A+Fighting+Chance

A Fighting Chance

Plane rides. I hate them. You sit there for hours, fidgeting next to random strangers who always take up too much space and snore, and all you get is a pack of peanuts to eat. And the seats! Do no even get me started about the seats; they're terrible. I've never understood why they are so uncomfortable. Its like the manufacturers go out of their way to make it impossible to get comfy. As if flying high above the ground at neck-breaking speeds doesn't make you uncomfortable enough. I've always had a kind of extreme phobia of plane rides and heights, so I wasn't exactly looking forward to getting onto some rickety old plane and flying over the Pacific Ocean for hours. But at the same time, I'd had enough of Hawaii, the so-called paradise, and I was seriously wondering what I had thought would happen if I came here. That everyone would welcome me warmly, see past my differences, and we would all be friends? Or maybe I thought that I would flourish in my schoolwork and be the top student in the class? I don't know, but I do know that what happened did not even remotely resemble those dreams.

My parents and I had decided at some point last year that I needed a better education, and that I wasn't going to get it down in the farmlands of Paducah, Kentucky. We'd started looking around for schools. When I say "we," I really just mean my mom, with my dad occasionally popping in his opinion. He, having been born and raised in Hawaii, had showed a definite bias to the schools there. My mother on the other hand, had wanted a religious school that would still prepare me well for college. Finally, they'd agreed on Sacred Hearts Academy, an all-girls high school (to their delight), in Hawaii. It was also a religious school, and from what we had read, it had a strong education system. It had seemed like the perfect school; it would provide me with a substantial education, my parents approved, and it was in Hawaii, the paradise isle. Even though they wanted me to receive a better education, my parents weren't willing to pick up their business and the family and come with me to Hawaii. They had to take care of my younger brother, Drew, and their company in Kentucky was "impossible" to back out of. They were staying where they were. But it just so happened, that my dad's side of the family still lived in Hawaii. My dad being the only one who'd ever left. His brother, my uncle, his wife and children lived in Hawaii, and so did my grandparents. They volunteered to take me in and watch over me while I was away from home. At the time it seemed too good to be true. I was actually going to live in Hawaii.

