by Cody Wagner
I exhaled, realizing I hadn’t breathed in what felt like minutes.
“Welcome back.” Roze smiled at me and I grinned back then looked around.
Home sweet home.
Four
Back to School
Knowing Dad was really gone, I took a minute to soak in every ounce of Sanctuary Preparatory Academy. The grass was the perfect mix of green and yellow. I’m not sure what that meant, but it felt right. Also, the campus bustled with people. Teenagers ran around everywhere. The ones without parents did cartwheels in the grass or threw Frisbees around. I wanted to join in, but that’s when I noticed it was scorching hot. I think the pressure of Dad being around messed up my body chemicals or something, and I didn’t register the temperature.
I reached up and wiped my forehead, sure someone had just turned on a sprinkler over my head.
“Wanna drop your suitcase off?”
I turned and looked at the dorms before responding to Roze. Heading there to unpack and change made the most sense, but I wasn’t ready to be cooped up inside. I wanted to walk around and feel the campus. It sounds stupid, but I needed to sweat out all the toxins I’d built up over the past couple months. Or something less hipster.
“Nah, let’s wander.”
Roze raised an eyebrow. “You’re just gonna drag that along?”
“It’s not that heavy.” To demonstrate, I yanked it toward me and turned it around. The exertion about killed me. The suitcase held everything I owned and weighed a million pounds. But I wasn’t about to let Roze know. Acting as if I were carrying a pillow, I tilted it on its wheels, dragged it across the road lasso and onto the field in the middle of campus.
Roze ran and joined me, saying, “Whatever.”
With that, we walked side-by-side in silence for a few minutes.
A group of people wearing shirts with the school’s flag—a red top half, white bottom half, and blue border—threw a football around. I recognized a couple of them from the board game group Roze and I had started last year.
One of them saw me and tossed the football. I reached out, snatched it from the air, and heaved it back.
“Come play?” he asked.
Any other time, I probably would have. But I was still trying to decide exactly how everything felt with Jimmy’s absence. That was too weird to admit, though, so I threw out the first excuse I could think of.
“Can’t. Uh, I gotta watch my suitcase.”
Roze stifled a laugh.
The guy squinted at me and shrugged. “Um, OK.”
“Just when I didn’t think you could get any weirder,” Roze whispered.
“I just didn’t want to show you up.”
I expected Roze to insist on playing a game of catch to prove me wrong, but I guess she didn’t want to join either because she rolled her eyes and kept walking.
We made our way through the field and past the Classroom Center. Seeing it jarred a thought loose: I had no idea what classes I was taking. In true Blaize fashion, I’d completely spaced on something that was kinda important. The course schedule was right inside my suitcase, but I’d never pulled it out of its manila envelope.
I didn’t want to think about school, though, and resisted the urge to tear into my bag. Last year, Sanctuary had chosen for me and everything worked out. I used that rationale to procrastinate just a bit more.
A bunch of girls sat under some trees near the front doors to the Classroom Center. One drew on a sketch pad while the others looked on, grinning. Suddenly, one of the girls flipped the pad around. It read “I’m Healing!” in swirly cursive letters. One of the girls shrieked, “I can feel it!” and swooned onto her back. The others clapped and cheered for her.
I was about to ask what had brought that on when Roze nudged me. I turned and saw a boy, around my age, walking past us with two adults. His face was flush with anger while his parents were all smiles.
“How nice,” his mother said, pointing at her son. “We hope you heal, too.”
“I loved the food,” his father said. “Healing Hamburgers? How clever!”
The kid hung his head as they trudged by.
I looked at Roze and we shared a sympathetic look. The kid was new here. Sadly, the newbies wouldn’t learn the truth about Sanctuary until tomorrow’s orientation, after the parents were gone. It made sense, but this guy wasn’t in on the joke yet, and until tomorrow, he’d think all the homophobic shenanigans were real.
I played with my hands, thinking about last year when I was that newbie. Oh man, it sucked. I had no idea why students randomly shouted about healing. That was part of the joke, but at the time, I thought Sanctuary had some sort of special healing serum. Or aluminum hats that transferred brainwashing conversion signals.
