Chapter One: Not What I Expected
Disclaimer: I own Artemis Fowl just about as much as I own my own island. Which is not at all.
I stared down the paper resting on my train table, satisfied with the results I saw. It was the first of what was bound to many letters back home. Stroking the paper softly, I sighed just loud enough for the person in the chair next to me to crack open a sleepy eye and give me a hostile glare. Embarrassed, I diverted my gaze and picked up the letter, reading it over carefully.
Dear Mommy, the first line read. This sounded good, best to make my mother think I missed her already. She eats that kind of stuff up.
The plane ride's going just fine. I know you're scared that your little girl is somehow going to be mortally injured on the 13- hour flight to the Golden Isle, so I am here to assure you that as of right now, no one has attempted to highjack the plane. Although, if you ask me, they would wait until we were well over the ocean, just to make sure no one would catch them in the act. Don't worry Mommy, I'm just joking. The flight attendant you assigned to watch over me has been doing an excellent job. So excellent, in fact, that I still have 5 hours left and already I am plotting various ways to get him off my back. Perhaps if I pretended to go to sleep this Eric person would just take the hint.
To take care of your other worry, that I will starve before I even land, it's just as silly as someone high jacking our plane. (Don't look now, but I think the snoring woman three aisles down might be up to something) My over-willing guardian of the air has already proceeded to give me what I have deemed to be over half of their packaged peanuts. (However, he did give me the whole can of ginger ale and not just a measly cup.) Besides, their on-flight meals looked extremely appetizing. Combined with the snacks you packed for me, I think I just might gain three or four pounds.
Stop worrying about me Mommy. I'm just half way across the world.
Send my love to everyone,
Kris
Ps. this was all your idea anyway.
After I had made sure I had left nothing out, I quietly folded the letter and slid it gently into my overstuffed messenger bag. I hoped to high heavens that this place had closets big enough for all the crap I had packed. Stifling a giggle, I closed my eyes and snuggled under the airline blanket that Eric had brought me earlier. Once it wasn't occupied, my mind wandered back to the conversation that had started this whole ordeal.
"Honey," my mother had said during dinner one night. She had been halfway through feeding Noah at the time, so I thought she was talking to the toddler and not me.
I went back to picking at my mashed potatoes idly, watching Hope wolf down hers at supersonic speed. In the silence that followed both of my parents stared at me expectantly. It was only then that I realized they were talking to me. Quickly, my head jerked up and my elbows flew off the table. "Where's the fire?" I asked, whipping my head back and forth.
My father, a tall balding man, laughed loudly at this. His periwinkle eyes glittered as he said, "Krissy sweetheart, your mother and I have something to tell you."
Under normal circumstances, this wouldn't be something that would cause suspicion to creep into the back of my mind. However, whenever my parents chose to announce something over the dinner table, when everyone in the family was present, it tended to be something a bit more on the drastic side.
My fork slid out of my hand and clattered to my plate as I stared at them warily. "Mom's not pregnant again, is she?"
Once again, my father let out a booming laugh. Even my mother chuckled a little, although she was still preoccupied with the squalling Noah.
"No honey, I'm not pregnant."
I puckered my lips slightly, furrowing my brow as I tried again. "Did Pookie die?" Pookie was our family's old and incredibly loveable St. Bernard. Next to me, eight-year-old Hope dropped her own fork with a gasp.
My father shook his head. "No sweetie, Pookie is just fine."
With a relieved sigh, Hope picked her fork back up and continued to eat. Her little blonde head tilted in my direction was the only sign she was still listening in to the conversation.
"Darling," my petite mother said as she finished feeding my baby brother and turned towards me with a smile. "Your father and I have some exciting news for you!"
Oh right, because that made me feel tons better. My parents' definition of 'exciting news' is having me babysitting Noah and Hope for the weekend. Well, I guess I should start cancelling all my plans. Gloom had just descended upon me when my father said, quite cheerfully and cutting straight to the chase, "Krissy, as of next month, you will be attending St. Bartleby's School in Ireland!"
My face froze in a mask of horror mixed with surprise.
