Authors: Danielle
Oliver felt Robert's eyes on him, watching and waiting.
"Where are you from?" Robert's dark eyes revealed no trace of insincere curiosity nor accusing looks. It was just a question, the first simple question he'd gotten in days.
"
Memphis, Tennessee. You?" Oliver responded.
"Here, actually.
Summers, Massachusetts. It's not too far from here."
"So, you've been going here for a while."
"No, actually. My first year here, just like you.
Can't say I'm happy about it, though---" The remainder of Robert's words were drowned out by the sound of the room door opening, sharply. Robert suddenly stood at attention. After a moment's delay and a penetrating stare from Robert, Oliver scrambled up, panting.
"Room 209. I understand we have a new student. Oliver
Donovan?" The voice was soft, but sharp and belonged to a short woman. She wore her hair pulled back tightly in a bun and a navy blue suit. A pin just above her breast pocket read "Charlie" in bold, black letters.
"Uh yes, that's me." Oliver looked over at Robert for instruction, but Robert only looked ahead, unflinchingly.
"I see your bed has not been made yet."
"I just got here."
"Lack of preparation is certainly not an excuse for failure, Mr. Donovan. See to it that your bed is made right this second. You will find the sheets in the top drawer of your dresser." Matron Charlie stood staring at Oliver, and before he knew it, he found himself robotically moving towards the dresser. When he finished, he turned around to face her once more, somewhat yearning for her approval.
"Excellent. Welcome to T
he Delafontaine School, Mr. Donovan. I am your matron Charlie, one of the many people at this school responsible for shaping young men like you into responsible adults. Our boys come from all walks of life, some more lenient than others. I want you to know that everyone pitches in here, because we are all one big family. We take dinner at 5pm every day, with the option of late night dining at 9pm if you have a scheduling conflict." Charlie moved to the side, revealing a bag on her right shoulder. She reached in and pulled out a thick folder.
"Here is your schedule. You will take your classes with the majority of the other first years
, although it seems you have placed out of ninth grade science. Congratulations.”
“I didn’t take a placement test, though.” Matron Charlie continued on as if she had not heard him.
“You will be given a reprieve from exercise for the weekend, but do expect to begin on Monday. I'll let you review this, and if you have any questions, I will be right down the hall in room 201."
When the door closed behind Charlie
and the sound of her footsteps was no longer audible, Robert burst out into a cackle. "I told you, you weren't ready." Oliver rolled his eyes in response and pulled out a thick stack of papers from the manila folder. The first one was a schedule, reading:
Mon-Fri
8:30am Breakfast
9:00am Calculus
-Mr. Houston
10:00am History
-Mr. Johnson
11:00am English Literature
-Ms. Latham
12:00pm Lunch
1:00pm Physics-Mr. Lawson
2:00pm Gym (Track & Field
) - Mr. Weisman
3:00PM (every other we
ek) - Dr. Heinz
4:00PM Free time
11:00pm Room check
"Brutal. You got Dr. Heinz for psych eval?"
"What is that?" Robert paused and he regarded Oliver strangely for a moment.
"I'm guessing
you didn’t get a brochure."
"Of course not."
Oliver said.
Robert shrugged. "Some people choose to go here."
He said.
"Why would they do that?"
"It's routine. It's normal. There’s nothing wrong with that. We get psych sessions every few weeks, to make sure we're not losing it."
"Wow, that's kind of them."
Oliver said.
Robert laughed again. "It's not that bad. Sometimes, it's nice to have someone to talk to about your secrets."
A lump formed in Oliver’s throat and he looked down. He certainly knew about secrets.
"What about Dr. Heinz?"
"He's just
…been known to be very direct. Some people say he's crazy himself. I had him last semester. He was very…interesting. I’ll leave it at that." Robert laughed.
"What did
you talk about?" Oliver asked.
Robert glowered and shoved his hands into his pocket. "
We talked a lot about the future and the past. He reminisced a lot. Anyway, he might okay to you. A little out there, though."
Oliver flipped through the rest of the packet, which revealed a list of rules, dress code, administrators, and a recommended book of the week.
"Is this homework? I just got here." Oliver complained. Robert laughed hard, until his laugh turned into a wheeze.
"You're really going to be in for it, man." He flopped back down on his own bed.
"We better get ready for dinner. Bathrooms and showers are down the hall.
Uniform is in the bottom drawer. If I were you, I’d hurry up. The upperclassmen like to take over our showers because they’re nicer.” Robert said.
Oliver wrapped himself in a bathrobe
and flopped down the hall in the shower flip flops provided for him. They were far too big and were neon yellow, but they would have to do. The hallway was silent except for the padding of his own feet. As soon as he opened the door, he found himself in the middle of a flurry of movement and in a thick cloud of shower steam.
"You heard
Charlie
, she said dinner is soon. I WONDER WHAT WE'RE EATING." A cloud of laughter rose from the closed shower stalls in front of Oliver. He looked down, seeing legs in each one but the last.
"I KNOW WHAT I'M HUNGRY FOR."
A voice said.
The laugh
ter rose again, raucous and wild. Oliver hurried into the shower and let the water run over his body like the familiar touch of a long lost lover. It had been days since he'd showered and many more since he'd really thought about his situation. The words of the police officer who transported him still burned brightly in his mind's eye. The smugness of his demeanor. He hadn't said what he'd said because he thought it was true, he said it because he knew it was true, and the thought of it all frightened Oliver.
The bathroom slowly emptied out, and the cloud of movement drifted away l
eaving Oliver by himself. After an extensive full body scrub---his skin rivaling dried prunes by the time he was finished--Oliver stepped from the shower with his towel tied around his waist.
