Lesson 1: Don’t Zone Out

The car began to choke three miles ago before it eventually sputtered out. More importantly, this meant that we no longer had air conditioning.

I should probably backtrack a bit and explain what’s going on. I got accepted and planned to attend the United States Naval Academy in the fall, which was great, except for one thing. In the past, tuition used to be free, regardless of what state you lived in, but because of the economy’s current condition, that wasn’t the case anymore. Lucky for me, I was one of the finalists for a scholarship that would cover half of my tuition. The awards ceremony to accept our scholarship would take place in Toronto. My name is Petra Bell, and I was about to miss possibly the most important event of my young adult life.

“Oh, come on!” someone protested from the back, probably my aunt. If you couldn’t tell, my family isn’t built to handle hot, Southern weather. In the middle row, my older brother startled awake. Dad had already stepped outside, surveying the landscape with a bewildered expression. Mom joined him.

“That’s odd,” Dad said under his breath, “this doesn’t look like Canada.”

“Um, Mr--” my friend, who insisted on coming along for ‘emotional support,’ began to protest before my mom cut her off.

“That’s because this is Arizona!” she wailed, pointing to a dusty sign, “I told you we should’ve driven east!”

“Don’t worry, we can still fix this--”

“How?!” my uncle interjected, pointing to the dashboard “We’re out of gas!”

My friend turned to me. “How did your dad manage to do that?” she whispered. Dad overheard her.

“Uh...I kinda zoned out after we left Tennessee,” he admitted sheepishly.

“What?!” we chorused.

As my aunt screamed obscenities at my dad, my mom sighed and wiped the sweat off of her forehead with the back of her hand. “Well, it looks like we have no other choice but to push the old piece of junk to the nearest gas station and fix it up from there.”

“But I’m hungry,” my brother complained, “can’t we do that after we get a bite to eat? We haven’t had anything in hours!”

“We still have to walk there and push the van, stupid,” my friend countered.

“Better than wasting away here,” my brother shot back.

As my friend and family quarreled amongst each other, my dad turned to me, exasperated. “Well, it’s your scholarship, so you decide. What do you want to do?”

I frowned. “I think we should just wait at the gas station. It shouldn’t take that long, right?” My brother scowled at me.

“The nearest station’s a couple miles from here,” my uncle informed, glancing up from his phone before anyone could think to ask.

Together (well, mostly together), we stacked ourselves against the old sedan and pushed towards the nearest gas station.

We grumbled as we waited at the gas station, helping my dad fill the tank and fix every other problem we had (flat tires, oil change, broken headlights).

It turns out, we had more problems than we thought, which meant that we didn’t even have time to go to the diner for a quick breakfast -- as soon as we were done with repairs, we were gone. We had too much ground to cover, no thanks to my dad, and this time, my mom was driving.

Luckily, my uncle had the foresight to call the people at the awards ceremony and explain our situation. Astonishingly, they agreed to postpone the ceremony to that night so that we could arrive in time.

Eventually, we managed to make it to Toronto in one piece with no other (major) pitfalls.

I don’t remember much of what happened between the time we arrived and the actual ceremony, but I do remember that the ceremony was elegant and simple. I lined up with others on a stage, shook hands, and thanked people for the scholarship.

Typical of any ceremony, really.

Except for what happened next.

Finally off the stage and with my scholarship check in hand, I was ready to go back home, truck through the rest of my senior year, and commit myself to the USNA. I turned to my family, ready to say as much, before a young, somewhat lanky man boomed my name, along with a few others. We were told to bring our families. Confused, we lined up outside of a set of double doors. I was directly in the middle of the line.

In front of me, a tall brown-haired guy (who was kinda cute, not gonna lie), turned to me. “Do you know what’s going on?” he asked. His voice was a sort of low baritone that rang with lightheartedness.

“No,” I answered simply, shaking my head. In truth, I didn’t really trust myself to say more without sounding like an idiot.

“Oh. Okay, then,” he shrugged and turned back around. I refocused my attention on the doors. Some kids walked out excited and/or nervous while others walked out somewhat dejected. I held my breath as they called my name.