from my hand and shoots off his own reply. OMG, the hottest guy is sitting next to me. Then a string of kissing emojis.
"Dylan, give it back!" I squeal. Too many sets of eyes swivel my direction in the quiet waiting area. Apparently, nobody at the other schools has a social life, except maybe the girl from Lancashire Academy in Philadelphia. Olivia? Her wavy blond hair and flawless complexion match the profile picture on the bio sheet the Bonhomme Foundation sent out— practically Nikki's clone. She's been splitting her time between giggling over her phone, eyeing Dylan, and shooting me dirty looks. 'Good.' If she's distracted by him, she won't be as focused on whatever the foundation's scholarship committee has in store for us.
Another text from Nikki pings. Dylan, give Em her phone.
He snickers, shaking his head, and hands it over. "How do you two always know?"
I shrug. "Best friends since fifth grade. What do you expect?"
The sharp click of heels on linoleum announces the arrival of a flight attendant, a middle-aged woman with blond hair secured in a tidy bun and dressed in a purple crepe suit. She exchanges a couple of words with the gate agent, and the woman with the bun proceeds down the ramp toward the plane.
The agent at the counter picks up her microphone. "Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your patience. At this time, we will begin boarding the Bonhomme Foundation's private flight to Paris, France. Please have your passports and boarding passes ready."
I've been perched on the edge of my seat waiting for this announcement for the last two hours, but my mouth goes dry anyway. Maybe because my future depends on this opportunity.
It's not every day you get to compete for an award that will guarantee four all-expenses-paid years at an Ivy League college, experience working as a youth ambassador for a nonprofit, 'and' a postgraduate mentorship, much less travel to Europe for said competition. Missing part of summer break back home is an added bonus, seeing as how I don't technically have a home right now.
Another secret I've been keeping.
Two weeks in a posh Paris hotel sounds a lot more appealing than living in my mom's Subaru Outback, no matter how you slice it. My neck grows hot. Not even Nikki knows how bad things have gotten.
Thankfully, my needs-based scholarship to Exeter guarantees my escape from homelessness in the fall 'if' I can survive the summer. My mom always insisted that my time at boarding school would be the best part of my childhood—speaking from 'her' experience, of course. She still gets misty- eyed when she talks about Windsor- Dalton, like the only thing she wants in life is to time-travel back there and keep reliving her four years of high school, even though Dad used to hint it wasn't all roses and homecoming dances. If only she'd put more effort into her classes and less into her social life, maybe we wouldn't be stuck living in a car right now.
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