The Land of Great Air

Prologue

My head hurt.

Really bad.

I think it was my ears actually, they're ringing and popping and screaming to not be a billion miles in the sky.

I reached up to press the button with the little lady illuminated on it, as if it would somehow cure the resounding, high pitched note echoing through my agitated brain. The faded yellow button sank in with a painful "ding". I relaxed as much as I could back into my seat. My stomach started to spin a little and my throat was getting real tight. I didn't want to throw up on the plane. The Old Bat sitting next to me would flip out. She was already sending snotty glares in my direction and had been since we boarded. I didn't really want to give her more to be pissy about. Just in case, I grabbed the little white bad and grasped it in my sweating palms.

"Hello, Darling, what seems to be the problem?" said an overly cheery voice. I looked up at the smiling face of my flight attendant and felt instantly like I was going to vomit. She really needed some how learn to apply make up without looking like she had cake batter slathered on her face.

"I don't feel well," I said. My face was surely as green as her little vest by now. I heard a sniffle from the Old Bat and the swish of the window plane sliding open.

The stewardess shined her large, bleached white teeth down at me. God, she had something green caught between her first two teeth. Gross. My stomach brewed again. "Well, Miss, what exactly do you need? A glass of water? A... " she glanced down at the bag clenched in my hands, "... nother Stomach Bag?" I shook my head.

“Water,” I grumbled out. The Old Bat mumbled something about teenagers being rude. I didn’t care. I just wanted to get the hell off this plane, as quickly as possible.

The stewardess smiled again. The green thing, probably part of the spinach salad they served us two hours earlier had moved a little to the tip of her tooth. “Would you like ice, no ice?”

I shook my head. Didn’t people realize when someone just needed some plain water. She faltered. I saw it in the little twitch her lips took towards frowning. God, I wanted her to frown. If it would close her mouth. With every breathe she took the little green thing swung back and forth, back and forth. “Would you like sparkling or still water?”

I smiled, tight lipped and stuck up, just the way M. taught me to when someone was being annoying. “I just want plain, still, no sparkling, no ice, water. Please. I’m not asking for much here.” She nodded. And walked off. Probably to mutter cursings about how snotty first class passengers were. Most of it was probably true.

M. and P., my mother and father- as I had been calling them since like middle school, had arranged for me to fly first class. Some sort of apology for sending me out to the middle of nowhere. Aka Boulder, Colorado. Known for their air. Yeah. Their air. M. had always loved flying first class, one of the perks that came with marrying the top Orthopedic Surgeon in Washington DC. Not that M. would ever allow her daughter to grow up in the “slums” of the city. I was born and raised in Potomac, Maryland. High class suburbs- just the way M. and P. wanted it.

The whole deal with this trip to the Town of Great Air was M. and P.’s idea in the first place. They had wanted to travel around Italy for the summer. I hadn’t wanted to. I had wanted to spend the summer with my friends from high school, rehashing old memories and talking up the new ones from Freshmen year at our various colleges.

P. had stopped listening when I said I didn’t want to go to Italy and listen to their flirtations while I slept on a couch. Must have been my phrasing.

When I was in high school, I was the track star of the school. Samantha White’s mother had talked up CTS, Colorado Track Stars, to M. I had to remember to thank her for the amazing summer she had resigned me to.

Somehow M. had remembered, past the alcoholism, about Mrs. White’s brag session. She signed me up to fly out to Boulder a week after I got back from school. Yeah, I got a week to catch up with my old best friends, lucky me. To soften the blow, M. had arranged for the flight to be nonstop, the quickest they came and for me to be plopped up next to the elderly and rich in first class.

I groaned and slammed my head back against the cushioned head rest. Must have knocked my central-ear-balance-whatever because I got real dizzy again. Damn, my ears hurt. And the filet mignion was not sitting well. Even with the foot of space between us, the Old Bat seemed ticked at my inability to get comfortable. I looked over at her and smiled. She looked back out the window. I rolled my eyes. M. always said I had a bad habit of rolling my eyes, she said it made me look like a brat.

“Here’s your water, Miss,” the same flight attendant was back. I looked up at her, my eyes started to water. She was brunette, shiny hair in a tight bun. She had a forest green flip in her hair, matched the vest and skirt. Her name tag read “Sarah.” A very typical flight attendant name.

I took the water and put it in the cup holder on the armrest, after taking a hesitant sip. “Thank you, Sarah,” I smiled up to her.

Unlikely that triggered her to smile. And her to respond. “You’re welcome, Miss.”

The final ‘s’ syllable caused the green thing that I had hoped was more tightly logged in her teeth to fly out. And land on my arm.

