by Danielle
Oliver wandered back to his dormitory, eyes cast low. He passed the outdoor basketball court, where a couple of older boys played pick up. He raised his eyes, his own meeting with one of the boys who gestured at him to come over. Oliver shook his head and kept walking, looking at his own hands and swearing that he saw blood. He opened the door to his room, relieved when he didn't see Robert's black hair sticking up from the covers. Oliver laid down on his bed, letting the afternoon breeze send him into a peaceful sleep. He awoke after what seemed like five minutes later---although the setting sun betrayed the true time. A beam of light from the other side of the room indicated Robert's return. Oliver turned on his side to see Robert diligently writing away in a notebook beneath a desk lamp.
"What are you doing?" Robert looked up, his face covered in shadows.
"Writing a letter." He closed the notebook he was looking at and turned towards Oliver.
"To who?"
"My mom." Robert said shortly.
Oliver felt compelled to ask about what, but Robert's facial expression made no indication that he would welcome such a question.
"Did you see Dr. Heinz today?" Oliver nodded. Robert's lips hardened into a razor thin line.
"How was he?" Oliver shrugged. "He was fine. Typical psychology stuff."
"Do you feel particularly enlightened?" Robert laughed.
"No, why?"
Robert was silent. "Nothing. How was today?"
Oliver's eyes stayed glued to the ceiling, as he still felt somewhat numb about it all.
"Do you like it here?" Robert asked. He leaned into the light, his face intently curious. As he emerged from the shadows, sitting just at the tip of his own mattress, Oliver thought he looked rather like a gargoyle perched atop a cathedral.
“Where else would I go?” Oliver asked.
Robert nodded. “I wonder that same thing, myself.”
“What time is it?” Oliver sat up, wiping the sleep from his eyes.
“About 8pm. You missed dinner, unfortunately. There’s late night, if you want a pimento cheese sandwich.” Oliver grimaced. “If it’s any consolation, it’s not that bad.” Robert laughed.
Chapter 7
A week later, Malachi and Oliver stood outside Knott Hall, taking bets on who should enter first.
“I’ve never been in an upperclassman dorm before. Can we just walk in there?” Oliver looked critically at the massive wooden doors before him. Malachi shrugged.
“Well, we were invited. It’s not like we’re strangers, or anything. Let’s just---okay---I’ll go.” Mustering all of the faux confidence he could find within himself, Oliver marched up to Knott Hall and swung open the doors.
If Oliver had been impressed by the first year dorms, he was absolutely floored by the senior dorms. Knott Hall seemed more like a nice estate, than a residence for students. As they stepped into the common room, Oliver noted that the walls were a warm mahogany, with plush beige carpet. Towards the back of the room, a fireplace glowed from the remains of an earlier fire.
“When we get to be seniors, I’m going to make sure that I live here. Where’d they say they’d be?” Malachi said, mouth wide open in awe.
“Basement common room.” Oliver said. He and Malachi headed towards the stairs, hearts jumping with anticipation.
Oliver and Malachi stepped into the basement, and were immediately hit with the unmistakable, pungent smell of marijuana and a barrage of voices.
Malachi looked over at Oliver and grinned like the Cheshire cat. “I think we’re in the right place.”
At the end of the hall, in a common room smaller than the first floor, sat Owen, Gabriel and Alex. Alex sat in the open window sill, legs propped up against the wall, while Gabriel lay sprawled across a small table in the center of the room. Owen sat on the floor, staring intently at a rolled piece of paper. Oliver and Malachi exchanged looks and waited to be noticed. Several minutes went by before Oliver cleared his throat as loudly as he could.
The reaction was slow, like water creeping through a thick towel. Alex swung his legs off the window sill and put his hand on the wall to steady himself.
“You made it! Guys, they made it?” Alex howled.
Gabriel jerked his head up, and hit his head on the top of the table, sending Alex into a giggle fit that would make a little girl feel outmatched. Owen still stared intently at his rolled piece of paper.
“It’s not going to be perfect.” Gabriel said, rubbing his head with a look that said very clearly, “How did that table get there?”
“It has to be perfect, for their first time.” Owen held up the tiny wrap and inspected it.
