Seychelles

                                    

                                          
That’s right: The Rosewood Academy for Academic Excellence is an all-girls school. Because “part of receiving the best education money can buy is the lack of distractions,” Dad had said. On some level I got his point and of course, I wanted to get good marks, but how was I supposed to grow into a functioning young woman without ever being able to interact with boys?
                          
But as I looked around, there were a lot of boys. And I’m not talking old, bearded professors with tweed elbow patches, I’m talking young guys. Cute guys, milling around, moving luggage up into the building, chatting with girls. Maybe Dad was wrong.
                          
“Can I help you with that, Sir?”
                          
I swiveled around out of my reverie as one of the guys spoke to the limo driver. This boy was definitely cute and had nothing professorly about him at all. He looked a bit young, maybe fifteen or so; too young for me, but in a couple of years, with those big brown eyes and that friendly, open smile, he was going to be a heartbreaker.
                          
The limo driver looked suddenly relieved. “Thanks. Maybe you could help me take this up to…” he looked pointedly at me as though I had any idea where my assigned room was.
                          
“Oh! I guess I have to check in.” I glanced over to the Check In booth. “Let’s start there.”
                          
Without another word, the boy nodded, grabbed a handle and picked up an end of the trunk, his biceps bulging a bit at the effort. For a kid, he was pretty cut. I hoped his upper classmates subscribed to the same Phys Ed program. Realizing I was supposed to be the lead on this caravan of three, I stopped ogling, picked up my carry-on, jogged a few steps to get around them and led them over to the Check In booth. There were several other girls standing in front of me, so I motioned for the boy and the driver to put my trunk down.
                          
The driver glanced at his car but didn’t say anything. Experience told me that people who wear livery uniforms had politeness built right in, as though it came on a hanger with the black suit and cap.
                          
“You can go,” I said. “I know you have other clients.”
                          
He looked at me, indecision on his face.
                          
“Really,” I assured him, waving at the boy beside me. “I’m sure I’ll find plenty of help. Thanks for getting me here safely.”
                          
“Thank you,” he said. “Sunday afternoons are my busy time, taking the weekend commuters to the airport.” He extended his hand and shook mine. Then, with a polite nod of his head, he turned and left.
                          
So this is awkward, I thought as I stood there for the next several moments, the kid who’d helped with my trunk standing next to me, not saying anything either. I figured I should at least thank him, but when I opened my mouth, I was interrupted by a very authoritative-looking girl with a clipboard who’d materialized by my side. She had long reddish-brown hair, knotted up in a messy ponytail that left wisps framing her round face.  She had what my mom would have called ‘baby fat’, but wore nice jeans and a white blouse under a standard-issue navy blazer which looked identical to the three packed in my trunk. She also had a pretty scarf tied around her neck in a complicated knot, reminding me of one of my mother’s bridge friends who never left the house without a Hermes scarf accenting one of her many Chanel suits. It was weird to see a scarf on a teenager, but this girl sort of rocked it and I was strangely envious.
                          
“I need you,” she said and I was about to beg her pardon, when I realized she was talking to the guy. She pointed to the girl at the front of the line. “She’s got luggage in her car. Go help her, okay?”
                          
The guy gave me an apologetic look and then took off before I even had a chance to thank him for his help.
                          
Clipboard girl smiled at me and then jutted her chin toward my trunk. “Don’t worry, I’ll get you some muscle when you’re ready to move in.”