Sorry, Old Bat.

I brought the Stomach Bag up to my mouth and vomited.

This summer was going to be awesome.

Chapter One

My nausea had pretty much passed by the time I got into the taxi. I had half expected M. to hire a personal driver after the ridiculously extravagant (though not appreciated) first class plane trip. I guess the apologies for sending me away for the entire summer ended with the one grand spent in the air.

I had given the driver a brochure for the camp and the older man seemed overly pleased to be driving there. “Just glad to not be goin’ through Denver, ma’am,” he responded to my questioning look at his enthusiasm. I assumed Denver was like any other large city- unmanageable traffic, undistinguishable buildings and unnavigatable streets. I wasn’t a big city girl myself, always preferring the comfort of the suburbs to the hectic life of a metropolis.

Like any other cabbie, the aging man tried desperately to make conversation. “So, good ol’ Boulder is known for its running terrain. We get people from all over America coming to enjoy it. Some kids from Mexico and Canada, too.” He glanced back at me, bushy white eyebrows shooting up underneath the shaggy disheveled graying mass that was his hair. Some people just can’t groom themselves. “Where ya’ from, sweetie?”

I broke the eye contact. I hated making small talk with people I’d never see again. Honestly, what was the point? I figured I owed him a curt answer and that was all, “DC area.”

He waited for a good minute for me to elaborate. I didn’t.

“I do love Washington DC. Me and my wife, Greta, took my daughter out there for the cherry blossom festival 5 years ago. It’s was something else, so pretty in such a grey area.” He paused, again waiting for some kind of response. “You ever been to see them cherry blossoms?”

Of course I had been. M. and P. had celebrated their 15 year anniversary there. And, of course we had a school trip once or twice to get in touch with the beauty of nature. His tiny brown eyes sought any type of confirmation. I shook my head.

He looked a little upset, perhaps finally realizing I wasn’t in the mood to talk. “Oh, well, you should go then, darling. Quite the experience.”

That was the end of his efforts. We sat in silence while the scenery rolled by. The small town was about an hour away and I took the time to watch out my window at the varying sites. After leaving the airport, we soon reached the borderlines of the city, Denver, but the highway kept us out of the way of getting lost in the maze of streets. The city really was something, the sunset sending sparkling reflections across the area. The lights of the buildings were just beginning to illuminate, a rainbow spectrum that was enjoyable even to me, a proud and true hater of cities.

It only took about 10 minutes to get out of view of the city, and we drove through fairly flat land, shrubbery and trees lining the interstate. We passed a medium sized town that reminded me of home, a huge shopping mall that I vowed to visit.

Not long later, we were finally getting through the mountains. It was dark by then, the jutting rocks a dark green and blue making the place seem almost magical. I would have been able to appreciate it more if the cabbie didn’t tell me at the moment that we were nearing Boulder. Dread filled my stomach, a tight twisting knot of apprehension.

I always hated meeting new people. And I didn’t know anyone here. It would be days of suffering in loneliness, desperate to see my friends. I had already gone through the process of making new friends the prior year at college. After two months of sitting in my dorm room by myself, I had finally mustered up the courage to hang out with a few girls from class. I had made friends of the people who shared my major and my dorm floor, but, nothing compared to the girls at home that I had been close with for seven years. I was getting majorly bitter at M. again.

I had been warned by friends who had been before that Boulder was a tiny, very liberal town. As we rolled through the small, one story houses, I got everything I was expecting. The town must have only been 10 miles in the widest expanse and as we passed through the main town, I couldn’t help but notice the lack of chain stores. Everything looked self-owned, including a small restaurant called “The Tea Spot” in which loud music was echoing out of. I was relieved to see a small Starbucks. My addiction to Vanilla Bean Iced Frappachinos could be fed here.

We kept driving, past the center of the town (which was ridiculously small), past the University the town was known for (I had to appreciate the Pueblo Mexican inspired architecture) and we headed up. “The camp’s just outside of the borderlines of the town,” the cabbie said. I decided then and there that he deserved a good tip. I had heard people out here were nicer, perhaps he was expecting someone who was willing to make conversation with him. I had the money that M. had provided me for just the taxi, and the total price would be a lot lower then the amount she gave me.

It wasn’t his fault he had to pick up me, I probably would have been more socialable if I wasn’t marching to the worst summer of my life. Up head, I could see the illumination of artificial lighting reflecting against the trees.