“How do you know it’s our first time?” Malachi asked, smirking.
“I like him!” Alex shouted, and then he recoiled as if the sound of his own voice surprised him.
~
“Well, here it is. It isn’t much.” Owen opened the door to his room, rolling his hand out in dramatic fashion.
“Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the greatest time of your life!” Alex put his hand over his mouth and narrated.
“We have a couple of eclectic posters on the wall to your left, a king sized bed because Owen needs so much room, and on your right, the greatest stash known to man.”
Oliver and Malachi stepped inside Owen’s room, and Oliver immediately knew that he liked it better than any room he had ever seen before. The walls were covered from top to bottom with indie band posters. In the middle of the room, a tiny brass flower basket hung from the ceiling, and instead of flowers, little rolled cigarettes stuck out of the sides. In the corner, a squashed, stained couch was covered with weeks of clothing. And the room smelled not faintly, but rather deliberately of marijuana and cigarette smoke, Oliver noted.
“The luckiest stash known to man. How many times has Officer Marks knocked on this door?” Gabriel asked, as he flopped down onto Owen’s bed.
“Too many to count” Alex answered from the couch in the corner. Owen closed the door behind Oliver and Malachi and pulled out the perfectly wrapped joint.
“Is it time?” Alex popped up from the couch. Owen nodded and smiled.
“It’s time.”
“But I’ve smoked before. It’s not a big deal.” Malachi blurted out, and he looked around meaningfully. Owen shook his head.
“It’s not that. Today’s just a special day, that’s all.”
“That’s right!” Alex interrupted. “Think of this as your introduction to our little club.”
“What club?” Oliver asked.
Alex stared back at him as if this was the stupidest question he had ever heard.
“The Disciples, of course.” Alex started a slow clap, and after a moment’s delay, Gabriel joined in, and then Owen.
“Get the lighter!” Alex yelled. Owen handed Oliver the joint and carefully lit the end with a small smile on his face.
“Consider this a welcoming present.”
Two hours later, the room was full of smoke and loose mouths. The Red Hot Chili Peppers whined softly in the background. Malachi took a drag of the latest joint, and started hacking.
“Easy there. Let me take that for you.” Alex leaned forward from his spot on the edge of the sofa, reaching towards Malachi with all the grace of an astronaut reaching for a close by asteroid in space.
“No, I’m not done yet.” Malachi complained.
“Oliver?” Alex snatched the joint from Malachi and offered it to Oliver.
Oliver shook his head. “I’m pretty hungry.”
“Got you covered.” Gabriel threw a bag of chips at Oliver’s lap, which he opened gratefully.
“So, what’s this club thing about?” Malachi lounged vertically across Owen’s bed, and he propped himself up with his elbow. His eyes were as red as the glowing fire on the first floor and when he saw Oliver staring he smiled a dopy smile.
“What was it, the Disciples?” Malachi asked.
“Aww, that’s just the name Gabriel gave it. He considers himself a god around
here, if you haven’t noticed by now.” Alex supplied.
“That’s not true, it’s the name of this band—“Gabriel protested, but he burst into giggles before he could finish his sentence.
“It’s just a little club. You know, we have to stick together.” Owen said and he placed his finished cigarette in the ash tray besides him.
“We?” Oliver asked.
Owen nodded. “You know, the troubled boys of Delafontaine.” He said, rolling his eyes. “Hey Alex, throw me a bag.”
“Isn’t everybody troubled or some shit? That’s what my foster mom always said.” Gabriel said, shrugging.
“I think she was just trying to make you feel better, Gabs.” Alex replied, with a laugh.
“My pops told me that there wasn’t anybody else in the entire world as troubled as me. I think he told the rest of my family that I’m studying abroad in Europe. I guess I’m just glad that he didn’t send me straight to military school.” Alex mouthed a thank you to the ceiling and laughed.
“You think this isn’t exactly like military school?” Malachi said, abruptly. Oliver looked around the room, uneasily. He knew that tone, of course. He wasn’t as sensitive as Paul by any means, but damn if Malachi couldn’t go more than one day without mentioning his theories. Owen took his cigarette out of his mouth and blew a smoke ring in Malachi’s direction.
