Everyone has a hunger to be pushed out of his or her comfort zone and experience adventure. For most people, they are able to keep that desire at bay, but for me, it only grew and grew until I became so bored of the life that I was living that every day seemed to be the exact same. Being an introverted only child in the small California town of Bunting no longer kept me satisfied. I yearned for more. I knew I could achieve more than what was being offered there.

         That's why I started to research boarding schools. To put it plainly, they interested me. Right as my junior year came to a close, I obsessively poured over the Internet, memorizing Forbes' Best Boarding Schools and clicking on each and every link provided.

         For some reason, as soon as I read about Beaumont Academy, my heart began to race.

         Beaumont Academy was an elite all-female boarding school in Boston, Massachusetts—over three thousand miles away from Bunting. Almost everyone that graduated there was destined for greatness, including billion-dollar companies, Ivy Leagues, and high statuses. I was a smart kid—I wasn't worried about getting into Beaumont Academy—but the thought of attending that school both thrilled me and scared the hell out of me. I had never been away from my parents for more than two weeks—church camp in the ninth grade—but yet I wanted to experience life without living right under their noses.

         As I read more about Beaumont Academy—and its brother school, Pentry Academy—I knew I had to go. It kept tugging at me as I tried to fall asleep, take a shower, or do practically anything. So, I made an elaborate PowerPoint, trying to persuade my parents into letting me go to—or at least apply to—Beaumont Academy. Fortunately for me, persuasion was one of my strong suits.

         "Kayleigh, this school is three-thousand miles away," my father said, squinting over his reading glasses to scan the handout I made to accompany the PowerPoint. I took this seriously. I had to be prepared.

         "I know, Dad," I replied, sitting on the coffee table beside my laptop, which was stationed directly in front of my parents. "But think about it. This is such a great opportunity. You guys want me to learn responsibility. I'm leaving for college in a year. This could help me learn how to live without you guys."

         "Plus," my mom said to my father, nudging him with her arm, "look at the Ivy League pipeline. Forty-six percent! That's amazing." She was always on my side.

         That was how family meetings usually went. My mother would agree with me, and we would practically gang up on my father until he finally caved in and came up with a compromise. I could feel his patience already running low. Good sign.

         My father took off his glasses, rubbed his eyes, and sat the handout on the coffee table. "This school can't be cheap, Kayleigh. You know we probably can't afford it." My father was the manager of Generals, a small grocery store down the street from our house, and my mom was a teacher, so they really didn't make that much money. I knew that he would bring it up, so it was a good thing I already researched financial aid.

         "Tuition is normally around forty-thousand dollars." I could sense my father's eye roll without even looking at him. "But, I calculated how much financial aid I could receive from our yearly income range, and after financial aid, it would be around four-thousand."

         "Well," my mom said, pulling a thin piece of caramel-colored hair behind her ear, "that's considerably less than forty-thousand."

         "Do you expect us to pay all that?" my dad asked, an eyebrow raised. "You can just continue to go to public school here for free."

         "Free!" Mom scoffed. "We pay taxes yearly. Public school still isn't free."

         I shook my head. "You know those families I've been babysitting for? I was saving up for a car, but I can put my money toward tuition." So far, I had around $1,500. That wasn't even half, but it was close.

         My father was aware of how much money I had in my banking account, and I could sense that he was starting to seriously consider this. My mother must have sensed this too, because she said, "I agree with Kayleigh, Oscar. I think this would be a great opportunity for her to grow and make new friends."

         "And learn more responsibility," I added.

         Every second, Dad's face softened a bit more, until I was positive he would cave in. Finally, he crossed his legs and shifted into the couch, which I had learned many years ago was a sign that meant he was trying to get himself comfortable to deliver news he didn't completely agree with.

         "Fine." He sighed. "You can apply. But we will talk about this more later."

         I couldn't contain my excitement, which came out in the form of a shriek.

         "Oh, thank you thank you thank you!" I exclaimed, hugging the both of them over and over again. Although I was super-psyched and happy, I couldn't help but feel a wave of nervousness in the bottom of my stomach.

         We never talked about it more. After I was accepted, it all was preparation for me leaving in the beginning of September. My mom practically had the Beaumont Academy front office on speed dial and called them almost daily, asking about the uniform (maroon polo, khakis, and white Keds) and bedding (twin-sized sheets and any desired blankets and pillows). By the time we flew to Boston and my mom dropped me off, the front office ladies were quite acquainted with the names Penny and Kayleigh Stockholm, so much so that when I checked in, they asked me if there was anything else I needed to know as a joke. Unfortunately for them, I had a whole list.

