THE BUS STOPS, and students slowly step into the aisle, pulling their quivers out of the overhead compartments.
Shifting out of my seat, I follow pursuit. "Thanks for the company," I say to Fran. He smiles then nods in response.
Opening the compartment, I carefully slide my quiver out.
"Can you pass me my bag?" I say distractedly to Fran. He swiftly pulls it out from underneath the seat, and places it where I once sat.
"Thanks," I mutter. I shrug on my backpack, but this time decide to hold my quiver. It looks awkward trying to wear it and my bag at the same time.
I flash Fran a smile, before filing out of the bus, my nerves starting to kick in.
They always do this. I'm completely fine before the first day of school, all the way up until the end of the bus ride there. Then, all of the sudden, I want to vomit.
I step onto the ground, and look up at the stone staircase. I grumble. I don't want to walk anymore, my legs hurt!
It's fine, I remind myself. It's all for Aether Archery Academy.
Trudging up the steps, calves burning, I take in the scenery. Cobblestone buildings enclose the stairwell, with windows open and flower pots on windowsills. I guess this makes up for the walk.
As I reach the stop, I almost stumble backwards. That's how surprised I am.
I look at and take in the campus. And just for a moment, my worries vanish.
This place is beautiful. Even more beautiful than the pictures. The photographers really need to step up their game.
But even then, I don't believe the essence of this place could be captured with a camera.
The front yard is adorned with wet grass and some dry leaves. The bricks of A.A.A. lay before me, towering. I can tell there are 2 mains sections to the school—like shown in the many pictures I spent hours looking at.
An archway looms in front of me, with an iron plate above it. It reads; "Welcome to Aether Archery Academy."
"Woah," I say in awe. It takes every bit of me not to skip inside like a little kid.
After stepping underneath the archway, I notice some other things like swings and benches scattered across the field.
That's lovely, I think to myself. Maybe I could try swinging after school?
I hadn't gone to a park ever since Dad died. It brought back bad memories. But this was high school. New school, new me, right?
At least I hoped.
Walking inside, I found out that the interior would have to be even more lavish than the exterior.
The high ceilings and marble flooring gave the school a clean look, but it still looked inviting. After reading a sign, I realised that this was the foyer.
There wasn't much in the foyer. There were some nude paintings (that I sadly saw a few boys snicker at), and some armchairs in corners, accompanied by some round coffee tables.
If I'm being honest, it gave off more waiting room vibes. I'd probably figure out what it was for later.
Walking underneath another archway (jeez, how many are there in this school), I found myself in a hallway.
I guess this school was the opposite of humble. Glass cabinets were placed along the sides, with trophies, medals, and all other gimmicks placed inside.
I wonder how it'd feel to hold one of them.
There's the main office at the end of the hall. I should go get my schedule.
For what reason? I contradict myself. You spent hours memorising it at home.
That's when I remember that I didn't memorise it. I just gazed over it a lot, feeling like a giddy kid.
Focus! I scream inwardly.
At least I'm not the only one with this problem. There's a line of students trailing from the office door.
I join the end of the line, and pull out my phone. I should have some mobile data left.
A good 5 minutes pass, and I barely even notice when it's my time to get my schedule.
The woman at the desk clears her throat, and I immediately shift my attention to her.
Her snow white hair brushed her shoulders, her soft grey eyes blending in with it. Her pale skin has a few moles here and there, but other than that, there aren't any imperfections.
She's so…white.
She keeps her face stoic as she speaks. "Name?"
"Jeong-min Yeon."
"Class?"
"9A1," I recited. I actually managed to remember my class. Awesome!
The woman quickly gazes at the many papers scattered on her desk, and picks one up.
"Here's your schedule," she says. "Your homeroom class is room 203."
She hands the paper to me, and I'm careful not to snatch it out of her hands.
I notice the nametag on her desk.
Catarina Bellford - Office Assistant Manager.
Well, Ms. Bellford. I hope I don't see you soon.
I quickly scurry out of the office to make way to my homeroom.
Where is my homeroom?
I look around frantically. There are so many other hallways, I don't know where to go!
Looking back at my paper, there aren't any directions. But it says 203 is on floor 6.
Floor 6?!
I don't remember this place having 6 floors!!
I spot two elevators tucked away in a wall, right across the office. I must be allowed to use it, right? Other students are.
Quickly getting inside after another group, I jab the close door button. I just want to get to class on time.
Sixth floor, sixth floor….Oh! There it is!
***
After reaching the sixth floor and coming out of the elevator, I found out that there was nothing to worry about. Room 203 was just a few paces to the left.
"Thank God," I mutter to myself.
"Thank God for what?" Says a girl, coming out of the elevator beside me.
My face turns deep red as I dash into my homeroom class.