“Do you?” Owen asked, casually.
Oliver felt the mood in the room shift rapidly. Alex looked down at his jeans, as if they were the most interesting thing in the world, and Gabriel looked back and forth between Owen and Malachi, his face unreadable. Oliver wondered what answer Owen was looking for, and whether or not Malachi was going to give the right one.
“I do.” Malachi said, although more timidly than Oliver had ever heard him sound before. Owen studied him, and then took another drag from his cigarette.
“You’re wrong. It’s worse.” He said.
Without warning, Malachi clapped his hand and whooped. “See, I told Paul. I’m not crazy. There’s something weird about this school.” If it was physically possible, Malachi looked like he would have slapped himself on the back for a job well done.
“What do you think, Oliver?” Owen looked over at him. Oliver shrugged.
“They are pretty strict here.”
Owen laughed harshly. “Good boys become good men, am I right boys? You don’t know the half of it.”
Oliver leaned forward, his curiosity having got the best of him. “Why don’t you tell me?”
Gabriel laughed out loud. “Do you have five years?”
Alex nodded in agreement. “It would take too long. Just let it be. Enjoy the delicacies we have here.” He gestured at a box of beer in the corner. “Enjoy the view of the bud-lier. It’s one of a kind, you know.”
Oliver could just sense Malachi itching to speak, and he jumped ahead.
“Come on. You can’t lead with that and expect us to not ask. We want to know what we’re in for. And you’re leaving anyway soon enough. It’s not forever.” Oliver complained. He started to shrug, but froze when he saw the thousand yard stare in Owen’s blue eyes. Alex whistled a low whistle, and Oliver realized with creeping dread that he had stumbled across something taboo.
Owen flicked his gaze towards Malachi, as if he had asked the question. “You should know, then, that people don’t exactly graduate from Delafontaine.” He spoke casually, but his blue eyes still had the same, unsettling gaze.
“Why not?”
“That’s what the fortune teller said!”
Malachi and Oliver spoke at the same time. Owen looked wearily between the two of them, as if he were trying to decide whom to answer, but with a secret preference for neither.
After a moment, he sighed. “If I tell you, will you promise to drop it?”
“Drop it?” Oliver asked.
“I’ll tell you our secret, and then we’ll keep drinking. It’s easier that way.” Owen stared at Oliver, and in that moment, Oliver imagined that he looked wearier than the oldest man on earth. When Oliver had arrived at Delafontaine, he had pictured Owen and his friends as invincible, sitting at the center table and defying Matron Charlie behind her back. As he stared into Owen’s hollow eyes, it occurred to Oliver that it might well all be a carefully constructed facade.
“Pour me a drink, Alex.” Owen said as he stubbed his third cigarette. He received his drink with shaking hands. He took a sip and then leaned back in his chair. “When I first came to Delafontaine, I was just like you, kind of. I didn’t really have a choice. I came home one day, my suitcase was packed for me, and a cop was waiting with handcuffs. My mom was saying something about how she wished things could have gone differently and how sorry she was.” Owen laughed harshly. “It’s not true, you know. She wasn’t sorry at all. I couldn’t help it that I was different. It was something that followed me all my life. I got kicked out of every preschool from here to Los Angeles. Difficult. Ill-mannered. Whatever.” Owen took a swig of his drink and lifted his eyes to the ceiling. “Truthfully, I was kind of glad to come here. You know, to turn my life around. I just couldn’t shake that feeling that there was something wrong with me. I was happy for a while here, before I found out what this place really was.” Owen paused. “You.” He pointed at Oliver with a shaky finger. “What is it about you?” Oliver raised his eyebrows in confusion. “Don’t play dumb.” Owen said, sharply. “What’s your thing?” Oliver felt his heart begin to thud.
“I mean, I got bullied a lot at school….” He started.
“No!” Owen slammed his drink down on the nightstand beside his bed, instantly shattering the tumbler. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. Your gift, your curse, the thing that fucking brought you here. You know what I’m talking about! I can tell.” Owen’s face began turning red, and his voice climbed an octave. “Tell me!”
