"Thank you for flying with British Airways," the co-pilot's voice echoes across the intercom. I sigh, and stand up to grab my bag from the rack above me, and joining the queue to exit the plane. Outside, the air is warm and slightly muggy – not so different to how it was in London just over nine and a half hours ago. I'm so relieved to be off the plane though– I absolutely hate sitting still for long periods of time.

I retrieve my bright blue suitcase and black rucksack from the conveyor belt in the Arrivals Hall, and head out into the main terminal. I could seriously do with a coffee right now – or even better, hot chocolate. But no, just as I set my sights longingly on the Costa Coffee across the other side of the terminal, a woman comes up to me. Her hair is long, black, and flecked with white, showing that she's about fifty or sixty. Her skin is a gorgeous chocolate brown colour, and she's sporting absolutely bizarre earrings – big lime-green and orange circles.

"I am assuming you're Lorelai Wilson?" she says briskly.

"Yes," I say hesitantly.

"Good. I thought so – what with that pink hair. I'm your aunt, May Hoffman, but you call me Aunty May. We've an hour and a half back to Wrickenridge; I have food in the car."

Jesus, this woman doesn't seem to need anyone else to participate in her conversations with her. I only really know about her from what my Mum told me – that she was bossy, demanding, and most importantly – not a savant. That kind of sucks, really, because I'm going to have to work hard to conceal my powers. Buuuutttt…oh well, I'm used to hiding them when I'm at dance school.

"Lorelai!" she snaps. "Follow me. I registered you at the local high school – in twelfth grade. It's a good school, but far too lax on the discipline, I must say. Certain students leave a lot to be desired for…"

I zone out as she leads me to a very prim and proper silver hatchback. I dump my bags in the boot, and slide into the passenger seat. Aunty May (I still can't get used to calling her that) hands me a small sandwich. "I expect you to eat a big dinner when we get home – I made casserole. You like casserole, right?"

Um, no, not really. But I'll deal – I can hide food in my room if I need to. But casserole is the least of my worries right now – I'm thinking more about the headache that's starting to throb in the back of my skull. I always get headaches when I'm overtired – and trust me, they are not pretty.

Aunty May finally lets me sleep a little while as we cruise along the motorway, which in America-speak is called the I-70. Stands for Interstate-70 which sounds weird to me, but oh well. I dream about dancing, paw-print shaped snowflakes, which is random, but it's a nice and welcome change from my old nightmare. Just as I'm getting into watching the snowflakes, Aunty May wakes me up. Damn, I was really enjoying that.

I lug all my luggage into her house to find, to my horror that her house is one of those completely neat ones, you know – nothing out of order, everything having it's place and so on. "Your room is up here, Lorelai," she says. "I'll let you unpack whilst I heat the casserole."

Then she leaves. Finally. I look around the room, sinking slowly onto the bed. It's a pretty room – there's no doubt about it – but it smells like old lady perfume. I sigh, and fling open the window (oh goody, I've got a windowseat. I have a small obsession with window-seats.) to disperse the smell, along with spraying a couple of squirts of my perfume – Princess by Vera Wang. I love the smell of it – it's comforting, and reminds me of home.

I dump my suitcase on my bed, and start putting away my clothes into the rickety wardrobe. When I've finished that, I put my meagre collection of books onto one of the bookshelves, my IPod, speakers and IPad on the desk, and my make-up collection in my bedside drawer. There. Done. Unpacked. I sit on the bed again, and wonder if I can move it so I have dancing space. It's either that, or dance in the garden – but that would completely ruin my pointe shoes. Well, maybe the school will have a studio. I really hope so.

I stand up again (I'm very energised at the moment, it's strange) and walk to the mirror, looking at the girl reflected there. My long white-gold hair with its dark gold highlights and raspberry pink ends waves gently down my back, and my green eyes are bright – which is strange, considering I've spent most of the day travelling. I sigh again, and, using the telekinesis, which is part of my powers, summon my make-up bag to start putting myself together again.

You know, I guess I really should explain my situation here. I'm a savant – it basically means I have powers. I know it sounds like something out of a teenage fantasy novel, but it's true. Every savant is different and unique, just like every person is different and unique. My powers include telekinesis and telepathy, which most savants can do, but my main two powers are being able to tell the truth from a lie, and the ability to manipulate emotions. Most of the time, I use the second one to help people calm down, or to cheer them up. I'm not bad, trust me.

A shout brings me back to earth. "Lorelai! Dinner is almost ready!"

I sigh, and head down the stairs, tossing my hair over one shoulder. "Lay the table, please," Aunty May orders. I get out the cutlery from where she's pointing and lay the table. To say it's an uncomfortable meal is a huge understatement – Aunty May grills me about life in London, and makes a couple of disparaging comments about my mother, which gets my back up. I loved my mother, and she has no right to comment on the way I was brought up.

I escape up to my room as soon as I can – putting on my favourite song – All About Tonight by Pixie Lott and starting to dance, letting my worries dissipate. Not halfway through the song, I'm interrupted by Aunty May slamming open my door. "Would you turn down the music?"

"I can't hear it if I turn it down!" I argue.

"And your leaping about is shaking the house," Aunty May snaps. When she takes in my stony face, her expression softens. "Wait until school tomorrow – they have a dance studio."

"Okay," I say, making my irritation clear. "I'll turn in early. Goodnight."

"Goodnight," she says, closing the door.