I walked to the door on the far right and slipped the skeleton key from my neck, then into the lock. When the tumblers clicked, I pushed open the door and flipped on the light.
It was smal - a tiny but tidy space with one smal window and a twin-sized bed. The bed was covered by a royal blue bedspread embroidered with an imprint of the St. Sophia's tower. Across from the bed was a wooden bureau, atop which sat a two-foot-high stack of books, a pile of papers, a silver laptop, and an alarm clock. A narrow wooden door led to a closet.
I closed the door to the suite behind me, then dropped my bag onto the bed. The room had a few pieces of furniture in it and the school supplies, but otherwise, it was empty. But for the few things I'd been able to fit into the duffel, nothing here would remind me of home.
My heart sank at the thought. My parents had actual y sent me away to boarding school. They chose Munich and researching some musty philosopher over art competitions and honors society dinners, the kind of stuff they usual y loved to brag about.
I sat down next to my duffel, pul ed the cel phone from the front pocket of my gray and yel ow messenger bag, flipped it open, and checked the time. It was nearly five o'clock in Chicago and would have been midnight in Munich, although they were probably halfway over the Atlantic right now. I wanted to cal them, to hear their voices, but since that wasn't an option, I pul ed up my mom's cel number and clicked out a text message: @ SCHOOL IN ROOM. It wasn't much, but they'd know I'd arrived safely and, I assumed, would cal when they could.
When I flipped the phone closed again, I stared at it for a minute, tears pricking at my eyes. I tried to keep them from spil ing over, to keep from crying in the middle of my first hour at St. Sophia's, the first hour into my new life.
They spil ed over anyway. I didn't want to be here. Not at this school, not in Chicago. If I didn't think they'd just ship me right back again, I'd have used the credit card my mom gave me for emergencies, charged a ticket, and hopped a plane back to New York.
"This sucks," I said, swiping careful y at my overflowing tears, trying to avoid smearing the black eyeliner around my eyes.
A knock sounded at the door, which opened. I glanced up. "Are you planning your escape?" asked the girl with the nose ring and black nail polish who stood in my doorway.
THE END