Oliver’s heart thudded in his ears. He supposed that were his life a movie, this scene would be the climax of the film. He liked to imagine his life as a movie, because then it seemed less real. There would probably be some slow motion, and a perfectly timed camera zoom right onto his face. It was time for the monologue.
“Tell me!” Owen repeated.
But this wasn’t the movies, he reminded himself. Despite the unbelievable words that he was about to say, this was every bit of real life---Oliver’s real life. He opened his mouth, and the words that came out sounded so strange, so unreal. And before he knew it, he was weaving a tale so grand that he almost didn’t believe it himself. But it was true, all of it course. He started with Clarence, detailing every encounter he’d had with the unpleasant boy, to cheers of “Yeah, get him!” from Alex in the background. As he moved into the terrible part of the story, the room grew quiet, and it was clear that everyone was sitting on pins and needles. When he delivered the terrible final blow, Gabriel gasped. Then, with a rush that felt strangely like power, Oliver stood up and looked around the room at his audience. They were hanging on to his every word. No one had ever listened to him so intently in his life before. It was as if he were writing their very stories, that they could not finish their own lives until Oliver told them how. This new feeling flooded every inch of Oliver’s body, and he realized what it was. He was feeling alive. As alive as a new seedling on the first day of spring, awakened by the spring showers and the squawks of baby birds.
“And?” Owen hadn’t smoked a cigarette in nearly an hour. His last attempt lay unlit in the ashtray and he made no motion to touch it. Malachi was glued to his chair, having not moved one muscle other than those in his face, which he used liberally at any plot twist.
“Finish the story!” Malachi said.
Oliver puffed up his chest. And a story, it was, but it was not finished yet. It couldn’t be. He looked around the room once more to gauge his audience. They were still holding on for dear life. With a shrug, Oliver finished coolly, “And, then I came here. Same as you all.”
It was if the room itself exhaled and shook the boys from th
eir positions. For the first time in hours, Owen reached towards his lighter. Gabriel put his head back down on the pillow.
“But that’s just it?” Alex yelled, and Malachi nodded his head in fierce agreement.
Owen shrugged. “Cool story. Welcome to the club.” He lit his cigarette again, and it was clear that he had already checked back out.
“I mean, it’s not over yet.” Oliver stuttered.
Owen raised an eyebrow and laughed. “What else is there to say? You’re trapped here with the rest of us. Did you think you were special? We all have stories.” Oliver opened his mouth, but no words came out. “Most kids at this school got something. Doesn’t change a thing once we get here. Gabriel here is quite the lover, you know. Even he can’t create love where it doesn’t exist. Tell ‘em, Gabs. Tell ‘em your story, since we’re all sitting around the campfire now.” Owen said in a bored voice.
Gabriel’s story was neither exciting nor heartwarming. In fact, it was downright disturbing. Oliver had looked over at Malachi who was wearing his signature frown, and it grew deeper with each word Gabriel spoke. Gabriel had been raised in a group home. He had, unlike Oliver, come into his gift much earlier. At first, it was a blessing of sorts, and Oliver’s heart hurt at how familiar that sounded. How Gabriel’s eyes lit up when he recounted how he thought he’d found his own saving grace. And how his eyes fell again when he remembered the catch---because there always was one.
“I was about six years old when they fell out of love with me for the first time.” Gabriel then detailed how his first adoptive parents had fallen in love with him instantly. “Presents everywhere, presents all the time.” Gabriel said, with a look in his eyes that said he was remembering the best time of his life. “And then nothing. It was like they didn’t even know who I was. I woke up one day, and they were standing over my bed asking me why I was here.” He shook his head sadly. “Then it happened again. I was eight this time. I went to the grocery store---I always hung out there. People are really generous after they’ve just bought things for themselves, you know. They feel like they’ve got their own affairs in order, so they’ll toss you a few pennies if you’re good. I was there with my pennies. And then this woman just comes out of nowhere, saying she’ll adopt me. We had ice-cream that day, as much as I wanted. The home was glad to give me up. I went home with her that following week. Six months later, she called the cops and told them I was an intruder.” Gabriel shrugged. “My foster mother liked to call me ‘the boy who everybody and nobody loved’. He smiled wryly.