The Academy Page 2

  Nick glanced down at his lap and didn’t respond.

  Dr. O’Connor cleared her throat. “I also saw in your file that your grades were phenomenal before you took your bereavement leave. You should have no trouble getting back into the swing of things and maintaining your GPA. If you find yourself struggling, here’s my contact information.” She plucked a business card out of a ceramic holder shaped like a weiner dog and slid it across the desk.

  Nick took it and stuffed it into his pocket without looking at it, face burning. “Thank you. I’ll keep your offer in mind.”

  “Please do.” She stood up from her desk and held out a hand. “I’ll let you get going so you can find your dorm and settle in. It’s been lovely meeting you, Nick. I’m certain we’ll see each other again soon.”

  That was probably intended to be comforting, but to him it sounded ominous. He rose to his feet and shook her hand regardless. “Thanks for taking the time to meet with me.”

  With that, he left her office and pulled out his map. It looked like his dorm was located near the center of campus, which was fine with him. He liked to sleep in, and this way, he could roll out of bed five minutes before class and still make it on time.

  He started to head that way, but then remembered what Dr. O’Connor had said about picking up his student ID. Navigating down the hall, he followed her instructions to the correct room.

  Inside, a bored-looking guy sat at a folding table with a smattering of student IDs lined up in front of him. After showing him his driver’s license, Nick was given a blue plastic card that had his name, student number, and the photo he’d submitted printed on it.

  Nick stowed the card in his wallet and exited back into the hall. Instead of heading to the front of the building again, he followed the hallway down the other way to an exit.

  Pushing it open, he stepped outside and was given his first real look at the Academy of Holy Names. The campus was small—especially considering he was used to UIC, one of the biggest colleges in the state—but what it lacked in size, it made up for in aesthetic.

  The buildings were all redbrick, like the admissions building, with white stone columns and eaves. A number of them had ivy growing across their faces and stained-glass windows. They looked old too, but not in a dilapidated sort of way. Seeing them made Nick self-conscious about how little time he’d been on this earth.

  People milled down the stone paths that sliced through the manicured grass. They looked more or less like proverbial college students. Even on the first day of a new year, they all had tired eyes and backs that were hunched from carrying textbooks.

  Nick took a deep breath. You’re going to be fine. No one knows you here. You can be whoever you want, or no one at all. Once you make some friends and get into a routine, everything else will fall into place.

  His internal monologue did nothing to calm the razor-winged butterflies in his stomach. Taking another breath, he consulted his map. According to it, the music building and the gymnasium were the big, fancy-looking buildings to his right. Beyond them, there was the science building—where Nick would attend most of his classes—and the dining hall, in which he hoped to spend a lot of time.

  To his left lay classrooms, the arts building, an auditorium that housed both classes and student plays, and then two dorm houses. At the center of it all was the quadrangle in which he now stood. Mossy willow trees cast shade on the many picnic tables dotting the grass, and there were flowers planted everywhere. Nick imagined he’d spend a good bit of time hanging out quad-side, eating lunch and talking to his friends, once he had some.

  For now, however, he headed in the direction of his dorm to unload. His shoulder was starting to ache from carrying his bag. He kept his head down as he trotted along the path he’d selected. He wasn’t interested in meeting anyone until he’d had a chance to find a mirror. His hair had a tendency to turn into a straw Gordian knot at the slightest provocation, and he always looked exhausted these days. When was the last time he’d slept through the night? Probably a year ago.

  Halfway down the path, the smell of roasted coffee beans stopped him dead in his tracks. Off to the side, at the base of a tree, was a sight so beautiful it had to be a mirage: a food cart. He’d kill for a good cup of coffee right now. The shit at the bus station had been no better than murky water.

  The girl operating the cart saw him staring and flashed an amiable smile. “What can I get you?”

  “Um.” He scanned the small menu board. There were six options, and none of the drinks had prices. Not that it mattered, considering his wallet currently contained his IDs, a debit card with a zero balance, and a colorful assortment of lint. “How much is a regular cup of coffee?”

  “Two dollars. Got your student card on you?”

  He pulled out his wallet and tried to slide the ID out of its new home. It stuck, of course, and took an embarrassingly long time to pry free. “Sorry. It’s hot off the press. Here.”

  “Thanks.” It was out of his hand and into hers faster than he could blink. She swiped it through a machine and then handed it back with a smile. “It looks like you have the meal plan. The cost of the coffee will come out of that. Since your ID is new, I figure you are too. Are you a freshman?”

