Chapter 7

• The blaring alarm felt like an insult.
• I jolted awake, heart pounding, and immediately realized I'd overslept.
• “Shit!”
• Scrambling out of bed, I grabbed my phone. 5:45 AM. My flight is at 7:55 AM out of YYC. There was no time for a slow start.
• I brushed my teeth, threw on my outfit, a black hoodie, fitted joggers, and my most comfortable sneakers. It was May, which meant Iceland would be cool but not freezing, somewhere around (45 to 50°F). I packed a light insulated jacket in my carry-on, knowing I’d need it as soon as we landed.
• My suitcase was mostly ready from the night before, but I triple-checked for the essentials: passport, boarding pass, wallet. More importantly, I made sure my AirPods, neck pillow, and blanket were packed. I hated flying, there was no way I was suffering through a seven-hour flight without distractions.
• Downstairs, my parents were already in full-on parental panic mode.
• “Nova, you should have been up earlier!” my mom scolded, stuffing snacks into my backpack as if I was flying to the edge of the Earth.
• “You have everything? Charger? Medicine? Do you want us to call the airline to confirm your seat?” my dad added, hovering by the door, car keys in hand.
• “I’m fine,” I grumbled, yanking on my backpack. I was not fine, but there was no time to argue.
• They insisted on driving me to the airport as if I wasn’t perfectly capable of taking an Uber. I let them have this one. It was only four days, but they acted like I was leaving forever.
• By the time we reached Calgary International Airport, the rush of morning travelers was already in full swing.
• “You’re sure you don’t want a second jacket?” my mom asked as we walked inside.
• “Mom, Iceland isn’t Antarctica,” I groaned.
• She ignored me, linking arms as we navigated through the crowd, while my dad stayed a step behind, probably memorizing emergency contacts in his head.
• I finally spotted my classmates near the departure gate, clustered together in groups of twos and threes, some buzzing with excitement, others still half-asleep.
• “There they are, see? I’m good,” I told my parents.
• But of course, they wouldn’t leave until they had spoken to my chaperones themselves.
• “Nova’s here! She overslept, but she’s fine,” my mom announced like I was five.
• My dad shook hands with the teacher leading the trip, giving his whole ‘take care of my daughter’ speech. I stood there, waiting for them to let me go.
• “Be safe, call if you need anything, don’t lose your passport”
• “Mom, Dad, Go.”
• Reluctantly, they left, but not before waving a final time. I exhaled, adjusting my backpack. Now, it really felt like the trip was starting.
• As I turned back to my classmates, a sudden shift in the airport caught our attention.
• A group of men in black suits, unmistakably security, moved in tight formation through the terminal. Their presence alone sent a ripple through the crowd, students nudging each other and whispering.
• “Who’s that?” someone muttered.
• The security detail was blocking someone from view, keeping them completely surrounded as they walked toward a private gate that led directly to the runway.
• They paused for a moment.
• It was subtle, but they seemed to be looking for something or someone.
• Then, just as quickly, the group moved again, disappearing through the restricted entrance.
• “Probably some rich CEO or government official,” someone in my class guessed.
• “Or royalty,” another added.
• Whoever they were, they weren’t boarding a commercial flight like the rest of us. Private jet, high-profile security, definitely someone important.
• But that was none of my concern.
• “Let’s go, they’re boarding,” our teacher called, pulling our focus back to the trip ahead.
• Once on the plane, I found my window seat, tucked my neck pillow around my shoulders, and pulled out my AirPods.
• Seven hours, I could survive that.
• I barely paid attention to my classmates as they settled in. A few were playing cards, others discussing the itinerary. I preferred my own space, letting my playlist drown out the noise as I stared out the window. The music and the view outside pulled me into my own world, the flight slipping by in a blur.
• The plane touched down in Iceland, time lost to half-hearted attempts at watching in-flight movies.
• The moment I stepped off the plane, the cool Icelandic air seeped into my skin, despite the terminal being climate-controlled. It wasn’t freezing, but definitely a chillier contrast to Calgary.
• Outside, the sky was overcast, a blanket of gray stretching over the horizon. Crisp air, the faint scent of salt from the distant ocean. It felt… clean.
• A large coach bus with our school’s logo waited just outside the terminal, ready to take us to the hotel. The ride was subdued, the low murmur of conversation fading as we wound through Iceland’s stark landscape, most of us still grappling with the time difference.
• The hotel’s sleek lobby, with its soft lighting and minimalist decor, offered a sharp contrast to the raw, windswept icelandic terrain we’d passed on the bus ride.
• At the front desk, our teacher handed out room keys, each labeled with a number. Room assignments had already been decided weeks ago, based on preferences.
• I didn’t hesitate, choosing single occupancy.
• It wasn’t that I didn’t want to share, I just wasn’t particularly close to anyone in the group. And, if I was being honest, no one had chosen to room with me either.
• That small fact stung more than I liked to admit.
• But I didn’t dwell on it, I had planned for this, the extra cost was worth the quiet, the space to just be.
• As I wheeled my suitcase to the elevator, the key to room 304 clutched in my hand, my playlist faint through my earbuds, a steady tether to my thoughts as I prepared for whatever this trip would hold.
• The room was small but modern, with a large window overlooking the city. The bed was neatly made, a folded itinerary waiting on the desk.
• Four days stretched ahead, I was alone, yes, but I was also here for the science, the experience, and that was more than enough.