Strains

The doors close behind us with a thud. Thank goodness that was over. Still, even though I have my own dorm now and have apparently been admitted, it feels like the staff have been apprehensive about the whole thing. I’m about to ask Matthew about it when he lets out an audible groan.

I shift the box of odds and ends in my hands and look up at him.

“Something wrong?”

“We’ll speak when we find your room,” he says, turning back to the administration building.

What is he doing? I really don’t want to go back there again. Maybe they forgot to give us something but still. I want to tell Matthew to forget it, I’ll live with whatever mistake April made, even if it means I live under a staircase with Harry Potter. Before Matthew climbs the steps up the building, he veers to the left. I follow him along the narrow dirt trail, careful to not let the box I’m holding get stuck on the rosebushes. We wind around the stone foundation of the building until Matthew comes to an abrupt stop. I bump into him, slightly, hardly even worth mentioning, with the box.

He brushes his arm where the box kisses him. Dramatic, much?

To our side is a door. It’s nothing like the opulent entrance thirty feet above us. I’m not knowledgeable about the different types of wood, but I’ve put together enough IKEA furniture to know particleboard when I see it. Matthew takes the handle and as he opens the door, it bows slightly. Who’s pisspoor idea was it to make such a shoddy door?

We step into a dark hallway, lit only by a lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. There are four doors including the one we came in, one on our left and right and one at the end of the hall. I try and clear the dust from my throat.

April must’ve forgotten something after all and we’re just picking it up ourselves. Must be something important to warrant another detour. I freeze and let a spider the size of my hand cross the hallway in front of me. It disappears under the doorframe to my left.

I do not want anything from this place, but Matthew keeps walking forward. Whatever. As long as we hurry up. My stomach drops even further than it already had been when Matthew fishes a key out of his pocket. I hope that isn’t…

Matthew has to jiggle the key violently and throw his shoulder into the door just to get it to open. He waves me over with his hand. I hang my head as I walk past him into the room.

It’s just as dusty as the hallway is. There are three bulbs hanging from a beam on the exposed wood ceiling. Cobwebs lace from beam to beam as if the ceiling is covered in a white carpet. All the furniture is covered with plastic, not that there is much in the small space. Just a bunk bed that lies in the corner next to a desk and chair.

Matthew looks at his watch and sighs. “Just put your things down, it’s already dinner and we shouldn’t be late.”

I blink twice at him. “Uh…you were supposed to explain everything to me when we got here. You said it like a billion times. I need to know what happened to my parents and why I’m not in a normal dorm.”

He takes the box from my hands and places it on the desk. “I don’t know what happened to your parents, there is no way for anyone to know where they are or if they’re even alive. Your assessment is abnormal so until the council and dean work something out, this is where you’ll stay. Those decisions aren’t up to me.”

I open my mouth to say something.

“Yeah, yeah, I know it sucks. Look, once you get assigned to a house, you’ll have a facilitator that’ll answer all of your questions; but I don’t have time for that. Come on, it’s dinner.” He takes me by the shoulders and leads me out of the room.

But I don’t want to go to dinner. I don’t want to go anywhere right now. How could I stomach anything while I’m still digesting the fact that I don’t know if my parents are alive, and I’ll never know. I may never see them again.

This isn’t the afterlife I had envisioned, but maybe tomorrow, when I meet this facilitator person, maybe it’ll be better.

At least I hope so. Tonight, is definitely looking like it’ll get worse.

We were outside the marble building; the cafeteria Matthew had pointed out earlier. He grumbles under his breath. Apparently, we’re late. Figures. I suggest going back to my room and get instantly shot down by one of Matthew’s death glares.

“If it were up to me, I’d let you starve. But the Dean expects me to watch over you, so we both get to suffer.”

What a jerk. I didn’t expect this level of attitude after we first met, especially after seeing his pretty smile back in Doc’s office.

I look over to the dining hall doors. They’re open wide, letting in the crisp twilight air. Inside I can just make out the corner of a table filled with what I guess are other students. They’re all wearing white uniforms and chatting amongst themselves. If the whole room is as crowded as that table, we might not even be able to find a seat. That would explain Matthew’s attitude about being late. Maybe I’ll get to go back to my room after all.

We finally step up to the doors. My heart is beating so rapidly I can hear its thumps over the sounds of conversation and clanking silverware. There are rows of dozens of tables set up to fill the space of the hall. All of them are packed with white clad students. I shrink myself behind Matthew’s large frame, trying to avoid the eyes drifting our way. The further we move, the quieter the room gets, until I can hear our footsteps echo off the ceiling.

I am getting tempted to run out of here, it’s not like there are any seats left anyway. My foot catches the base of a step and I fall forward. My knees crash into the next step, sending shockwaves of pain up my legs. I grit my teeth. Why are my legs even doing this anymore?

Not even five seconds pass before the cafeteria erupts into laughter. Matthew looks back at the audience, then me and I notice his hand twitch slightly. Is he…mad at me? Instead of helping me up he waits with a judgmental gaze for me to scramble to my feet. I dust myself off. He could have told me we were going upstairs. Three little steps and it feels like I’m back in high school. But what can I expect from a room full of teenagers.

“Still shaking off dead legs, eh?” A burly, but familiar voice says.

Oh man, this guy again.

He lumbers over me, a nearly seven feet tall three hundred pound wall of solid muscle. The same muscles that threw me in Doc’s office, told me ‘good luck’, and ran off.

