"Flight 432 has landed at dock 54." the thick British accent boomed over the speakers as I shuffled off the plane among all the passengers that were just so much more important than me that they had to push by. I was actually getting pretty annoyed. Strike one against London: Too many people! I thought. I'll write that down later, whenever I get a chance. I thought about the thick little notebook that Bee had given me just before I boarded about nine hours ago. It had blue velvet fabric on the cover and a small silk ribbon to hold your place. Suddenly I wished very much just to check and make sure it will still in my bag. That was the last thing I wanted to lose at this hectic new place. I plopped down on one of those hard, sticky leather seats that are made to provide as little comfort as possible. Dad was getting the luggage.
Not even a week ago I was sitting in my messy room in Oregon, U.S.A., dreaming of my new life at Salem School of Witchcraft and Wizardry with my best friend, Bee. A week ago I had no idea that I was going to move to London with my over-zealous dad and some sort of acceptance to a Wizarding School that was named after a pig. Um...what had happened? I saw Dad coming towards me with our new olive green and leather luggage bags that Mom said "Were just what we needed for our trip!" My spirits crashed, however, when I saw who accompanied Jack Keefer.
"My niece Lucky, my have you grown!" Aunt Peggy had a strained smile plastered on her face, though it wasn't as warm or convincing as Miss Perma- Smile on the plane. She said my name with disdain, (Hey, I already knew it was a stupid name, k?) and I could tell it was a huge effort for her to title me "her niece". Everyone in my family, besides her dear brother, was "second-class" to a lovely, skinny, well-to-do woman living in Great Britain. I recall when she visited us about two years ago and left early because she was not suited to our "lifestyle". Which meant that she thought our house was too small and our friends inferior, and that my Mom, who in her day used to be hot stuff, had gained a bit of weight and let herself slide, was now embarrassing to be around. I had called Aunt Peggy a very bad word then, been grounded for eternity, and hated her ever since.
"Hey Aunt Peggy," I could almost see her flinch at my use of the casual slang term "hey". She primly hugged me, just enough for the blind person to think she actually had affection for me, and me for her. Ugh.
"Lucky," my Dad's cheeks were flushed from happiness as he and Uncle Mitchell stood to the side discussing "Dad" things like stock and stuff. Oh yeah, and his new "honorable" job. I looked to him and finally noticed my evil cousin, standing in her Dad's shadow and observing me with the utter disdain that her mother must have taught her. Dad put his hand on her shoulder and grinned at me. "Honey, do you remember? Lydia went to Hogwarts last year! She'll be on second year now and I'm sure she would just love to tell you about it!" Oh whoop, whoop for joy, I thought darkly. Lydia was going to tell what I didn't know. Was there ever a time she DIDN'T do that?
"Um, okay Dad. That's cool." I watched her smile tightly and knew she must be thinking the same thing as me. What do I do to deserve this? How did I get stuck with this cousin? Heh. Maybe we did have something in common. But I wasn't keen on finding out.
"Well Jack, let's get these ol' bags and get a move on!" My massive, beefy uncle spoke up and he pulled a leather bag over his shoulder with a huge, hairy arm. I must say, out of all of the stooges, Uncle Mitchell was the most tolerable for me. For one, he was the only one that hadn't acquired a superior, false British accent. That gave him some points in my book. I tugged on my own bag, eager to get out of here, even if it meant going to the residence of Aunt Peggy. In fact, I just wanted to get out of my life.
We walked down the long, crowded gray painted halls of the huge airport, a motley crew of three fancy Brits at home, a Wizard with a new job but no clue, and a short American that was about to jump out the window. We made it to the front hanging, where Aunt Peggy told us with a starchy sniff that we did not need a taxi, they owned their own sedan. I'm not sure why that was important, but apparently it is some huge Gold Star over here. I just kept silent and followed them through the rainy gray parking lot. Silence was working for me these days. Too bad Dad couldn't get that.
