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Noah

When the plane touches down in Bay Town, Florida, and the flight attendant announces the weather, a smile breaks out on my face. This ride was the first of many firsts for me. As people exit the plane in a long line, I unbuckle my seat belt and relax, thinking about my Orbit List that I have tucked in my pocket. Today, I get to cross off the first item, which I would say is a pretty darn good way to spend a birthday. Sure, most people would hate the idea of spending their birthday on a plane, but for me, my eighteenth birthday has been unparalleled. This move is the best present I’ve ever given myself. I’m an adult out in the world, on my own.

The terminal is packed, which has anxiety running through me. I’ve never been crammed into a space with so many people. Golden Heights, the orphanage where I grew up after the age of six, had roughly twenty kids and ten members of staff, and it was very rare that all of us would be in one room at the same time. Here though, I wouldn’t be able to count the number of people around me. Strangers push and shove without any concern. Others wander aimlessly, as if they have no idea where they are going or leaving from. Some children throw tantrums in the middle of the walkway while others sleep through the noise of the hustle and bustle.

Then, there is me.

Fascinated.

Nervous.

Determined.

I am a girl with the world in front of her.

I’ve said my good-byes to rainy Seattle, and I’m ready for the sunshine, the beach, and most of all, my new beginning. That’s why I chose Florida. I want to feel the sun on my face every day going forward. I want to make up for all the time I’ve lost.

I retrieve one oversize suitcase at baggage claim. It takes two attempts before I can successfully hail a cab, and after thirty-three minutes and over forty dollars in cab fare, I’m standing outside my new address. It’s much smaller than Golden Heights, which I guess I should have expected, but it’s also so much more intimidating. I guess the unknown always is. I knew Golden Heights. I had a routine—albeit the one forced upon me, but it was familiar. Until now, it was all I knew.

I stand on the sidewalk, hopeful about my life here, checking out the old bungalow-style home. The lawn is green and well kept. The sides of the house are a grayish-tan color, and two windows bracket the front door. I move and take the five steps that lead me closer to the entrance. Plants and flowers line the waist-high pillars that surround the small porch. A traditional hanging swing, big enough for three, sways to my right. Everything about this place screams inviting, so I take a deep breath, straighten my clothes, and smooth down my hair before knocking on the door of my new home.

“Welcome! You must be Noah. Please, come in.” The girl with a fresh face and a wide smile ushers me inside. Her long brown hair flows down her back, and she has a swath of freckles on the bridge of her nose. “I’m Madison. I’m so excited to meet you!” She shakes my hand, but it isn’t cold. It’s a two-handed comforting touch.

I like Madison immediately.

“Thank you. I’m excited to be here.” I look around the entryway, very curious.

“How was your flight?” She leans into her question, displaying her genuine interest in my answer.

“It was amazing.”

A welcome mat crunches under my feet, and there are flowers in the entryway that brighten the space. Oversize plaid couches sit to my right, and an overfilled coat rack is positioned to my left. The smell of baked goods hits me in the face.

“Really? I hate flying. There is always a little kid kicking my chair, and my ears always pop for days after.”

I hope I never grow to hate it. It would be a shame not to love the first activity from my list I ever accomplished.

“It was my first time flying. So, maybe I had on rose-colored glasses for the experience.” I downplay how freeing the flight was for me. I did just meet Madison.

“First time, huh? My parents had me on planes since I was the brat kicking seats. Did they give you those airplane wings they always give kids on their first flight?”

My mom always stuck me with the old lady who lived next door when she went on trips.

“Sure did!” I show her my purse where I stuck the pin.

The easiness between us settles my nerves a bit.

“You can leave that there.” She gestures to my suitcase before grabbing my elbow and practically dragging me down the hallway. “Come on, you have to meet Benson!”

“Careful with the frosting,” a boy with pale skin and copper hair says as Madison and I enter the kitchen.

The pink sugary substance he’s complaining about is everywhere. When I say everywhere, I mean it, too. It’s on the table, the guy occupying the table, and even the floor. I haven’t looked up, but I wouldn’t be surprised if there was some on the ceiling.

“Frosting is meant to be spread in excess.” The guy disagrees with himself about there being any issue.

Alarm bells ring in my head. Is this guy talking to himself? Maybe agreeing to rent a room with people I had never met was a bad idea, but the ad they’d placed online seemed so normal. Besides, who doesn’t talk to themselves every now and again?

“Yeah, sure, whatever. Just aim for the cupcakes.” He huffs out in frustration, and his face develops a slight tic.

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