Authors: Michelle Warren
::18::
Tornado of Death
“Double wow!” I say as I step into the bedroom.
“It’s just glorious, right?” Gabe asks, fishing for compliments.
“
You
decorated this room?” I’m astonished.
“Of course, mamacita! Who else?” Gabe twirls across the floor with his arms spread wide. Unicorns might shoot out of his fingertips, he’s so pleased with himself.
Open-minded, open-minded.
I chant the words over and over again. It’s not like mystical fairies flutter around, although I haven’t written off seeing those—yet. The room is just so perfect—too perfect. Like I’ve personally chosen every item myself.
An eggplant color covers the walls. Light gray wood floors set a beautiful stage for the furniture. A gray tufted chaise lounge sits, angled in the circular, window-filled alcove. An oversized, white upholstered sleigh bed sits across the room, covered with mounds of beautiful pillows. An intricately designed, Venetian mirror hangs over the white alabaster fireplace.
There are, of course, the regular school necessities, like a desk with a computer and chair. The bookcases are filled with my favorite novels, but it’s hard to pay attention to the regular items in a room so sophisticated and cool.
“And look—” Gabe runs to the closet and opens the door. “All new clothes!” School uniforms fill the front half. The back half has every other conceivable outfit.
Now he has me. “No way!” I dart in and run my fingers over the ruffles, lace, velvet, and every other imaginable kind of fabric.
“Why are you giving me all this?” My face crumples in confusion, and I turn to face him.
“You don’t like it?” Gabe’s mouth turns down at the corners.
“Of course. It’s all amazing, but I don’t understand—why?” My voice trails off as I step out of the closet and shut the door behind me.
“Well, no one has ever asked me that before.” He looks at me intently, as though I should know the answer for myself. “But don’t you see? Your new life with us—what you are—it’s important to our kind.” He shakes my shoulders lightly, his eyes beam on mine. “We need you and all the others to care about what makes us special. That way you can carry on the traditions when us old folks are gone.”
“You know you’re not old,” I contest. He’s twenty-five, at best.
“Of course I’m not, lady! I’m just trying to prove a point.” He slams his foot down for drama then becomes uncharacteristically shy. “We want you to be happy here, and maybe we’re bribing you just a teensy-weensy bit.” His eyes squint, and his fingers pinch the air in front of him.
“I suppose it’s as good of a reason as any.” I shrug.
“If it makes you feel better, you’re still responsible for doing your own laundry, cleaning your bathroom, and keeping your apartment tidy, just like at home. We’re not trying to mold spoiled brats,” he says then giggles, tossing a hand over his mouth.
“I hope not!” My head jerks to the familiar voice in the doorway. Ray stands in my bedroom in a gray suit. Mona is behind him, giving me concerned eyes.
He walks over to me, but I just stand in absolute shock.
“Wow, Sera, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a dorm room quite like this!” Ray leans over and gives me the prescribed, awkward hug.
Mona walks in to offer an explanation. “The Academy wants everyone to feel at home. Studies have shown that students apply themselves substantially more when they’re comfortable. It improves their grades tremendously.”
She’s good. She knows his hot button—academics.
“Luckily for Sera, this room was already made up for another student that decided not to join us,” Gabe says. He’s in on the lie also, making the scenario more realistic. With the ease of their stories, you’d think they had done this before. I guess that they have. I realize now, this entire school is a charade to the Normals. I’m not Normal anymore.
“Lucky, indeed!” Ray adds. He eyes Gabe’s outfit up and down with interest.
“Oh, uh,” I gesture toward Gabe, trying to pull myself out a stupor. “This is—
“Gabriel Manuel Garcia, at your service,” Gabe interrupts, and then he pliés like a ballerina. I cringe, unsure how Ray will perceive Gabe’s over-the-top personality.
“Who
are
you?” Ray asks, confused.
Mona intercedes, “Gabe is the Activities Director for the students.” She walks up, grabs Gabe by the arm, and shuffles him out of the room. “We’ll give you two a moment alone.”
“Au revoir!” Gabe yells over his shoulder, blowing kisses.
I press my lips together in a line, trying not to laugh as I watch them scamper away.
“Hmm,” Ray says, shaking his head. “Well, whatever helps you get the best grades. This school has a highly esteemed reputation. So, I guess I’m not qualified to question their methods.” He shrugs and walks in a circle, sizing up the room. “Fancy.”
I nod and change the subject. “This is a shock. Why didn’t you tell me you were visiting?” I plop down on the bed.
“Well, I thought I’d surprise you. Mona helped.” He smiles. That explains her elongated disappearance after we arrived. “She showed me around while you were getting settled.”
“
Did
she?” For some reason, I’m positive she left out some of the most interesting aspects. If Ray had to visit at some point, today is a good day for it. To an outsider, the school appears to be hosting a Parents’ Day with all the new students fluttering about.
“What? You’re not happy to see me?” he asks, holding out his palms.
“No, of course I am, just—surprised.”
Surprised that he’s taking the time.
“Well, don’t get too excited. I’m literally here to say hi and wish you good luck.” He pats me on the shoulder, then he picks up my purple strand of hair. The color is finally fading into dark brown.
“How long will you be here?” I question.
He looks at his watch, sucking air through his teeth. “I’m leaving now, actually.”
“
What
? You just walked in the door!” I jump up from the bed.
“All right, I confess,” he raises his hands in defense, “I was here on business. I didn’t think there would be any time to see you, but when I got out of my meeting early, I called Mona.”
“It’s
Sunday
!”