We got to the car and squeezed every unhappy soul inside the four-door. He immediatley got to the painful embarrassing "So, Lydia, how didja like Hogwarts the first time around?" he said with an earnest, cheery grin. Lydia looked surprised that he was really talking to her and paused before answering.
"It was quite fine, Uncle Jack. It was a very lovely place." I fought the urge to roll my eyes at her proper Old British accent and speech, and her raised chin, as if she really had the nerve to act as if she was superior to MY father. He was the one that had just gotten a job at the Ministry!
Which reminded me... "Hey Dad! So, are you like, gonna be Uncle Mitchell's boss now or something? It's a big promotion, right?" The car seemed to freeze. My father's eyes nervously darted back and forth from Uncle Mitchell to me. Uncle Mitchell, who was driving rather risky now, looked like the veins in his neck were going to pop out. Aunt Peggy and Lydia had turned pale.
"Well, heheh...we work in different departments, sweetie." Dad spoke in a small voice. Uncle Mitchell nodded in total agreement and Aunt Peggy, who had regained her composure, narrowed her eyes at me as if I were Satan himself for suggesting such a thing. Uncle Mitchell tried to brighten up an already doomed car by joking that Dad would probably have more work than he did, that was sure, but everyone was already too far in the battle lands to take notice of his valiant attempts. I glanced over at Lydia and noted with pleasure that her sky-high nose was now staring down her shoes, and she was blushing. As evil as it was, I was happy to now know I had one measly arrow against Aunt Peggy and Lydia's nuclear bombs. They lived in Great Britain in a fine Wizard mansion, they went to a fine Wizard school, but me-I had the Dad that bossed them around. And however low and pathetic I should have felt for this revelation, I didn't. I sat back in my seat and enjoyed the icy, quiet ride to the house.
"Your room is up the stairs to the left and third door on the right." Lydia said haughtily. I'm sure she would be glad to get me out of her sight. I lugged my new bag, which was already getting worn on the bottom, up the carpeted walnut staircase. I should have been thankful to be staying in such a nice place for my landing in London, but the extravagant two-story apartment in an upper-class building where there were real valets and desk clerks all the time only humbled my little West Coast girl nature. I trudged up the stairs, which were much longer and more tedious than mine, thinking about the events so far. I had made our relatives and hosts quite pissed, and my Dad now said that I would not be getting any new robes. Of course, I knew this was only a threat, because I had no robes in the first place and my parent's would be distraught to send their daughter off to this "dream place" without proper uniform. I reached the landing and heaved a big breath. What did she say? Up...to the...right, three doors on the left? That sounded right, so I dragged my suitcase down the right hall. Third door. I was so eager to close myself in my new sanctuary, curl up on the queen-sized, silk-cushioned bed that was a staple in each room of the house, and open up the blue velvet journal to let my creative juices flow. Oh, and I could take a bath in my new private bathroom. I was grinning by the time I reached for the doorknob to my new room.
I breathed deeply. "Welcome to my new...LINEN CLOSET?!" I shrieked. I dropped my bag and stared in disbelief. It was. It was a walk-in linen closet, with royal blue and lavender fluffy towels stacked to the ceilings and cream- colored sheets in categorized shelves. No queen size bed. No private bath. Of course, the satin sheets were in good supply. I curled my fists into a ball. I was fuming. Lydia had led me to a CLOSET! Some little angel she is, just wait 'till I tell Dad and Aunt Peggy...I was muttering mumbo jumbo to myself as I descended the stairs in a rush, nearly tripping over myself and falling down the whole fancy flight. In the spacey kitchen, Dad and the evil relatives themselves were enjoying a cup of tea. I wanted to puke. Strike Two, London!
Lydia watched me come down and raised her blond eyebrow on her smooth, china doll face, her light blue eyes questioning my sudden explosion into the room. As if that "angel" didn't know. I pointed to her like a crime investigator that has found its culprit.
"My room?! Some room!! You are a real jokester Lydia, a gold star for you!! Why I-"
"Lucky!" My Aunt was now standing up across the small tea table, her willow- like but tall figure dominating the room. "Lucky, WHAT is the meaning of this? You come bursting into the room and yell at my daughter for no apparent reason in MY household?" her eyes were flashing and burning with angry, and I knew she relished this moment. She had probably been on her toes waiting for the second when she good really get at me. But I had the justified argument here.
