One Summer later, Samantha Wilsey arrived at Buttercombe Academy. Baggage still in tow.
It had been an uneventful plane ride, paid for in lieu of Sam’s allowance for the Summer. She’d ridden coach and had seen a few other girls about her age, possibly other acceptees, but mostly stayed to herself. She had her bags, a big rolling suitcase that had been her Mom’s and a duffel bag that held whatever wouldn’t fit in the suitcase, and had just given the last of her travel fund to the bus driver who had dropped her off.
Her boots crunched against the gravel as she practically fell out of the bus. She had been the only one inside besides the driver, making for a very awkward trip up the mountain. Her butt was numb, and her legs were stiff. The last thing on her mind was school.
She really wished her Mom was there with her right now, telling her not to screw up while at the same time wishing her the best of luck was like breathing to the Wilsey women. It would have done Sam a world of good to have had a friendly face beside her, even her mother’s, and she secretly wished that she had never left the airport. That she was still at home, still locked in that forty-minute hug she just barely escaped from in their living room. It had made them late, and Sam really wished that she could have at least gotten another one before she left. It would be a long time before she saw her mom again.
She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and opened them expecting to be back home. That this was all some dream, and that she hadn’t woken up that morning. She expected to see her mother hovering over her, rushing her out of bed because they were going to be late. She opened her eyes to, instead, see an intimidatingly large building.
It looked like an old church. Or a fortress. Or maybe a mansion. Possibly all three. Sam had never seen anything so big. It was easily larger than her high school and then some. It felt like she and the building were in a staring contest—her narrowed brown eyes exchanging hateful looks with the central tower’s big round window.
“Hey, move it, newbee.”
Sam was torn from her thoughts as she was nudged out of the way by some fat girl with red hair with twice as much luggage as she had. Sam exhaled sharply and called her a bitch before continuing onward. The big oaken doors were wide open and flush with girls going in and out as they pleased. The gravelly driveway was clogged with women hugging their daughters and practically flooded with tears. Her mother wouldn’t have done all that, would she?
Sam shook her head—No need to get sentimental again.
She simply ignored the gaggle of crying women and pressed onward, coming up the steps and into the halls of Buttercombe Academy…
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