          The ladies gave me this rather thick folder, which they told me contained everything I would need. After examining the folder for about ten minutes, I had analyzed my dorm room key, the information sheet about my roommate (Marisol Harrington, also a senior and had gone to Beaumont Academy since the sixth grade), the student handbook, and the Beaumont Academy mission statement: We cultivate young women's potential to be leaders and become successful in all of their aspirations.

         The way Beaumont Academy was laid out was pretty effective. Half of the academy consisted of dozens of classrooms, while the other contained all the dorm rooms. I was on the dorm side of the school, searching for Room 14, which was on the very first floor. The front office ladies told me that the rooms for 9th through 12th grade students were on the first floor, and grades 6th through 8th were on the second.

         When I reached Room 14, the door was already halfway open. I gently pushed it to reveal more of the room to me.

         The dorm room consisted of two beds, two closets, two desks, and two nightstands, one on each side of the room. I was able to make an educated guess—based on the pile of pillows and luggage sitting on the right bed—that my roommate had already arrived and chose the right side of the room. Not that it bothered me. I liked to think of myself as easy-going, although my dad's word of choice would be closer to "pushover".

         I was in the middle of stretching out my fitted sheet on my bed when I heard footsteps. As I turned my head to see who was in my dorm room, my foot moved, hitting my nightstand, which crashed onto the floor. This happened in a span of maybe two seconds, so I stood there with my jaw dropped, not moving or knowing what to say.

         "Shit!" a girl with coily black hair screamed, her hands clutching her heart. Her face was paper-pale—maybe because she was pale naturally, maybe because I had just given her the scare of her life—and dotted with dozens of tiny, dark freckles.

         "Sorry," I managed to say, setting my nightstand back up. So much for a great first impression.

         The girl breathed in and out loudly, calming herself down. "It's fine," she said between breaths. She took her right hand off of her chest and extended it to me. I shook it. "You must be Kayleigh. I'm Marisol."

         "Yeah, hi," I said, mustering a smile as Marisol sat down on her bed and began to unpack her bags. Unlike me, she had so many bags that she could probably bring her entire bedroom from her house with her. I had two: one for clothes and one for bedding and toiletries.

         "So this is your first year at Beaumont Academy," she said. "It's really great. You'll love it."

         "Yeah, I'm sure I will," I replied.

         "If you need anything, anything at all, I'm here to help. I know where everything is and how the school operates, so if you've got questions, you can ask me." Marisol smiled widely, displaying a bunch of perfect teeth. Somehow, I could tell that she was the type of student that didn't need financial aid to pay for the tuition.

         "Thanks," I said, smoothing out my navy comforter. It was honestly quite atrocious, but it was comfortable.

         "Orientation starts at six. You can sit with me if you'd like. And I'll totally introduce you to my friends," she continued, opening a huge suitcase. In it was a nice-sized wall mirror wrapped in a blanket, which she hung up by her bed. "There's Aspen, Carlisle, and Lindsay. They're super nice. Oh, and Ivy! She's pretty cool, too. Carlisle won't be here until after orientation, per usual, but Lindsay is always early, so she should be here by now." She peered out into the hallway, her eyes squinted as she searched hard for her friend. "Wait! I think I see her!"

         Marisol dashed into the hallway faster than an Olympic runner. About thirty seconds later, she reappeared, a petite girl with curly brown hair beside her. "Kayleigh, this is Lindsay. Lindsay, Kayleigh."

         "Hey," Lindsay said, shooting me a smile. "It's nice to meet you."

         "You too," I said, acting as polite as possible. Everyone I had met seemed super-polite. Most rich people usually did, at least until you get to know them.

         "This is Kayleigh's first year at Beaumont," Marisol said to Lindsay, sitting down on her bed. "Isn't she going to love it?"

         Lindsay turned to me and nodded. "Definitely. There's stuff here for everyone. Like, I'm in the drama department, Marisol's on the tennis team, Aspen spends half her time in the art room, and Carlisle is one of the best rowers on the crew team." She rolled her eyes. "Well, she would be if she didn't skip every practice."

         "You say it as if there's a chance that'll change." Marisol laughed.

         "Maybe Lysander would rub off on her. He's on almost every team at Pentry, and rumor has it that he's never missed a practice for anything."

         "Is that her boyfriend?" I asked, feeling a bit left out and a lot curious.

         Marisol and Lindsay both burst into a fit of giggles.

         "Definitely not," Marisol said, shaking her head. "Her twin brother. But, let me tell you, if I had the chance to date Lysander, I would jump on that opportunity with both feet. He's gorgeous. Navy eyes, tan skin, golden hair, toned body, jawline so sharp it could cut a diamond—"

         "He's not that attractive, Marisol," Lindsay interrupted.

