Not long after what would usually be lunch, my mom wandered up towards my room. She ignored the clothes on the floor, my bed, the chair, the desk, as she came closer. Mom stopped in front of me, her skin pale.

"Xenia. . . I'm sorry, but I have to send you to a boarding school. . .I was advised to by your school principal." Mom looked down at me. I didn't look up; didn't even move my eyes from the place they were looking. 

Soon, as in a few seconds after kind of soon, I found out I'd be going to Saint Edalyn's Boarding School.

I hid what I suppose would be shock, as I thought about this. First of all, Saint Edalyn's is in England. Second of all, I don't have any family in England, or any friends there, for that matter.

Otherwise, if it was a school, say, in Italy, I'd be alright with it. We have plenty of family there.

I tried to say no to my mom, I really don't want to go to that place, but my voice came out hoarse. My vocal cords didn't want to work.

I waited for her to leave. When she did, I sighed. Knowing mom, I wouldn't be able to change her mind. Even if I were able to tell her about how god-awful that place is. 

I've read articles about how people were mistreated; some ex-students have said that it's almost as if they are in a reform school. 'How pleasant' I thought to myself, disgruntled.

I glanced at my deteriorating cello case. I wonder how my cello is doing in there. 

Then I get an idea, which will hopefully get my mind off of my depression, as well as Saint Edalyn's.

I get up and lightly stretch my arms and legs. I peer down at my clothes; it's all dirty, some clothes I wore months ago, but I never got around to washing them.

I sighed and got to work.

It had been a few hours of me working on cleaning my bedroom. Because of the disaster that it was I still wasn't done. Most likely, I wouldn't be done for another three to four hours. At this time, it's. . .Oh, it's ten p.m.

I should head to bed.