"Oh,
are you one of the new ones?"
The
smooth voice startled Oliver and he lost his footing for a moment, grasping for any surface to steady him, using one hand to hold on to his towel. When his heart rate had sufficiently decreased, he looked for the sound of the voice. When he did, he was taken aback. Wide, hazel doe eyes stared back at him and Oliver was entranced.
"We're going to be late for dinner, you know."
The boy said.
Oliver was jolted out of his trance
. In front of him, stood one of the most handsome boys he had ever seen and he immediately questioned himself on why exactly he was focusing so much on that. The boy smirked, and adjusted the towel around his waist.
"You
are
new here." He said again, pausing before new.
"I am….Oliver". Oliver put his hand
on his head, his cheek flushing as he did. "Sorry. I think I'm still tired. It was a long drive."
"No problem. It's Gabriel." Gabriel stuck out his hand, and Oliver felt compelled to shake it.
He had to get to know him. The urge was stronger than anything he had felt recently and he looked at Gabriel, bewildered. But Gabriel's eyes revealed nothing.
"Oh sorry, I don't usually shake. Wet hands, you know." Oliver responded, lamely.
"No problem. I'm
going to head out. See you at dinner."
Oliver watched as Gabriel sauntered out of the bathroom. As soon as the door to the bathroom slammed shut, Oliver felt as if he had been slapped in the face with a cool whip
, the last few minutes a confused blur.
What did he even say?
Oliver shook his head, although he was unsure of what he was trying to get rid of.
Dressed in his new school uniform, Oliver studied himself in the mirror.
The uniform was crisp, freshly pressed he supposed. On the breast pocket, two initials were scribbled--DF, for Delafontaine School. His khakis weren't too short like he often found with store bought khakis, but fit well. Oliver had the disturbing realization that the uniform was tailored for him specifically. As if they’d known he was coming. He thought back to the officer who’d driven him from Tennessee to Massachusetts, and how he had laughed obnoxiously when Oliver had mentioned his mother. Perhaps, Oliver realized with a pang of sadness, that the officer hadn’t been so wrong after all. He had not been kidnapped, but sent away, for good. He sighed and headed downstairs for dinner.
As he neared the dining room, a barrage of smells wafted towards him, tempting him. His stomach was feeling dangerously empty from several days of snacks and soda pop.
He rounded the corner into the dining room. It was then that the smells came in full force. The Delafontaine Dining Hall was long and high ceilinged like the rest of the buildings. Around the outer edges of the hall, shiny silver dinner troughs lined the walls. In front of them, stood a line of identically dressed boys piling their plates high with good food. Oliver's mouth watered as he stood at the entrance to the dining hall, basking in his first sighting of real food in days.
"Oliver. OLIVER."
"I told you!" A pair of voices, arguing, floated into a previously peaceful moment. Oliver whirled around at the sound of his name, and his jaw dropped. Before him, stood Malachi and Paul, both dressed in the Delafontaine uniform.
"What are you DOING here?"
"I could ask you the same thing."
"You know why he's here." Malachi's soft, cynical voice undercut Paul's excitement.
"Why are you here?" Oliver managed, though he couldn't yet wrap his mind around Malachi and Paul's presence. He had seen Malachi dragged away, and he had dreamed of him. There was a certain finality to the feelings he'd experienced, not certain death, but certain nevertheless.
Malachi frowned in response to his question.
"I'm not sure. I guess you've gotten the spiel by now. But it doesn't make sense to me, at all. None of it." Malachi looked out over the noisy dining hall, and his eyes grew narrow.
"Food doesn't make sense to you, Chi? That's your loss. I'm digging in." Paul loosened his tie and made a beeline for the first serving station, while Malachi watched, his face tight.
"Should we eat?" Oliver looked uncertainly at Malachi.
Malachi nodded, though he said nothing. Feeling strangely relieved that he'd gotten Malachi's blessing, Oliver did all he could not to run to the serving stations. The first serving station had ham, turkey, and tofu. The ham was thick, with sugar dipped skin, and the turkey was white and juicy. Oliver quickly piled his plate with both, and moved on to the next station. The next station boasted steaming sweet potatoes and gnocchi. Oliver moved through the stations until he looked very much like a ball juggler attempting to carry all three of his plates. After several close calls with a wet floor sign, Oliver landed at an open table in the back corner, followed closely by Malachi and Paul. Silence settled over the table as the boys ate, each refusing to think more deeply about anything that he wasn't putting in his mouth.
Tw
enty minutes later, when stomachs were satisfied, Malachi coughed. The cough was deep, throaty, and obviously fake. Oliver looked up from the few remaining gnocchi on his plate, as he came down from his food high.
"Come on, Malachi, don't ruin this for us." Paul protested, through a mouth full of turkey.
Malachi rolled his eyes and stabbed a ham slice on his plate.
"I'm not ruining anything. I'm just asking you to really think about what happened here."
"What happened is, I have somewhere to go that isn't my mom's house." Paul shrugged. "What about your rights?" Malachi asked, urgently.
Paul swallowed his turkey with a gulp. "I think it's great here. I'm not complaining
. Things could be worse dude."
Malachi looked over to Oliver for a response, but all he could do is shrug.
Malachi opened his mouth to argue, but was drowned out by a sudden crash. The three boys whirled around.
In the center of the dining hall, a tall broad-shouldered older student stood on top of one of the lunch tables. His fair hair was cut in a trendy style and his face wore an easy smirk. He looked out over the dining hall, and his eyes rested on Oliver's table for a moment, his smirk deepening. He opened his mouth to speak. His voice was rich and his confidence was practiced.