         Marisol looked at her as if she had just said that chocolate was disgusting. "Are you kidding me? He looks like a Greek god. You're just saying that because you're dating Ian." To me, Marisol said, "Lindsay is literally the only girl at Beaumont who isn't in love with Lysander Kellams—except Carlisle, of course. It's just because she's been dating this loner named Ian for approximately a million years."

         "Ian's not a loner."

         "He's got two friends besides you, Lindsay. And that's only because Tatum is friends with everyone and Dawson is his cousin."

         Lindsay huffed and crossed her arms. "Not true."

         "You know what? I'm not even going to continue this because you're wrong."

         "Stop being catty, Marisol."

         "Lindsay, I swear, you are dancing on my patience and—"

         "Hey, girls."

         Immediately, Lindsay, Marisol, and I glanced toward the door, following the foreign voice. In the doorway was a model-tall blonde with thin, waist-length hair. Unlike the rest of us, she was already in uniform, her white Keds written on with black Sharpie. She leaned against the door, her arms crossed and her lips curled up in a smirk.

         "Aspen!" Marisol screeched, pushing herself off of her bed and running into the blonde, enveloping her with a hug.

         Next to give Aspen a hug was Lindsay, and eventually they all sat down on Marisol's bed, Aspen watching me carefully.

         "Who's this?" she asked Lindsay.

         "This is Kayleigh," Marisol replied as soon as Lindsay opened her mouth. Lindsay rolled her eyes for what had to be the one-thousandth time.

         "Well, hi, Kayleigh. I'm Aspen," she said, finger-combing her long mane. "Good luck being Marisol's roommate. She's trouble."

         Marisol reached behind Lindsay and pushed Aspen's shoulder. Aspen laughed and swatted her hand away.

         "So, what were you guys talking about?" Aspen asked.

         "About how Lysander is absolutely gorgeous, and Lindsay's boyfriend is a loner," Marisol said, ignoring a scowl from Lindsay.

         Aspen couldn't help but smile. "I agree with both topics of discussion."

         "Whatever," Lindsay said. She nodded toward the clock above my desk. "It's almost time for orientation anyway."

~~~

         Orientation was in the auditorium. It wasn't that big, but there was enough room for all four hundred and fifty Beaumont students. The auditorium was also where the church services were located, so instead of individual seats, there were pews.

         I accepted Marisol's offer to sit with her during orientation. I was pushed against the end of the pew, Marisol beside me, then Lindsay, then Aspen, then some curvy brunette with glasses, and then a huge empty gap, which I assumed was for the legendary Carlisle.

         At exactly six o'clock, the Headmaster walked onto the stage. He was portly, had a white beard, and reminded me a bit of Santa Claus, except a lot less jolly and wearing tighter clothes. In one hand was a microphone, and the other held a cane, which kept him upright as he leaned on it.

         "Hello, students of Beaumont Academy. I am Headmaster Rosterford. If I don't already know you, I am looking forward to getting to know you throughout the school year." He had a low, monotone voice that sounded like it would be on a recording reading a children's bedtime story.

         Marisol pretended to snore—loudly, I might add—and Lindsay laughed beside her. The Headmaster narrowed his eyes at the girls and continued to talk, but I soon spaced out after he started talking about the punishment associated with dress code infractions.

         The metal doors in the back of the auditorium opened and everyone turned around to see who dared to arrive late. The perpetrator was a girl with limp, shoulder-length strawberry-blonde hair. She looked a big stocky, but I could tell that she was pure muscle. She stood in front of the doors, a hand on her hip as to say, Look at me, I'm all that and a side of fries.

         "Carlisle Kellams," Headmaster Rosterford's voice boomed from the speakers on the stage. "A bit late, aren't we now?"

         "Every year, Rosterford," she said, now making her way toward the front of the auditorium. Aspen stood up and motioned toward the empty spot. "I'd be surprised if you're surprised."

         "Of course I'm not. But you're not even in dress code."

         He was right: She wore a spaghetti-strap tank top and white shorts above mid-thigh, which, I had learned in the two seconds I spent listening to the Headmaster, was banned.

         "I think this little ritual has become tradition. I'm thrilled to share this moment with you every year. I think I'll really miss it after I graduate." She went up to the very front of the stage, curtsied in front of Headmaster Rosterford as if he were a king, and sat down at our pew, where everyone but me was snickering.

         Headmaster Rosterford looked up at the ceiling, as if he was praying to God he wouldn't have to wait until graduation to be rid of Carlisle. "Anyways," he said, continuing his speech. But, again, I zoned out, this time as I felt Carlisle stare at me, picking me apart with her mind. It felt like she could see all of my flaws. My ears—too big. My nose—too low. My mouth—too small. My eyes—too far apart. It intimidated me as I looked around and saw everyone still staring at Carlisle, long after she had sat down. They were enthralled with her, maybe entranced. And I was jealous.