Standing on the other side of the mirror, I felt bad for the kid, even if our yelling about healing helped convince the parents. Part of me wanted to run and whisper, It’s about to get so good. That would have been the creepiest thing ever, though. Besides, he only had a day left. So, I turned away, and we continued walking.
Five minutes later, as we approached the exercise field, something took my mind off fake healing: my damn suitcase. My arms started shaking with the effort of pulling it up the curb onto the grass. I looked down and noticed the wheels were clogged with grass and dirt. Yeah, lugging it around was a supremely dumb idea. But I refused to admit defeat, tightened my sweaty grip, and continued looking around for weird things to distract me.
My attention was most drawn to the students’ moods. It was so easy to tell returning students from new. All returning students looked excited and kept checking their watches and phones, no doubt hoping their parents would leave soon. On the flip-side, new students looked pale and uneasy, like they were fighting explosive diarrhea.
Suddenly, Roze grabbed my arm and stopped me. “OK it’s been long enough. Let’s get this out of the way, please: how are you doing?”
My smile vanished. “Uhhhh.”
I knew this would come up eventually, but I still hesitated. I didn’t feel like sharing my feelings about Jimmy yet. I don’t know if it makes sense, but they were personal to me. And talking about them somehow made them seem less special in my head. That was probably just an excuse to avoid talking, but I found myself clamping up and muttering, “I’m alright.”
Roze raised an eyebrow. “You’re alright? All the time?”
I shrugged, and she stared at me for several seconds before saying, “I’ve cried so many times. Cassie, too.”
I winced. She was opening up, something that was as hard for her as it was for me. That broke my internal dam a bit and I found myself saying, “Me too.”
And that was as deep as it got. Roze nodded and said, “OK. Wanna make a lap around the track?”
Honestly, it felt like we’d said enough for now. At least to me. It’s like we were letting each other know that, despite our fronts, we still hurt. That camaraderie made me feel a smidge better and I nodded to myself. Then I peeked at my suitcase, wondering if I’d be able to make it around the field without a coronary. Suddenly, Roze’s eyes widened.
“What?” I said.
She nodded to my right. “It’s Cassie.”
“Sweet!”
I turned, ready to run to my other best friend. My body froze when I registered tiny Cassie’s pained expression and made-up appearance. Her normally messy brown hair was arranged perfectly in an elegant up-sweep. Her mousy demeanor was hidden behind an exaggerated posture. A prim, haughty woman walked just in front of her. I groaned. It was the awful Mrs. Cooke, her adoptive mother.
From what I knew, Cassie’s home life sucked way more than mine. Whereas Roze and I had good—but misguided—parents, Cassie’s family was . . . well, I’m not exactly sure what it was. Getting to know people was something I sucked at and vowed to work on. But it was hard. How do you just say, Tell me how awful your parents are, Cassie?
All I knew was Cassie’s adoptive parents were insane perfectionists. And to them, bein
g gay was the opposite of perfect, which made her home life a mess.
“Poor thing,” muttered Roze.
Before I could stop myself, I ran toward Cassie. I wasn’t sure if it was the smartest thing, but I refused to leave her alone if I could help it. She’d done way too much for me last year.
I went right up to her mom, stuck out my hand, and channeled my mom’s vocabulary. “It’s utterly stupendous to finally make your acquaintance, Mrs. Cooke.”
Cassie’s eyes got wide. Mrs. Cooke cocked her head back and stared at me. After a few seconds, she glanced down at my hand as if debating whether or not she wanted to touch my germs. My face heated with embarrassment and I went to withdraw when she stuck out her hand. Only she didn’t meet mine. She placed it just a few inches from her body. She wanted me to do the work of reaching out.
I paused for a second, debating what to do. Finally, I gave in, went closer, and took her hand. It was limp and dry. Without squeezing, she muttered, “Mmm Hmmm,” then pulled back.
Before I could respond, she reached into her purse, pulled out a tiny bottle of hand sanitizer, and washed herself off. My mouth dropped open. The act was entirely deliberate, clearly insinuating, You’re unclean because you’re gay.
