TITLE: Here Comes the Sun
Everything I learned about England came from my mother:
Don’t eat the meat.
Wear bright colors.
Beefeaters don’t talk.
Where she received her education is beyond me as the woman has never left the states, but it didn’t stop her from repeating ad nauseam while I packed. And now that I’m on the plane, all I can think about is the fact that I’m dressed like a sunflower on crack and am craving a cheeseburger. Honestly, though, I’ll pretty much think about anything to distract my brain from realizing I’m on a plane with fifty of my classmates who pretty much hate me. Sunflower on crack it is.
The plane is loud. The whirring of the air. The stewardess pushing the drink cart up and down the narrow aisle. The sound of fifty teenagers who all know each other chattering on happily as we zoom across an ocean. And the sound of one hundred or so people not at all associated with Naperville Academy groaning at their discontent. And I want to tell them that I hear them and totally understand. I'm embarrassed for my class. For myself. For my generation. And I just want to curl into my seat and sleep away this entire flight. But I can't. Mainly because I'm sitting next to the chattiest girl in my class. And to her left, covering the window with her gigantic shoulders, is Jennifer, the very person who turned me into a social pariah.