It took only 5 more minutes to reach the camp. The camp really wasn’t impressive, for how much Mrs. White had spoken it up. The entire camp was alight with flood lights, all focusing on the center of the camp, where there was a small stage and benches set up around it. Around the parameter of stage was eight smaller cabins, probably for sleeping in. There were three other buildings, all with the standard log cabin look, though they were obviously more modern. Probably activity centers, cafeterias and the main guy’s office. I had forgotten the head counselor’s name, but I distinctly remembered it was odd for some reason.

As we passed under the large wooded sign that proudly declared the name of the camp, I saw the gathering of people around the amphitheatre. It looked like everyone was already there, milling around aimlessly. Several groups of teenagers were gathered together, avidly talking. The age range of the campers, I assumed, was late teens, from about 16 to 19. M. had said something about how there were severe age restrictions on the attendance at the camp, and how I was lucky that everyone there would be my age. I just hoped the people weren’t too eccentric.

The cab pulled to a stop and I couldn’t help but feel every single eye turn towards me. I guess I was one of the last to arrive. The cabbie rattled off the price of the ride, the smile long gone from his eyes and voice. I rounded up to the next twenty and jumped out, pulling my bright red luggage out of the trunk. P. had said something about bright colors being easier to spot at baggage claim in the airport. He sped off and I was left standing there with what appeared to be 50 sets of eyes staring at my discomfort. Most of the campers had arrived earlier in the day, the administrators had arranged for most of the flights to get into the Denver Airport around the same time and take one those nice busses to the camp. M.’s late enrollment of me into the camp made sure I couldn’t be with everyone else, as all the plane tickets had already been booked and all the flights full. I didn’t mind arriving late, it gave me more time to be alone.

A electronically loud voice echoed around the camp, causing everyone to look up. I stood awkwardly with the large suit case standing in front of me, “Can we please have everyone sit on the benches? Since everyone’s here, let’s get started with the welcome!” I dragged the baggage to the end of the last row and took my seat. Other people were sitting together, giggling and making their way to their seats. Everyone seemed to have already been assigned cabins.

A man in khaki shorts and what looked like the camp counselor uniform of a teal shirt was standing on the stage, microphone in hand and grinning like an idiot. Great, the guy looked peppy beyond belief, my favorite type of person. “Hello, Chitonick Campers!” he exclaimed, waving a hand exaggeratedly. I wonder if he realized the youngest person here wasn’t under ten. The crowd gave a lackluster ‘hello’ back, I didn’t participate in the welcome. “My name is Johnny Doe,” I snickered, that’s was the head counselor’s name that I found funny, looks like I was the only one. “We finally have everyone here! Let’s get started with the best summer of your life thus far!” His vivacity was caught by a large proportion of the audience, but, I was still a little taken aback. Back in Maryland, the teachers and leaders were not this… zealous, they recognized that teens just didn’t buy it.

“Let’s begin by explaining what this camp is about. We have been running Colorado Track Stars through this camp for 25 years now. I even went here when we first opened!” A couple of whoops and woots echoed around the audience. “CTS is an extraordinary experience for up and coming runners. Most of you have been recommended by couches and college scouts to attend here. Some of you are here as mandatory for your college. The point is, everyone is here because they are amazing at what you do. This is a long distance summer program, with some activities in sprinting and we trust you to act like adults. We have provided many luxuries to keep you, and your parents…” snickers, “happy. You are the best young runners in North America, and we are going to make sure you are treated as such!” The teens erupted in applause. He started to ramble on about tracks the area was known for and I took the chance to not pay attention and assess the people around me.

They all seemed… homely. The camp was half boys and half girls, and everyone was wearing sweatshirts and shorts, most representing the college that they were going to attend in the fall. I shifted a little, feeling uncomfortable. M. had insisted on getting my hair and nails done before leaving (more of the apology) but, I seemed to be the only girl with professional highlights. A majority of the girls had brown or black hair. I guess the influence of ‘Blondes have more fun’ hadn’t quite reached them. A couple of girls had dirty blonde hair, including one girl who was avidly whispering to another girl. I noticed her because of the dark maroon sweat shirt, Harvard splayed proudly across it. Her hair was wrapped in a messy bun. She looked about my age, but the hand cupped around the Hispanic girl’s , who was sitting next to her, ear made her look a lot younger. The Harvard girl was probably one of the only girls I could point out who was wearing eye liner. Maybe I wasn’t entirely alone in the desire to look okay.

The Hispanic girl seemed to not be that interested in what Harvard was saying, more focused on what Johnny Doe was saying. On the other side of the Hispanic girl was a red head who looked like the only person in the camp with any fat on her body. Runners were known for their stick frames, less mess equaled fast times. She was texting someone on her phone. My guess was that they were in on of the cabins. Their other roommate was probably sitting with previously met friends or just liked being in the front.

