School of Secrets (The Perkins School for Self Improvement #1)

Chapter 2

When my parents put their foot down and make a decision to do something, it usually gets done in a hurry. That's why, a mere week after my fight with Justin, I find myself sitting in an airplane seat at six o'clock on a Friday morning.

Dad dropped me off an hour ago, insisting I needed to be 'punctual' and that a businessman always arrives early for his flights. I almost snapped at him that I was no businessman, nor would I ever be. I refrained, though, enduring Dad's lectures the whole time he stuck around.

He'd reminded me that someone from the school would be waiting at the airport in Maine for me, that Missouri is an hour behind the time zone where I'll soon be living. He reminded me to keep my head down, to do what I was told and to stay out of trouble.

After ten minutes of reciting orders, Dad finally took the time to take me in, surveying the three suitcases at my feet with a shake of his head. Disappointment radiated off him in waves, the unspoken sentence hanging between us like the elephant in the room.

"You've let me down again, Timothy." Dad's eyes seemed to say, "I can't believe you."

"I'll see you." I told him, refusing to meet his gaze. The last thing I wanted to do was show him how angry I was. I'd stopped giving him that satisfaction years ago.

"I'll check in," Dad replied sternly, "and I'll be making regular calls to the headmaster. Don't make me find another alternative."

And that was it. No "I love you," no "I'll miss you."

It's not like I expect that from him anymore. Ever since I proved to be a rebellious disappointment to the family name, Dad's been looking me over like a ticking time bomb. I'm not fit to run the business, and he's taken every opportunity to throw that back in my face.

I'm almost glad to be escaping that part of my life, even if I am on a flight destined for a stuffy boarding school.

Settling back into my first-class seat, I open the book I brought with me in my carry-on luggage. It was a Christmas gift from Tara last year, and I hate to admit that before today I never opened the thing.

It's not that I hate reading, it's just that I usually find more interesting crap to do with my time. Video games always held my attention much longer than words on a page, and a good football game was more interesting than some high-school detective solving fictional mysteries in a town that doesn't exist.

Now, as I consider the prospect of where my life's heading, this fictional detective's world seems much more inviting than my own. For the majority of the flight, I bury myself in the pages, reading about the completely unrealistic saga of a character my age. The dude can read minds, and I nearly stop reading at the first hint of his superpowers. Tara knows I don't believe in that sort of thing, and that I hate reading about it even more. Yet, for some reason, my sis decided to buy the book anyway.

Sighing, I convince myself that reading this over dramatic piece of stereotypical cliches is better than drowning in boredom for the rest of my trip.

Somehow, I manage to get through the entire book, even reading the author bio at the end. The author is some dude from California with a name so generic that I wonder why on earth he didn't go for a pen name.

It's hard to be memorable with a name like Joe Smith.

Rolling my eyes and stuffing the novel back into my carry-on, I let myself daydream for the last half hour of the flight.

When we land, I collect my carry-on and stumble off the plane in a hurry. My palms are sweaty, and an unexplainable nervousness is taking hold of me. Dad told me how to find the baggage claim, having been to this airport several times on business trips, but now I've all but forgotten what he said.