  “Not exactly.” Though he was certainly acting like it. His last university had used student IDs for multiple functions as well. Had he been away from school for so long he’d honestly forgotten how things worked? He’d known his scholarship came with a meal plan. Bet that would have come rushing back to him the moment his stomach gurgled.

  The girl smiled kindly at him as she snapped a plastic lid onto a steaming cup of coffee. “Well, welcome to the Academy anyway. Need any milk or sugar?”

  “No, thanks.” Nick took the coffee, shoved his ID into a back pocket, and scuttled off. As he walked, he took a sip and immediately scalded his tongue. Fuck. Off to an excellent start.

  He stopped in the shade of a willow tree, popped the lid off his coffee, and blew on it until he felt confident taking a second, albeit more tentative sip. His tongue stung, but the rest of his mouth—and his exhausted psyche—welcomed the warm liquid.

  Digging in his pocket, he pulled out his phone and checked the time. He still had two hours before his first class. If unpacking went quickly—which it should, considering how little he’d brought with him—he might have time to see what the food here was like. Judging by the greener-than-green lawns and well-kept buildings, he was expecting more than the usual cafeteria slop.

  While he pondered his plan of attack, his eyes drifted across campus. There were a dozen or so students within sight, scattered around the quad. Compared to his last school, the place was a dead zone. But then, he’d read in one of the dreaded brochures that the Academy only had about nine hundred students. His high school had been bigger than that.

  He’d never experienced life outside of a big city before, but he’d watched enough TV to know what to expect. Everyone here probably knew everyone else, and word traveled fast. He’d do best to avoid attracting attention to himself, lest he end up in the rumor mill.

  Right as he thought this, his eyes landed on a group of guys sitting at a picnic table beneath a nearby tree. They weren’t doing anything to catch his notice, but all three of them were attractive. Like, teen-TV-drama attractive.

  One had dyed-red hair and skin that could give Snow White a run for her money. The guy next to him was black with prominent, symmetrical features. He was what Nick would have called “Instagrammable.” Beautiful in a classic way that was destined to go viral.

  The last guy was sitting on the table with his feet propped on the bench. Messy dark hair like a stray brushstroke topped his aristocratic face. Between his Roman nose and pink cheeks, he might’ve climbed out of an old oil painting. Gangly and lean to the point of looking underfed, he was the farthest from Nick’s type of the three.

  So why was Nick staring at him like he had winning lottery numbers scrawled across his face?

  N
ick, he scolded himself, you can’t check out boys on your first day at a Catholic college. The religious types tend to frown on that. Save the gay shit for another day.

  He ordered himself to look away, but his eyes disobeyed. He frowned. What the hell was his problem? The guy was cute, sure, but so what? His friends were cuter, and he was far from the first attractive man Nick had ever seen. Why couldn’t Nick move on?

  As if sensing Nick’s stare, the guy looked dead at him.

  Shit. Turn away!

  But Nick didn’t. He met the other student’s gaze unflinchingly. Close as he was to the table, he was able to make out his eye color. Gray. Deep gray, like storm clouds or rain water.

  Damn. There was a word to describe eyes like that. Something Nick had read in a poem once. What was it? He scrambled to remember, but the best he could come up with was that he thought it started with an L. His thoughts were so scattered, he couldn’t smash them together well enough to remember.

  Does he . . . remind me of something? Yeah, I think that’s it. But what?

  Three of the longest seconds of Nick’s life passed before he managed to jerk his head away. Holy shit. Having just come from a bus station, he was inured to making uncomfortable eye contact with strangers, but that’d been something else.

  The weird thing was, right before he’d broken eye contact, Nick could have sworn the other student had smiled. In a smug way, though. More like a smirk.

  Nick brushed off the odd encounter and started walking again, though his feet dragged with reluctance.

  Jesus. If this were a movie, I’d think that was some kind of fated meeting. I mean, our damn eyes met from across the way. Doesn’t get much sappier than that.

  Nick shook his head and took another sip of coffee. The bitterness and heat brushed away the last of the cobwebs clouding his thoughts. He had way too much going on to get sidetracked by a pretty face. One that could be attached to a Catholic boy with some deep-seated ideas about Nick and his preferences, he reminded himself.

  Best to put the whole bizarre moment behind him. Small school or not, he’d probably never see that guy again.

  Powell Hall—Nick’s new home for the foreseeable future—was a four-story, moss-covered building that resembled an old man who had hair growing out of . . . well, everywhere. It was located smack-dab in the middle of campus, no more than a five-minute walk from everything. Nick instantly loved it. Looking at its brick-and-stone façade, he saw a lot of late mornings in his future.