“You know my schedule, Sera. I’m always working.” He nervously pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He hates confrontations.
“Where to next?” I ask, deflated.
“I’m catching a flight to D.C. in about two hours.”
I sigh. At least I got my five minutes of parental exposure. It’s something, I suppose. Ray shuffles toward the door to leave.
Unbelievable
. The whole scenario makes me happy to be where people actually want me.
“I’m proud of you, Sera.” He gives me a kiss on the forehead. I should be happy by his words, but they just anger me more because they feel phony.
Mona waits on the other side of the door to walk him out. I stand in the doorway for a moment, rigid with anger, as Ray waves a feeble goodbye.
Annoyed, I walk back into my room. Before I get too far, I hear Ray and Mona chatting farther away. I suspiciously peek back around the open door. Ray stands outside the apartment door in a conversational circle with Mona, Samantha James, and Max Bishop.
Mona is probably making introductions.
My jaw tightens. From here, the group looks like the perfect family—the real kind. Like the one I’ve always wanted.
I wonder how Ray will feel when he realizes I’ll be rooming with a boy.
A cute one!
At least this will give him something to worry about.
I turn and slam the door.
•
An announcement that dinner is being served wakes me from my nap. I consider staying in bed. It’s the most comfortable bed that I have ever slept in. The sheets are cool and soft. My body sinks into them like a cloud. After I flop around a few more times, I realize that I’m too awake. I decide to find Macey in the dining room.
I roll out of bed and stumble to the bathroom. I splash cold water on my face in an attempt to make myself presentable.
When I step out of my room and into the apartment, it’s dark. I glance at two nearby bedroom doors. They’re both shut. From one, classical music seeps out. I pause. A part of me wants to knock, but only to see if Bishop answers. I envision his sparkling green eyes, and it makes me smile. I tell myself to let him go. It won’t do me any good to obsess over a boy who’s taken. Besides, I’m not sure what I would say. I should still be mad at him for almost killing me last night
—
or saving me. I’m not sure which now. Before I can decide, I dart out the front door.
As I walk through the elongated hallway, I peek into open apartment doors. I wonder if all are fashioned with the same interiors, repetitious like a hotel. Surprisingly, they’re not. Each has their own identity, their own environment. Maybe
Mona’s babble about making students feel at home wasn’t solely for Ray’s benefit.
I reach the landing overlooking the main atrium. Droves of students funnel down the main staircase. The steps don’t end on the first floor. They wrap around again below the main set and into the ground.
I follow the crowd, lingering in the back, taking in the faces of all of my new peers. They don’t look especially important. Truthfully, they look like normal teenagers.
My hand slides down the cool marble railings. My feet hesitate on each step, pondering my remaining list of weird. I run over the names mentally:
CC, Frances Germ Bum, and the Grungy Gang.
I shiver.
When the train of people stop, we stand one floor below the main. Four massive wood doors with metal details sit open, revealing another room, less polished than the upper floors. Wooden truss beams outline the boxy shape of the soaring ceiling. Three simple rusted chandeliers hang from the roof. A stucco covered fireplace roars at one side. Students scurry to find seating at the humble, elongated tables. The room emits a warm and comforting aura.
Macey’s voice is like a beacon, loud and recognizable. It makes her easy to find. I hear her clearly from across the chatter-filled room. And I realize as I spot her, I can always pick out her big hair.
When I reach her, I shimmy onto the bench between her and Xavier. Given her new, uncomfortable circumstances, I figure she won’t mind.
“Thank you,” she mouths.
Quinn sits across from us, flanked by Scarlett and Agnes. With the two here, the band will remain intact. I wonder how long before me, they all knew the secret.
In unison, the group hollers, “Stewie!”
When I look to see why, a short boy—shorter than me— struts to our table. He oozes confidence even though his lanky body makes his movements unnatural. He smiles, indulgent in the attention and slithers into his seat.
He immediately notices me as someone new and introduces himself. “Hi!” He leans over the table to give me his hand. “I’m Stuart Winston Murry, the Third, but you can call me Stu.” He seems to be insinuating that it’s a special allowance, just for me.
I give him an awkward handshake. He quickly flips over my hand and plants a kiss gently on the back. Macey shivers in her seat. Her body jiggles next to me. Her bottom lip rolls out, and her chin puckers in distaste. I squirm my hand away, trying to be as polite as possible.
“Sera,” I say, trying not to scrunch my nose. I fake a smile.
The rest of the table giggles to themselves. Stu ignores them. He slicks back his coarse, dingy brown curls and slides back into the seat beside Scarlett.
“Who’s this guy?” I mutter under my breath.
Macey whispers, “You heard him—he’s Stuart Winston Murry, the Third.” A little laugh escapes her lips. “He lives next us. I don’t think his team likes him too much.” Her head juts to the next table.
I glance over. Two blondes sit at the table. I recognize one as the girl with Max Bishop last night, the one with the attitude. She looks up for a moment and gives me a look of disgust. My brows furrow.
Seriously, what’s her problem?
I look away when Macey continues her story. “He’s been hanging out with us all day. He’s nice enough, just tries too hard, I think,” she explains.
We both glance at Stu. He hovers over a small notebook, scribbling feverishly. He covers the text, protecting the contents like gold.
“What’s he doing?” I ask.
“He says it’s secret.” Macey shrugs.
When Stu realizes we’re staring, he blows us a single kiss. We scurry to look away, pretending we don’t see. The group laughs at our unease, but the cheerfulness abruptly halts. Their stares fall behind us as though a tornado of death looms.