Clang!
With a loud bang, Hope announced to the table she was finished by dropping her plate, still laden with meat and green beans, to the floor. There was a short moment of complete silence before Noah began to wail.
At some point during my memory, I must have dozed off because the next thing I knew, Eric was shaking me awake. Was the flight over already? I thought to myself as I stretched, yawning widely. After taking a few seconds to work the kinks out of my back, I stood up, gazing around me. The plane was already half empty, and Eric was saying something that I really didn't want to listen to.
"Welcome to Dublin everyone," the captain was saying over plane's speaker system. "I hope you had a safe and comfortable flight."
Dublin, I was here at last! Completely ignoring Eric I gathered up my messenger bag and headed out towards the baggage claim. It was going to be my first time doing this without Noah's helpful cries of "Bag, bag!" thinking back on it, I almost missed the little guy. However, that was just almost.
After spending several minutes running around the baggage claim looking for my luggage, I emerged victorious and looking more than a little worn out. Mom had said that someone would be waiting at the airport to pick me up and take me to the school. She said they would have some sort of sign, and that's what I was searching for right now. Scanning the crowd gathered nearest the exit, I looked for somebody, anybody, with a sign.
There they were, standing right next to the door. A tall young man with curly black hair and the most curious hazel eyes was standing next to a man old enough to be my grandpa who seemed to radiate authority. The young man was holding up a sign that read: "Kris Smith, we welcome you to St. Bartleby's!"
Relieved, I made my way towards them at once. It took me awhile, as I was still dragging three bags of luggage and my messenger bag around, but I got there.
"Hello!" I said, trying to sound as cheerful and witty as possible. It was hard, as I could already feel the jet lag catching up with my systems.
"Er, hello." The young man said hesitantly. Up close, I could tell that he looked more like a teenager than a grown up and that he was just incredibly tall for his age. He seemed to wondering why I was talking to him. "If you could please stand aside, we're waiting for someone."
"I know, but the wait is over, because I'm here." This was getting annoying; didn't mom tell me they would be waiting for me?
"You're Kris Smith?" he asked incredulously as he set down the sign and began riffling through his pockets for something. "I think we have a misunderstanding."
This wasn't good. I was starting to panic. Had I somehow gotten the wrong sign? Looking around, I decided I hadn't. There was no one else with a sign near-by. Then these people were my ride, they were just confused.
"Yes," I said carefully. "That would be me. My name's Kristina Smith and my parents sent me here to attend St. Bartleby's."
The old man let out a deep sigh. "Well, this is a bit of mess."
No really. Here I am, fresh off a thirteen-hour cross-continental flight and two obviously confused men are attempting to tell me that I am not really Kris Smith. If you ask me, 'a bit of mess' would be the understatement of the century. I stared at the old man expectantly. He had better explain what was going on here, because I was clueless and on the verge of being very hacked off.
"Ms. Smith," he began his voice low and gravelly. "I am Head Master O'Connor of St. Bartleby's School and this fine young gentleman here is my son and your future roommate, Raleigh O'Connor. We were sent here by your parents to pick up our newest, and first, American exchange student. They sent us this picture to identify you by."
The 'fine young gentleman', who I now knew as Raleigh, held out a picture for me to see. It was one of me, except several years old. For in this picture, my thick, curly, almost untamable chocolate brown hair had been cut short so it reached my ears. Wincing, I remembered that haircut. That year, one of the boys in my grade had stuck a large wad of gum in my hair and we'd had to cut it to get it out. Yet that wasn't the only difference. The Kristina in this picture had glasses. Of course, I had only been lucky enough to get rid of those last year. My grey eyes were covered with contacts instead. Narrowing my eyes in confusion, I let out a small sigh. Why had my parents sent them this picture, when they of all people should know how much I had changed?
"Did your parents ever tell you that St. Bartleby's is an all-boy's school?" Raleigh asked me, the most peculiar look in his eyes.
My face froze and I dropped the luggage I had been carrying. "No," I said slowly, trying very hard to calm myself down. "No I think they failed to mention that."