I stood there stammering for a second when Roze stepped in. “Hi, Mrs. Cooke. I’m Roze. We’re friends with your daughter. It’s so nice to finally meet you.”
Mrs. Cooke eyed her up and down. “Is it?”
I suddenly wondered if Mrs. Cooke was racist. Was she OK with Cassie having a black friend?
Roze ignored her tone and said, “Yes. It is.”
“Rose is amazing,” I added.
Mrs. Cooke ignored our comments and said, to me, “So you’re her roommate.”
“Yes. And believe me, Cassie is healing!” Then, to my complete embarrassment, I threw my hands in the air as if angels were about to descend and carry me away.
Mrs. Cooke grimaced. I might as well have thrown myself on the ground and had a healing seizure. My brain wasn’t working right, and I didn’t know what to say. The woman threw me off. Even Roze had gone silent.
Mrs. Cook gave a side eye to Cassie. “Well, we’ll see about that. This one needs looking after.” At that, she stared me right in the eyes and said, “She’s a strange one.”
Cassie’s posture slumped just a bit, but I caught it.
My body stiffened in anger. Sure, Cassie was strange, but in a good way. She may have constantly studied us like we were animals in her National Geographic world, but she understood people and always said the right thing. Truth be told, she reminded me of an older version of Molly, and I loved that about her.
I looked at Roze, as if for permission to speak, when Mrs. Cooke said, “Are you ready to eat, Cassandra?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Cassie said.
“What would you like for dinner?”
Cassie chewed her upper lip then said, “A Healing Hamburger is fine.”
Mrs. Cook shook her head. “No. You’ll have Cleansing Casserole.”
I flinched, wondering, If she’d already made up Cassie’s mind for her, why even ask? Mrs. Cooke caught my stunned look and flashed the most condescending smile I’d ever seen. “Kids should have no power,” she explained. “Sometimes you have to show them who’s the alpha.” She nodded at Cassie. “You’ll have the Cleansing Casserole.”
And with that, they walked away.
“Damn,” Roze muttered, pretending to wash her hands like Mrs. Cooke.
I nodded, suddenly grateful my parents were just ignorant homophobes.
Roze fake-dried her hands. “Talk about a power trip.”
I nodded again. “I don’t think I’ve ever hated someone that fast in my life.”
Roze shrugged. “It explains why Cassie’s been so distant lately.”
Images of Cassie’s home flashed through my head. I imagined pots of mashed potatoes and ham and green beans scattered all over their table like a potluck. Mrs. Cooke, with a halo over her head, said, “Eat whatever you like, dear.” Just as Cassie reached for something, Mrs. Cooke smacked her hand with a ruler as the halo turned to devil horns. The visual was dumb, but I shuddered.
“Let’s hangout by the cafeteria,” Roze said.
“Good idea.” Keeping Cassie close-by seemed like the right thing to do. And because the cafeteria was across from my dorm, it would give me a chance to drop off my suitcase, that now felt like a twenty-ton cement truck.
* * * * *
The twelve-to-fifteen-year-old dorm was just as I remembered: durable carpet lined a hallway with six plain doors on each side. A foyer lay at the end, with an identical hallway on the other side. Twenty-four rooms per floor. I’d never really stopped to think about how many students were at Sanctuary and numbers began jumping into my head when Roze said, “What room are you in?”
I froze. “No idea.”
Roze smiled. “Figures.”
“Whatever. It’s right here.” I laid my suitcase on its back and unzipped it. A huge manila folder sat on top of my clothes and toiletry bag. I grabbed it, tore it open, and stuck my hand inside. Ignoring the mountain of papers, I fumbled around for a plastic key card. It was at the very bottom, and risking about a million paper cuts, I yanked it out.
“Room 304,” I said, reading the numbers printed on one side.
“Third floor.”
“Cool.” Pamata was so small, it had no tall buildings. The third floor would be like the top of the Empire State Building.
We walked to the end of the hall, and climbed stairs situated in front of the exit. Two floors later, we emerged in the hallway where I’d be living for the next year. I grinned as nerves popped up in my stomach. Another year at Sanctuary. What would it be like? I had no idea and plodded to the fourth door on my left.
