Night of September 11-12, 2009

I remembered I moved to a small town in Antarctica for school. Papa, Mama, Natasha and I arrived on an airplane and we went to see some cool tourist destinations like a huge rock formation and a large coniferous forest. Later, I was going to school on the bus. I think Oli was sort of there. I say sort of because I remember texting him, him sitting next to me and his being in another bus which took an exit off the freeway to the airport. Either way, I was able to talk to him a little bit. He didn't understand why I had to leave and that it was a shame that I couldn't play basketball with him. We were both very sad as our buses drifted off in separate directions. I got off the bus and was in an area full of fields with a main road and houses and small towns connected to it. It looked a lot like the road to the European School to be honest. Either way, we had to start jogging to the school, for some reason although the sidewalk was very slippery because it was started to drizzle during the bus ride. One guy from the new school, right after an intersection, and with the reflective thing traffic people wear, turned around and put his hand out for us to stop because a car was coming. We were all very spread out and plenty of people were in front of him. Anyways, I didn't notice him and I saw the car coming and told myself I had enough time to go in front of it (which I did) so I crossed. Halfway through, he blew a whistle at me and I was so startled I slipped and because of that, I almost got run over. He yelled at me for not stopping, I told him it was really hard to stop and some girls already on the other side giggled. Very close was the school. It was very small, a five hundred yards from the road. In front of it was a bed of flowers arranged in a big yellow smiley face. Next to the school, on the right, (if you're standing at the school and facing the road) was a very fancy, expensive girls-only private school. They were all sitting on long benches perfectly aligned and glaring at us while girly punk-rock music blared out their open windows. As I came up to the school, it looked really rundown. Its walls were either sheets of metal or, more likely, unpainted concrete. On it, and just past the door, were bumper stickers stuck to the wall with things like “J is for Jesus,” and “F is for Forgiveness,”. It was dark and the reception room was the size of my bedroom (pretty small). Everyone was going into a classroom on the left so I followed them. In it were sixteen metal school desks (the kind with a compartment underneath to pencil cases, paper, or books) clumped together in groups of eight. Some people were already seated so I sat down too. The teacher (a woman in her late thirties) didn't really mention anything about my being new but went to work teaching French and studying some text. It looked really, really easy. It was then that I realized what I had been put into (not literally, I was still in a school, of course). I was sad because I already missed Culham and saw what an opportunity it was to go there. I thought about the different teachers and students. The ones in the classroom looked really boring (I guess, it being a dream after all, I could tell). I knew instantly looking at the lifeless building that we would be lucky to even have chemistry and there would be no more Mr Fehr. History would be even more boring and we'd have no Mr Edwards to recount his history. I know I would never have put myself in this situation. “It must be a dream!” I told myself because I was sure of it. I tried to wake up but I couldn't and sitting in the chair, quietly panicked. As another student got up, (probably to write something on the board) I asked the teacher if I could just get some air and before she could answer, I got up and woke up.