I look up. His hair is a wavy mop of black on his head, and it looks cleaner than when I met him mid-workout this morning. By the sounds of it, he might even be sober.

“Hi, Hercules.”

His smile grows wide. “You remembered me! I’m honored,” he says, placing a hand over his chest. He places the other on my shoulder and leads me over to the single table set up in the middle of the stage. Like the tables below, there are long benches on the horizontal sides of the table. The dean sits in the sole chair at the head of it. There’s a good-sized space at the table on the bench closest to the dean. All the other real estate is occupied by adults that are casually dressed. Most likely faculty, I guess.

Matthew takes the seat closest to the dean. I get sandwiched between him and Hercules. The dean waves towards the audience. The room grows quiet and one by one, a group of four adults gets up from their corner tables and walks up the stairs that nearly killed me (again). They approach the table, dressed in the same white uniforms that all the students wear. They all look identical except the collars and emblems on their chest are different colors. Blue, red, white and yellow. The dean clears his throat as everyone settles in.

“Everyone,” he says to the table and standing adults. “This is Elizabeth, our newest student.”

All eyes shift to me.

“Uh. Hi.”

A young man, maybe a year or two older than Matthew steps closer the dean. His hair is a fiery red and his grey eyes reflect off the clear emblem on his chest.

“Sir, I think we’re all anxious to hear which house she’ll be assigned to,” he says.

The dean sighs. “As am I. That decision is going to be up for the council to decide tomorrow.”

“Wait, what?” A woman with an ruby red emblem says. Everyone begins to exchange worried glances and mutter to themselves.

The dean asks for decorum.

“It’s out of our hands. You all don’t need to do anything but wait for a decision to be made. Go back to your seats.”

“Yes sir.” They all say in unison.

The minute everyone is back in their seats, murmurs begin to overtake the dining hall. I resist the urge to hide my head in my hands. Hercules elbows me in the side.

“You look like you could use a drink. Luckily for you,” he pulls up a massive crate and drops it in between us. “I am well prepared.” He pops the cork of one of the wine bottles with his thumb and takes a deep drink. That is grossly impressive, but he’s going to regret his empty stomach decision. My stomach cramps just looking at him.

Moments later, a door behind me opens and out pops a flurry of white. Floating sheets, the absolute worst Halloween costume of all time, are serving us. With a tiny woosh a plate with a rainbow of vegetables appears in front of me. I watch as the little ghost flies through the air and disappears behind a door to the rear of the building. I look back at my salad. How did that just happen?

Hercules laughs. “Now that’s what you call white glove service, eh Elizabeth?”

I don’t say anything and try to shake off yet another surprise.

“They aren’t actual ghosts,” Matthew says passively, spearing a tomato with his fork.

“Chef Floy’s strain allows him to manipulate wind currents. He uses it to serve his dishes, just watch out, they don’t have eyes or minds for that matter. You don’t want to get in the way of their preset route,” the dean says.

Strain?

“Oh, I think you’ve made her even more confused,” a woman across from me says.

Hell yeah I’m confused. Powers? Why didn’t anyone tell me about this?

“If you didn’t waste so much time earlier, I would’ve told you,” Matthew says. “Though I had hoped you would’ve caught on.”

Seriously? How could he expect me to figure something like that out? It was completely out of the realm of what I thought possible.

“Matthew,” it’s the woman again. Her voice is soft and her deep brown eyes so kind, they instantly coax me through my anxiety. “Give her a little grace, you know this is a sensitive time for her.” She smiles at me. “Sorry Elizabeth, it seems like Matthew is in one of his moods today. He’s not nearly this standoffish, at least most of the time.”

“Tiffany has a point. What the hell is up with you, Matthew?” Hercules says, uncorking a fresh bottle. The rest of the table is focused on finishing their salads, but Tiffany, Hercules and even the dean seem intent on grilling Matthew about his attitude.

He sighs.

“I have a headache, alright?”

I thought he was just hangry. The amount of inconveniences that follow us into death are ridiculous. Headaches, hunger, and B.O? What a lame afterlife. I wonder if I’ll have to suffer through my monthly too.

Matthew grits his teeth. “I’ve just never met someone…so. Freaking. Loud.”

Is he talking about me? I’m not loud. I’ve hardly said anything this whole dinner. The ghosts come by with the next course, a simple plate of chicken and vegetables. My stomach growls at the look of it. I guess I can take a bite. My fork slices through the chicken like butter and it melts on my tongue. It’s heavenly. I wonder where Chef, uh what’s his name again?

“Chef Floy,” Matthew says, putting his head in his hands.

Right. I wonder if Chef Floy has the ghosts do the cooking too. Wait.

“You…how did you know I forgot Chef’s name?”

“You didn’t even tell her that?” Tiffany says.

The dean interjects before Tiffany can give Matthew the third degree.

“Matthew is our resident psychic on campus. He gets headaches when he’s…overstimulated. He won’t say it, but he’ll need some time to adjust, so try not to take anything he says too personally.”

“Dean Hadden, maybe it would be best if I took over supervising Elizabeth until she’s assigned to a house?” Tiffany says. Now there’s an idea.

Matthew looks over to the dean. “I’m fine, sir, really. I’ll explain everything to her when we return to her room. Elizabeth, are you finished?”

After how good the dinner was, I’d like to stay and see if there’ll be any dessert; but then Matthew grabs my shoulder.

“Great, let’s go back. Goodnight, everyone.”

“Oh um. Goodnight, everyone.” I say as I’m drug out of the dining hall.