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opened and I pinned him with my stare. I raised my eyebrows and shoved his big arm off the armrest so I could take it. He placed his back beside mine, and we struggled for a moment before leaving our arms side by side.
    “I know? I know what?”
    Thane said nothing.
    Not playing it cool, I leaned over Thane, straining toward the oblong window, searching down through the clouds for a view of the town and the school. First, I saw patches of land divided by natural barriers, mountains, lakes, green stretches, then I saw a manmade building—an igloo.
    My head tilted, but the building’s appearance stayed the same—an igloo shoved up to the side of a mountain. From this vantage point, the structure seemed small, but I knew the school had to be huge to hold all the students. I braced a hand on the plane’s cold beige wall and leaned closer to confirm my impression. It didn’t change: mountain, ice, igloo—those were not words we used in Houston unless we were talking about beer, soda, and a cooler.
    The plane banked and whistled as the brakes flapped out of the wings, drawing us down. Bright sun shone through the windows. The flight attendant repeated her instructions, slightly more demand in her voice this time.
    I shaded my eyes and moved back to my seat with a big yawn. My ears popped, easing the pressure of the descent. I depressed the button to raise my seatback, and thought about what I hadn’t seen: houses, stores, civilization.
    “It’s a sunny warm one today, with a high of 62.” The pilot spoke in a cheerful tone like he’d had his morning caffeine.
    My mouth snapped shut when Alaska’s temperature registered. 62? In what world was 62 warm? The weather still reached triple digits back home.
    Thane stiffened beside me. He probably wanted his letter jacket. I mentally dared him to ask me its fate. Besides, no one wore their old school’s letter jacket to their new campus. Wearing your old jacket said, I don’t want to fit in here , and Thane always fit in. Not that he’d be cold; no doubt his mommy had packed him all kinds of specialty mittens for the trip. Big baby.
    The loud speaker crackled, and the pilot said, “Flight attendants, please take your seats.”
    The flight attendant took one final walk through the cabin, staring at our waists with half-suspicious, half-indifferent expressions. My seatbelt was worn low and tight across my waist when she passed. As soon as she took her jump seat, I undid the buckle and wiggled into a more comfortable position.
    The brakes whined and the wheels hit the tarmac with a smooth solid thump, making me slide forward a bit. I turned to the window. The forest zoomed by, providing me with my first close-up view of my new town in Alaska.
    The plane came to a sudden stop several yards from a grey metal warehouse. This regional airport was one-third the size of the Anchorage airport where we’d switched planes, and a fraction of the size of Houston’s intercontinental airport. Sudden silence filled my ears, then seatbelts unclicked and passengers jammed into the aisles.
    One of the directors said, “Follow the path around to the shuttles. They’ll take you up to the school. We’ll offload your bags and they’ll follow later.”
     
    ***
     
    I got in line behind a welcome table marked with the letter C , and took in my surroundings. A male coordinator wearing a lab coat handed me an 8 x 11 envelope stuffed full of papers. “Here’s your welcome packet.”
    I ignored the forms and lifted out a small translucent baggy. It held seven silver pills.
    “One vitamin per day. You’ll get a new supply at the end of the week.”
    I shoved them back inside.
    The coordinator said, “Explore all you want. Your room assignment is written on the pink flyer inside your packet.”
    “Thanks.” I started walking, with no clue as to where I was headed. Everything smelled new: the Berber carpet, the fresh plaster. The acrid scent was a cross between pleasant and headache-inducing.