towards a tall, brownstone building labeled Branson Hall .
"This was always my favorite dorm. A lot of our seniors wish they still lived here." Dean Tenbrook laughed a tinkling laugh, having evidently regained her composure, and she pushed open the doors of Branson Hall. Oliver’s heart climbed to his throat.
Oliver was at first struck by the grand staircase right in front of him. The staircase was wood finished with glass paneling. Lights adorned the side, all the way up. After a flight, the staircase split in two directions. He looked over at Dean Tenbrook, who was looking expectantly at him. "You can't expect me to go up there. It's an all-boys dormitory, you know. You're in room 209, on the left. Charlie, your dorm mother, will meet you upstairs. Dinner's at five, you know. Try and look your best. You’ve already got everything you need." And with that, Dean Tenbrook turned on her heels and clacked back through the front door. Oliver looked up at the grand staircase before him for a long moment before he began slowly climbing the stairs. The words of the police officer echoed in his head: You were given up willingly , and his stomach began the familiar cramping.
He pushed open the door of room 209, and he was immediately hit with the faint, musty smell of iron. Suddenly, a crash came from the direction of the closet, and a head popped out from behind the closet curtain. Out stepped a tall, willowy boy. He had dark hair and dark eyes, and his skin was paler than a diamond dove’s stomach.
"Sorry, I was trying to hang these hooks in the closet. It's not going well. I'm Robert." He stuck out his hand, and as Oliver shook it, he found himself staring at skin so translucent that he coul d see the blue veins seizing beneath it. Oliver felt a momentary flash of fear as he remembered his trouble, but before he could pull it away, Robert had already grasped it. Oliver felt his stomach and he sent up a silent, desperate prayer. But before the usual signs began emerging, Robert let go of his hand and turned back to examine the hooks in the closet, apparently unfazed. Oliver stared after him in confusion.
"I suppose the Matron will be visiting us shortly. You may want to prepare yourself for that. Your side's over there." Oliver scanned the room for the first time since he'd walked in. The room was small and white-walled. The same wooden flooring that he'd seen elsewhere decorated the floors, and the smell of iron lingered in the air as it had when he first entered. His bed was plain, wooden and atop the frame sat a garish green mattress.
“It’s…nice.” Oliver pressed his hand on the mattress, unable to hide his shock when the mattress did not decompress at all. Robert laughed, turned towards the closet and threw a large foam sheet at Oliver.
“Got an extra. Didn’t know I was going to have a roommate.”
“I didn’t know I was going to be here.” Oliver muttered and he placed his bag on the bed. Robert looked at him. “Does anyone? She'll want you to make your bed before dinner, you know." Robert continued, though his back was turned as he studied the wall hooks in the closet.
"I just got here." Oliver said.
"Hey, they're not my rules. I'm just trying to prepare you for the storm that's coming your way, sailor." Oliver dropped his bags and flopped down on the bare mattress, relieved that there was at least a bed here at his disposal.
He laid back on the bed in silence , his mind a veritable mess of questions and feelings he couldn't yet put a name to.
Oliver felt Robert's eyes on him, watching and waiting. "Where are you from?" Robert's dark eyes revealed no trace of insincere curiosity nor accusing looks. It was just a question, the first simple question he'd gotten in days.
" Memphis, Tennessee. You?" Oliver responded.
"Here, actually. Summers, Massachusetts. It's not too far from here."
"So, you've been going here for a while."
"No, actually. My first year here, just like you. Can't say I'm happy
"This was always my favorite dorm. A lot of our seniors wish they still lived here." Dean Tenbrook laughed a tinkling laugh, having evidently regained her composure, and she pushed open the doors of Branson Hall. Oliver’s heart climbed to his throat.
Oliver was at first struck by the grand staircase right in front of him. The staircase was wood finished with glass paneling. Lights adorned the side, all the way up. After a flight, the staircase split in two directions. He looked over at Dean Tenbrook, who was looking expectantly at him. "You can't expect me to go up there. It's an all-boys dormitory, you know. You're in room 209, on the left. Charlie, your dorm mother, will meet you upstairs. Dinner's at five, you know. Try and look your best. You’ve already got everything you need." And with that, Dean Tenbrook turned on her heels and clacked back through the front door. Oliver looked up at the grand staircase before him for a long moment before he began slowly climbing the stairs. The words of the police officer echoed in his head: You were given up willingly , and his stomach began the familiar cramping.
He pushed open the door of room 209, and he was immediately hit with the faint, musty smell of iron. Suddenly, a crash came from the direction of the closet, and a head popped out from behind the closet curtain. Out stepped a tall, willowy boy. He had dark hair and dark eyes, and his skin was paler than a diamond dove’s stomach.
"Sorry, I was trying to hang these hooks in the closet. It's not going well. I'm Robert." He stuck out his hand, and as Oliver shook it, he found himself staring at skin so translucent that he coul d see the blue veins seizing beneath it. Oliver felt a momentary flash of fear as he remembered his trouble, but before he could pull it away, Robert had already grasped it. Oliver felt his stomach and he sent up a silent, desperate prayer. But before the usual signs began emerging, Robert let go of his hand and turned back to examine the hooks in the closet, apparently unfazed. Oliver stared after him in confusion.
"I suppose the Matron will be visiting us shortly. You may want to prepare yourself for that. Your side's over there." Oliver scanned the room for the first time since he'd walked in. The room was small and white-walled. The same wooden flooring that he'd seen elsewhere decorated the floors, and the smell of iron lingered in the air as it had when he first entered. His bed was plain, wooden and atop the frame sat a garish green mattress.
“It’s…nice.” Oliver pressed his hand on the mattress, unable to hide his shock when the mattress did not decompress at all. Robert laughed, turned towards the closet and threw a large foam sheet at Oliver.
“Got an extra. Didn’t know I was going to have a roommate.”
“I didn’t know I was going to be here.” Oliver muttered and he placed his bag on the bed. Robert looked at him. “Does anyone? She'll want you to make your bed before dinner, you know." Robert continued, though his back was turned as he studied the wall hooks in the closet.
"I just got here." Oliver said.
"Hey, they're not my rules. I'm just trying to prepare you for the storm that's coming your way, sailor." Oliver dropped his bags and flopped down on the bare mattress, relieved that there was at least a bed here at his disposal.
He laid back on the bed in silence , his mind a veritable mess of questions and feelings he couldn't yet put a name to.
Oliver felt Robert's eyes on him, watching and waiting. "Where are you from?" Robert's dark eyes revealed no trace of insincere curiosity nor accusing looks. It was just a question, the first simple question he'd gotten in days.
" Memphis, Tennessee. You?" Oliver responded.
"Here, actually. Summers, Massachusetts. It's not too far from here."
"So, you've been going here for a while."
"No, actually. My first year here, just like you. Can't say I'm happy
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