The Wisherman by Danielle Page B

here." Oliver complained. Robert laughed hard, until his laugh turned into a wheeze.
    "You're really going to be in for it, man." He flopped back down on his own bed.
    "We better get ready for dinner. Bathrooms and showers are down the hall. Uniform is in the bottom drawer. If I were you, I’d hurry up. The upperclassmen like to take over our showers because they’re nicer.” Robert said.
    Oliver wrapped himself in a bathrobe and flopped down the hall in the shower flip flops provided for him. They were far too big and were neon yellow, but they would have to do. The hallway was silent except for the padding of his own feet. As soon as he opened the door, he found himself in the middle of a flurry of movement and in a thick cloud of shower steam.
    "You heard Charlie , she said dinner is soon. I WONDER WHAT WE'RE EATING." A cloud of laughter rose from the closed shower stalls in front of Oliver. He looked down, seeing legs in each one but the last.
    "I KNOW WHAT I'M HUNGRY FOR." A voice said.
    The laugh ter rose again, raucous and wild. Oliver hurried into the shower and let the water run over his body like the familiar touch of a long lost lover. It had been days since he'd showered and many more since he'd really thought about his situation. The words of the police officer who transported him still burned brightly in his mind's eye. The smugness of his demeanor. He hadn't said what he'd said because he thought it was true, he said it because he knew it was true, and the thought of it all frightened Oliver.
    The bathroom slowly emptied out, and the cloud of movement drifted away l eaving Oliver by himself. After an extensive full body scrub---his skin rivaling dried prunes by the time he was finished--Oliver stepped from the shower with his towel tied around his waist.
    "Oh, are you one of the new ones?"
    The smooth voice startled Oliver and he lost his footing for a moment, grasping for any surface to steady him, using one hand to hold on to his towel. When his heart rate had sufficiently decreased, he looked for the sound of the voice. When he did, he was taken aback. Wide, hazel doe eyes stared back at him and Oliver was entranced.
    "We're going to be late for dinner, you know." The boy said.
    Oliver was jolted out of his trance . In front of him, stood one of the most handsome boys he had ever seen and he immediately questioned himself on why exactly he was focusing so much on that. The boy smirked, and adjusted the towel around his waist.
    "You are new here." He said again, pausing before new.
    "I am….Oliver". Oliver put his hand on his head, his cheek flushing as he did. "Sorry. I think I'm still tired. It was a long drive."
    "No problem. It's Gabriel." Gabriel stuck out his hand, and Oliver felt compelled to shake it. He had to get to know him. The urge was stronger than anything he had felt recently and he looked at Gabriel, bewildered. But Gabriel's eyes revealed nothing.
    "Oh sorry, I don't usually shake. Wet hands, you know." Oliver responded, lamely.
    "No problem. I'm going to head out. See you at dinner."
    Oliver watched as Gabriel sauntered out of the bathroom. As soon as the door to the bathroom slammed shut, Oliver felt as if he had been slapped in the face with a cool whip , the last few minutes a confused blur. What did he even say? Oliver shook his head, although he was unsure of what he was trying to get rid of.
    Dressed in his new school uniform, Oliver studied himself in the mirror. The uniform was crisp, freshly pressed he supposed. On the breast pocket, two initials were scribbled--DF, for Delafontaine School. His khakis weren't too short like he often found with store bought khakis, but fit well. Oliver had the disturbing realization that the uniform was tailored for him specifically. As if they’d known he was coming. He thought back to the officer who’d driven him from Tennessee to Massachusetts, and how he had laughed obnoxiously when Oliver had mentioned his mother. Perhaps, Oliver realized