My eyes drifted to another group, this one of four. They were all brunette, all short and thin. They looked like the youngest of the teens, and they seemed oddly similar, though they were obviously not related. They were probably going to get along really well. Lucky cabin. I couldn’t see myself getting along with any body here. Back home, and in college, we were bred to care about looks, and nobody here seemed to give a damn. I fondled my Tiffany’s heart bracelet. P. had given it to me for graduation, and I rarely took it off. No body else was wearing any jewelry, except for the occasional yarn friendship bracelet or ‘tattoo’ necklace that went out of style when I left middle school.

My attention snapped back to the stage when I distinctly heard my name, but he was already on the other names in his grouping, “…Gilton, Madison Bonan and Shellie Rodriguez, our 19 years will also be given the use of a car,” he smiled and looked at the three girls, the redhead, the Hispanic girl and Harvard, my roommates, I assumed.

One of the four brunette young girls I was looking at before shot her hand into the sky, “Mr. Doe! I’m sixteen and at home I can drive!” He smiled and shook his head, “Only the eighteen and nineteen year olds have permission to drive, and we only purchased four cars. One for the nineteen year olds, one for the eighteen year olds and two for the staff, sorry Sarah.”
So, that was good at least, I’d be able to drive. He continued on with his speech, moving on to rules and regulations. I took a teal folder as it was passed down the row. I got up and handed the stack to Harvard. As I moved to take my seat, she grabbed my arm. “I’m Madison,” she said, “You’re in my bunk! Well, I assume it’s you, ‘cuz, well, you were the only one who wasn’t here and you look about our age. You are nineteen, right?”

I looked directly at her. She was pretty, obviously from money. I wondered if she could tell I was from money, too. “Yeah, I am.” She patted the seat next to her. I held up a finger, signaling I’d be back in a second and grabbed my suit case, maneuvering it over to my roommates. My stomach was jumping in apprehension again, I had hoped for some reason that M. would arrange for me to stay alone. I hated making friends. Hated it. She started yammering on about how she was from Long Island and how it was soo cool to be on the West Coast. She went on and on about how she was on a track scholarship from Harvard. I ignored her bragging and looked past her at the Hispanic girl (call me racist, but my guess was she was Shellie Rodriguez) and the redhead who was still texting away on her phone. Shellie was watching Johnny Doe with an unfaltering stare, my ‘wealthdar’, as M. called it, warned me that she was probably not well off and probably here on a scholarship.

The meeting continued with Doe talking on and on about this and that. He was way too happy to be here. Madison talked my ear off about everything, she really needed to realize when people just didn’t care. Finally, an hour later Johnny Doe ended the speech, in some flourished over done way that I didn’t care to pay attention to. I kept fretting over how on earth I would deal with Madison’s incessant chatter. I guessed I would get along best with Shellie, who looked ready to just run. We all got up and headed towards Cabin C, which had a environmentally friendly car parked outside of it. Johnny Doe came up to our group, touching me on the shoulder. “I’m glad you found your roommates. We were waiting for you to arrive!”

I mumbled thanks and looked past him, eager to see my living conditions for the next two and a half months. “It was your father’s generous donations that allowed us to get the student cars! Tell him I say thank you.” Typical P. I probably wouldn’t have been enrolled because the deadline had passed, but P. always had a way of persuading. I had no doubt that I would have been admitted if I applied on time, I was the best long distance runner in Maryland. And I had the money to go.

We entered the cabin, and I noticed that three of the beds (thankfully not bunked) had already been claimed. I slung my suitcase on to the fourth bed, not bothering to care that it was the closest one to the bathroom. “So, do you girls wanna chit and chat for awhile? Curfew isn’t for another four hours!” Madison was probably one of those girls in high school who was president of everything.

I looked at them, my gaze traveling from one girl to the next. No one except Madison seemed eager to talk. “Well…” I began, “if it’s really not a problem, I wanted to go get some groceries. I have a sensitive stomach, and I haven’t eaten all day.” Madison looked disappointed. The redhead was still texting and Shellie didn’t seem to care. “If anyone wants to come with me, it’s, uh, fine.” I didn’t want anyone with me. I was in desperate need of alone time. Nobody volunteered. “Well, I’ll be going then.” This was so awkward.

Madison stopped me and handed me a list of things she obviously wanted. “I really didn’t want to go grocery shopping, lol,” Did she really just say ‘lol’ out loud? Oh god. “So, if you could pick these up while you were out, that’d be, like, great!”

I walked out of the door, grabbing the car keys that were sitting on an in table.

I should make a countdown list till I go home, now, because, I was not going to enjoy this.