I thought back to that decision I had made to come to Hawaii as I sat in the terminal waiting to board the plane back to Kentucky, and how excited I'd been. I didn't especially want to think about it, but since there was no one else around to talk to, and the nearest food place was much further than I cared to walk, I sat and wondered. How had things gone so wrong? They had been so perfect in the beginning, my hopes high and a bright future awaiting me. I'd come to Hawaii in a rush, giving my parents a quick hug before I hurried on to the plane. The hours literally, flew by, in my eagerness to get to Hawaii. I was so excited I almost didn't remember I was thousands of feet in the air. Almost. The plane's bumpy landing brought me back to my senses, and I got my bags and headed towards the exit. I walked through automatic doors, and the first thing I noticed was the heat. Kentucky was hot in the summer, but this heat was different. The heat back in Kentucky was heavy like a blanket, while Hawaii's warmth was straight from the sun. I liked it. The second thing that I noticed was that my entire family in Hawaii was waiting at the airport for me. My grandma, grandpa, aunty, uncle and all my cousins were there, welcoming me with open arms and providing me with everything I needed. I had my own room and everything in both my grandparents and uncle's house, and my cousins treated me like another sibling. But I'd barely settled into my new life, when school started. I have never been good at making friends. It's just a weakness I have. Some people don't like to eat vegetables. I don't like making friends. It's just a whole awkward phase that I don't like to be put through. Like back at home, I only had a few friends, friends from when I was little: ones that I had met through my parents and basically grown up with. So I wasn't really looking forward to starting out in a new school without any friends. But I was new, and I was from Kentucky. I figured the other kids would like me if only for those reasons. Doesn't everyone want to be friends with the kid from a different place? Apparently not, because when I walked into school that morning, wearing my maroon plaited skirt, and white-ironed shirt with the Sacred Hearts seal on the right breast pocket, no one acknowledged my presence. I wandered around the entire day by myself, and for the rest of the week, and the weeks after that. I not only struggled with my social life, but also with my academics. My teachers would constantly ask me if I understood the concepts and I struggled with the large amounts of homework. The other girls all knew that I was the "dumb" one in the class, and I hated the conspicuous failure. Each week I would tell myself that I was still adjusting to the new school and that the next week I would make friends. But each week would have the same results: a struggling social life, and a limited understanding of the concepts taught in class. However, after two months of alienation and feeling completely unintelligent, I decided to finally do something about it. I decided to go and sit next to a group of fairly popular girls at lunch one day. It was a huge mistake, to put it lightly. "Um, excuse me. Who do you think you are?" the girl who was obviously the leader questioned as I settled my lunch tray next to hers. Immediately the cafeteria fell silent. All eyes were on us. I stammered, "Oh, hey, my name is Halley." I was confused and a bit scared. Had I insulted them in some way? "Well I don't care who you are, why are you sitting with us?" she demanded angrily. Her friends were all glaring at me, and giving each other looks over their shoulders. "I'm sorry," I mumbled, "I didn't mean to cause ya'll any trouble." I figured the best way to solve this argument was to take the blame, and them move away quietly. However, she didn't seem to want to let it go that easily. "That's right, you're sorry. You'd better be. And don't even think of ever coming back here," she snarled. "And what's with the weird accent huh? Do you think you're cool having it? Huh, do you?" Shocked and embarrassed, I sat there, feeling my cheeks warm, and my face flush. I couldn't think of anything to say: my mind was blank with shock. "Well what are you still doing here? Move!" I didn't need to be told twice.

I looked at the T.V. screen in the terminal that blinked the information of the plane departures. The time flashed in the corner. It was almost 4:30. The incident in the cafeteria had only happened 5 short hours ago, but it felt like much longer. I yawned and rubbed my eyes; they were still puffy and red from the tears of shame I cried while I ran home. I'd cried while I'd sloppily packed my bags, counted the money I had saved up, and wrote a note to my aunt and uncle, thanking them for their generosity, and asking them to come and visit me in Kentucky. I'd then called a taxi to take me to the airport, and bought a one-way ticket back to Kentucky, settling down in the terminal to wait for my flight.

And that's where I was now. Sitting and waiting for the plane to take me home, back to where I belonged. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a flash of maroon. I turned and saw my cousin, Rachel, walking towards me, still in her school uniform. She also went to Sacred Hearts, but she was a few years younger than me, only in 6th grade. My confusion in seeing her must have shown on my face, because she smiled sympathetically and explained, "I found your note, I was just hoping you hadn't already left." "Look Rachel, I'm not staying here, so if you're just here to convince not to go, then you can give it up," I told her. I was in no mood to be persuaded and lectured. "I'm not going to try to convince you," she assured me, "I just want to know why you're leaving. I always thought of you as a fighter. You wanted a better education, so you fought for it. You moved to Hawaii so that you could have a future. You tried so hard to do well in all your classes. And now because of something one girl says, you're giving up? It just doesn't seem like you." I was stumped. What could I say? That I had changed? A lame excuse, even I could see that. So I sat there thinking. What had happened to me? I used to be so brave, and strong, and now I was running at the first sign of danger. Why hadn't I fought back? The most obvious of reasons came to my mind: the girls were far more superior in the social hierarchy chain, and were attacking my self-esteem. But the girl I used to be would have stood up for herself, wouldn't she? I certainly used to think of her as the type who'd fight back when things got tough. What would have happened if she did stick up for herself? Did I want to be like her once more? Then I came to a conclusion. And I turned to Rachel, picking up my bags, a smile slipping onto my face. "Come on Rachel, let's go home."

A Fighting Chance Reflection