"She," I jabbed my finger in the direction of Lydia, who was managing pretty well to look confused and innocent. "She, Lydia, told me where my room was. She said 'Up the stairs, to the right, three doors and on the left.'" I shot what I hoped was a venomous look in her direction. "Well, up, to the right, and three doors on the left is a LINEN CLOSET!" I folded my arms and fought the urge to smile. I knew I had Aunt Peggy. But Lydia had stood up now as well, her pale white skin flushed with her own anger.
"THAT'S because I told you upstairs, to the LEFT, and three doors on the RIGHT you nitwit!! Listen why don't you and stop being so stubborn!" She was jabbing her own, long spindly fingers at me and her red face looked about to burst. Her baby blue eyes were watering and her voice had cracked with all the yelling she was doing. This was not acting that Lydia was doing, I realized as the color drained from my own face and I felt faint. She was right. I was wrong. I had just stomped down someone else's stairs and yelled at that someone else that was letting me live in their house. I had just proven my ugly Aunt right about me. I had just embarrassed myself and my father. I had just made my cool, calm, porcelain doll cousin explode with anger that I had never seen her unleash before. I had ruined my two-week stay in London with my family.
Crap.
The room was heavy with silence, the same icy, wretched kind of silence that had filled the car this afternoon. Except I wasn't relishing this one. I hung my head, knowing absolutely that I, Lucky Jessica Keefer, had been defeated and should take the beating I am owed. I was suddenly intent on my scratched, muddy mules. No one moved. Aunt Peggy was the first to make a noise, which was, (surprise) a sniff of her ever-present disdain. It was so much worse to hear now, because now she had an ample supply of "Bad Lucky" to work with, a sturdy reason to despise her niece. I guess she's the one who gets the "Gold Star".
"Well." She said, her voice shaking with drama. "Well, well. It seems that Lucky has made a mistake that she had acted upon too soon," I swear I could hear the joy in her voice as she called out her silly, stupid niece, me. "So I think it is only proper for you to apologize to Lydia, and perhaps think about toning down your insolent and angry behavior and following my daughter Lydia's example. Now, that, I'll presume, will begin with Lydia escorting you to the, erm, correct room."
I wanted to cry. Following Lydia's example? Should I follow her snobby, superior, ways, should I assume my own fake British accent? I wanted to scream. Who's insolent here? Me or you, you who can hardly bear to look at your "commoner" niece?! But I didn't say any of it. I couldn't. Not with my Dad staring at me in utter horror. I saw him shake his head, probably wondering where he went wrong with someone like me, why I really had to come on this trip with him, probably regretting me all together. I bent my head again and felt the tears try to sneak up and flow, but I would die before letting anyone see me cry. They were tears or embarrassment anyway.
"Do you understand, Lucky? You will answer me always when I speak to you."
And like a servant, I nodded and said 'Yes Ma'am, I am sorry' before once again trekking up those cursed stairs after my smug cousin. She led me wordlessly down the correct hall and to the correct door, where, just as expected, there was a queen size bed with a lavender canopy and cream- colored sheets, just like the ones in the closet. And my bathroom was right next-door, with lavender plush towels just like in the closet. I muttered 'Thanks, sorry' just like an obedient little girl and watched her glide off back down the stairs, probably to continue discussing with her wicked mother how much of a problem child I really was. I closed the door and threw myself on the bed, wanting so badly for Bee, even for my Mom and my sister. I just wanted home. A tear escaped my eye and raced down my cheek as I curled up in the soft sheets. Rain pattered outside my windows, making it's own dreary lullaby. Outside the city streets screamed and whistled with busy Londoners. Downstairs, my Aunt and Uncle tsk tsked over the awful Lucky Jessica Keefer. I was never more alone in my twelve years than I have been in London in my first two hours.
Strike Three. London's out.