My suitcase flopped all the way down the stairs.

It's kind of annoying when it does that, like it's telling you shouldn't you be carrying me? My response- If you expect me to carry you, you have a serious problem.

And that is what happens when I get nervous.

I stepped out the front door, timidly waving to the man in the taxi who had, in fact, been given exact directions to my house.

I tried not to think about where he'd gotten it from.

Mom enveloped me in a hug from behind, and I almost jumped.

"Don't worry, sweetie," she whispered, before grabbing my suitcase and tossing it in the back seat. I hopped in beside it.
"Have fun!" she called out. I pressed my face against the window, not even caring about how annoying it would be for the next person to have smudges all over the window.

As soon as I was out of seeing distance of my house, I turned and flopped on the seat with a sigh.

Hey, at least it was comfy.

I looked out the window as the suburbs disappeared into scattered farms and broken down barns. Small-town New York state wasn't that beautiful if it was all you saw every single freaking day of the 13 years of your ordinary life.

I grabbed my phone from my pocket and started writing an email to my friends about where I was going and why I wouldn't be at school this year. It wasn't like they would miss me too much, but still, better to tell them. It had been about half an hour of bye, I'll be at the academy, see you nevers by the time I looked up from the tiny screen. The reason, of course, being the fact the the taxi had screeched to a halt and had sat there for a minute.

"This is it?" I asked. The driver didn't respond, but I got a glimpse of his face (which he had turned away previously) in the passenger side mirror as I got out.

All I could think was yikes.

I rolled my suitcase out, standing in front of my new school in typical T.V. show fashion.

"Move it, will ya?" someone asked, shoving me to the side. He was wearing stereotypical Hawaiian shorts and a matching tee, which really contrasted against his dark skin.

"Watch it," I grumbled, heading in myself.

I was the 7th person there (not counting Hawaii). My first thought was that I must be early, but after two more people showed up, an old guy in a suit walked up onto the makeshift stage, and I figured they had each class show up at a different time. And very small classes.

"Welcome!" His voice boomed out across the room, and I shifted my attention to him, leaning on my suitcase. "I am Mr. Prent, the headmaster of the school you stand in right now. You have all been chosen for this year's Academy for Talented Individuals!"

3 or 4 people cheered. I was not one of them.

"I'll let Miss. Demi take the reins from here," he said, walking off the stage.

A lady in a slick black skirt and wrinkle-free white blouse stepped onto the stage, pompous face intact.
This was who had sent me that nice and friendly-sounding email?

A grin burst onto her face for a split second, and she adjusted the microphone to a taller height.
"Welcome. I'm Miss. Demi, as you know, and I will be one of your two teachers at this school."

If it was one of those stereotypical movies, everyone in the crowd would have whispered about how we were only having two teachers this year. Luckily, it was not, because that would have been kind of annoying. "Mr. Hart over there in the blue will be your other one. You will have private sessions with Mr. Prent, our principal once a week, and you will be given your schedules and uniforms this afternoon."

She smiled, as crisp and neat like the rest of her. Miss. Demi looked ready to step down off the stage, but a light bulb flashed above her head, and she took a step back.

"Ah yes, one more thing." Miss. Demi nodded at Mr. Hart, who cleared his throat.

"Tomorrow morning," he said in a deeper voice than I was used to. "You will wake up with superpowers."