I looked down. “This is exactly two floors about our first room.”
“Wonder if that’s deliberate.”
“No idea.” I held my key card against the lock and heard a click. Turning the handle, I threw the door open and peered inside. It looked the same as my last room. A mirror and white pedestal sink were to the left. The beds sat in front of us. Cassie’s bed—with her suitcase sitting on top—was to the left just past the sink. My bed, a wooden bunk bed, was to the right, behind a dresser.
Holding my breath, I walked around and looked underneath my bed. A couch sat below it.
“No third roommate,” Roze said.
I nodded as my stomach did a bittersweet churn. Most students at Sanctuary had two roommates. Last year, Cassie, Jimmy, and I had all lived together. However, after a student almost killed Jimmy, he was moved to the Admissions Building. Since then, Cassie and I lived alone. It looked as if Sanctuary was keeping it that way.
I wasn’t sure what to think. On one hand, a new roommate might have been fun. On the other hand, we had tons of work to do if we wanted to stop the Siren. That meant millions of conversations, so privacy was probably for the best. Speaking of conversations, I was hoping the three of us would get a chance to chat soon. We needed to talk about my call with Jimmy’s dad.
As if reading my thoughts, Roze said, “I hope Cassie’s done soon. We all need to talk.”
I nodded and drug my suitcase over to the couch. After throwing a pile of clothes into the dresser, I plopped the toiletry bag on the sink and brushed off my hands as if I’d just finished a hard day’s work.
“Head downstairs?”
“About time.” Roze grinned and hopped off Cassie’s bed.
I made a rude gesture as we went downstairs and out toward the cafeteria.
Acting like spies, we peeked into the double doors leading to rows of tables and food stations. We didn’t make a bold entrance because we worried Mrs. Cooke might do something mean to Cassie if she saw us. Maybe she’d insist on changing Cassie’s meal mid-bite.
That’s when a bout of Murphy’s Law hit. Suddenly, the doors flew open, smacking my forehead. I stumbled backwards and rubbed my head. Naturally, I let ou
t a choice cuss word.
Mrs. Cooke stood there, glaring at me.
Cassie yelped behind her. “Are you OK?” She dropped her prim posture and raced over.
“Stop.” Mrs. Cooke’s voice barely rose above a whisper, but I think the entire universe heard. Cassie froze. Her eyes were scared and mad. She must have been debating whether or not to disobey her mother.
My head throbbed, but I threw on a smile. “It’s all good. We just got to the door at the same time. Honest mistake.”
Mrs. Cooke stared at me. I maintained eye contact until it became uncomfortable. Then, as if I was as insignificant as a cockroach, Mrs. Cooke turned to Cassie. “There’s no point in my sticking around. I’m satisfied with your home. But you’re not shirking your duties like last year.” She held out a hand and counted on her fingers. “Weekly calls, monthly reports, and you will respond to every message we send within five minutes.” She lowered her arm. “If you fail in any one of these, well—” She let the sentence die so we could form our own worst-case scenarios.
“Yes, ma’am.” Cassie said.
At that, Mrs. Cooke began walking to the parking lot. Two things went through my head. First, she didn’t even say goodbye to her daughter. Second, the air was already feeling warmer and less tense.
Suddenly, Mrs. Cooke turned back. “While you’re at it, I want reports on him.” She’d said him as if I were Hitler’s demon baby.
Before I could stop myself, I glared at her.
Mrs. Cooke froze and raised an eyebrow. Then she smiled. “I know you must think I’m awful. Frankly, I’m glad. Parents are overseers, not friends.” She shifted her weight. “And let me assure you our little Cassie here isn’t normal. She’s lucky to have me and Gabriel, her father.” She turned and began walking away. After a few more steps, she whispered, “No one else wanted her.”
That was the last thing she said. Thank god. I actually growled and wanted to lunge at her. She seriously brought out a primal hatred in me. I forced myself not to move, though, and the three of us watched her as she got in her car, backed out, drove down the road lasso, and exited out of sight.