Dorm 19

"The gel looks a bit too refined on your hair texture."

Clara snapped her head up, her thumb still digging into the nervous lines she'd been tracing across her palm.

A girl stood in the doorway, an expensive coat slung over her forearm. She had a thick mane of dyed ginger hair that looked bright enough to bleed, and her skin had that distinct, oily sheen of someone who had just survived a three-hour car ride without AC.

"Um-" Clara started.

"It looks nice, don't sweat it." She comments, walking over the chair in the room. "I'm Violet, but everyone calls me Vi. It's a love-hate relationship with my name, actually." The girl cut her off, dropping her bags onto the floor with a soft thud.

Clara bit the inside of her cheek, tasting copper. Her face burned hot. How are you supposed to respond to a comment about your hair gel?

"I'm, um. Clara. Clara Bellamy," she forced out. Her eyes darted around, desperately looking anywhere but at Vi's face. This was growing awkward as time passed.

Vi threw her coat over the nearest chair. "Cute. Luckily, it's just the two of us in here. I would actually die if they crammed a third person into this closet."

She wasn't wrong. The room was tiny. They were two narrow twin beds with thin, scratchy-looking mattresses facing each other, separated by a desk that came with a foul smell.

The walls felt less warm compared to Clara's room back at home. A stiff breeze rattled the glass of the single, narrow window, where a faded linen curtain did a terrible job of blocking out the sharp morning sun.

Vi started unpacking, immediately filling the quiet with the sound of zippers and clothes hitting the floor. Clara stood frozen by her bed, the silence pushing between them until a terse, wet cough broke it.

Clara jumped. Another girl was sitting on the edge of Vi's bed. Clara blinked, her brain scrambling. When the hell did she get in here?

"Oh, and this is Beatrice," Vi said without looking up from her suitcase. "Old pals from nursery school. Beatrice, this is Clara."

Clara couldn't keep up. Her chest felt compressed, the social exhaustion already settling deep into her bones. She didn't want to be here. She wanted her bedroom at home. She wanted her dad. The sense of comfort was far from her fingertips, yet she still inured the feeling.

From somewhere across the campus, the clank of a church bell began to ring, jerking right through the dormitory.

I'm done, Clara thought. No more talking today.

She turned her back on them and focused entirely on her suitcase. Her dad had packed it-he'd practically forced her to take three extra-thick sweaters and four pairs of those ridiculous, fluffy white socks she liked. The memory made her throat ache. She wondered what he was doing and if he forgot the kettle on the stovetop again.

When she risked a glance over her shoulder, Vi had disappeared-probably down the hall to the bathrooms-but Beatrice was still there. She was watching Clara unpack. Not saying anything. Just... watching.

Beatrice was thin, with a sharp jawline and an enormous puff of dark, coarse hair stapled loosely to the top of her head. Up close, a bunch of dark freckles peppered the bridge of her nose. She looked intimidating, wearing thick gold hoops that clattered when she moved and lips that were heavily smudged in a gooey, shiny lip gloss.

Beatrice gave a tiny, almost bored nod, then looked back down at her lap where she was picking a loose thread on her skirt.

Clara let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. She spent the next thirty minutes unpacking in absolute, excruciating silence. The second the last sweater was shoved into the creaky locker, she grabbed her room keys.

She needed air. At least from the old crampy room.

The hallway was freezing. She wondered why her room didn't get this same temperature as it was in the hallway.

The early morning light slashed through the massive windows at the very end of the corridor, radiating millions of dust specks dancing in the air. It was as if they never bothered to clean it, and she wondered how the stress would take a toll on whoever did so. The dormitory had that smell; it was hard to decipher.

A group of girls passed her, traveling in a cloud of pricey perfumes and loud laughters. She wondered what they were laughing about if it was always like this everyday.

Clara instinctively shrank against the wall, keeping her head down and tightly gripping the cuffs of her sweater until they passed.

The chapel bells rang again, much louder this time. The sound was heavy, roaring through the corridor like a physical weight.

What were these bells?

She continued to explore the building. Her head snapped left and then to the right again. It was a beautiful sight, so overwhelming that she wished she could take it in all at once.

She soon arrived at a window and looked down at the courtyard. The campus was gigantic—a sprawling grid of manicured green grass and sharp towers that seemed to pierce the sky. The thick ropes of ivy crawled up the walls like green veins. The students moved in packs, their coats hanging off their shoulders loosely.

It took Clara's breath away. It felt like a dream.

She continued walki g down the staircase at the end of the hall, her leather shoes squeaking softly against the steps. She remembered a small hole in the sole, and she immediately made a mental note to get it fixed before the end of the week.

When she reached the ground floor, a shot of humid, cold air hit her face.

She stepped into the concealed monastery walkway that shrouded the central courtyard. In the middle of the grass, a rock fountain bubbled lazily. She wondered if the water was kept running everyday or if it was turned off occasionally.

Oh, how she loved this atmosphere!

Dad would lose his mind over this place, she thought.

He loved stuff like this. The beautiful scenery, the infrastructure. She couldn't believe it no matter how hard she tried. It felt like a dream come true.

A sudden gust of wind whipped a few stray strands of black hair across her face, stinging her eyes. Her fingers went up to tuck them behind her ear, trembling slightly.