  As he walked inside, his expectations were low. The last dorm he’d stayed in had been all prisonlike cinder block and fluorescent lighting. To his surprise, he was greeted by hardwood floors, ivory walls, and a tastefully decorated foyer.

  Peering through the doorways on either side, he spotted a lounge with a fireplace and some sort of rec room. All in all, it was a big improvement. He could have done without the paintings of stern-faced saints on the walls, however.

  According to Dr. Finn, orientation had been last week, so everyone else had already moved in. A few students were lounging in chairs near a large front window, and they peered at him curiously. Nick peeked around for some sign of where he should go. Before he could move, a man in a blue shirt that read Resident Assistant appeared.

  “Hi there, I’m Don.” His tone said he’d done this a hundred times in the past week and was operating on autopilot. “I’m the RA for Powell Hall. Are you moving in?”

  “Yes, I’m—”

  “ID, please.” Don held out his hand.

  Nick pulled his ID from his pocket and handed it to him. He’d expected Don to consult a list of room assignments, but at the sight of the card, Don nodded.

  “I thought as much. You’re the last one to check in, Steele. Welcome to Powell Hall. You’re on the fourth floor. Head up the staircase until you can’t anymore.” He pointed to a polished wooden staircase set along the far wall. Then, he reached into his pocket and pulled out two identical keys on a simple metal ring, which he tossed to Nick.

  “Got it.” Nick caught the keys. “How will I know which room is mine?”

  “Easy.” Don flashed a prepackaged smile. “It’s the only one up there. You’re in the attic.”

  Nick was about to ask if it was, like, a spooky attic, but there came a muffled crashing sound from somewhere in the back of the building. With a knowing sigh, Don darted off.

  Guess I’m on my own.

  Nick did as Don had instructed and headed up the stairs. He was winded by the third floor and made a mental note to add some cardio to his next workout. Panting, he forced himself up the last flight and came upon a short hallway that led to a single door.

  He set his bag down and started to unlock it, but no sooner had he inserted the key, the door opened. Standing on the other side was a tall brown boy with the prettiest eyes Nick had ever seen. So dark they were nearly black and ringed by lashes like ink smudges.

  “Oh hey.” The stranger blinked at him. He was dressed in black slacks and a button-down shirt. His formal attire was offset by bare feet and silky hair that was sticking up like he’d been shocked. “You must be my new roommate. Cutting it a little close, aren’t you? I was beginning to think you weren’t going to show.”

  Damn, he’s handsome. Is everyone at this school preternaturally good-looking? Or have I been single for way too long?

  “Um.” Nick fiddled with his bag’s strap. “Hi, I’m Nick.”

  “I’m Deenabandhu. Nice to meet you.”

  Panic punched Nick in the gut. “Nice to meet you too, um, Deena . . . Deenaba . . .”

  Deenabandhu held up a palm. “No offense, but I can’t listen to another white person butcher my name. Just call me Deen. Everyone does. Unless you’re a bully, in which case, call me Deena.”

  Nick snorted. “Deen it is.”

  Deen stepped back, allowing him to enter the room. As soon as Nick did, he whistled, eyes sweeping from the high, steepled ceiling to the large windows. Two beds had been set up on opposite sides of the room, along with identical desks, nightstands, and bureaus. To the right, by the entrance, was a closed door that must lead to a closet or a bathroom.

  His unspoken question was answered a second later when Deen waved at the room. “Everything’s pretty self-explanatory. Feel free to use my minifridge and microwave if you like.” He pointed out the appliances before jabbing a thumb at the closed door. “Bathroom’s through there. We have to share with the whole floor, but fortunately, the whole floor is us.”

  Nick snorted again, and Deen beamed, like he wasn’t used to people laughing at his jokes. He walked over to the bed on the right. It was piled with textbooks, and judging by the tangled sheets, it’d been slept in. “I hope you don’t mind, but I got in a week ago, and I had to sleep somewhere, so I staked my claim.”

  “No worries. I’m just glad there aren’t bunk beds. My last dorm had those, and I got stuck beneath a snorer.” Nick deposited his bag onto the left bed and took a seat. The mattress was the perfect combination of soft and firm. If he didn’t know any better, he would think the university had spent actual money on the dorm rooms. “Though honestly, if I’ve got a blanket and a horizontal surface, I’m happy.”

  “Awesome.” Deen hopped onto his bed, facing Nick. “So, you’re new here, but you’re not a freshman. Are you a transfer?”

  “Yeah, and I’m a junior. How’d you know?”

  “Well, I’ve never seen you around before, for one thing. This is a tiny school, and everyone knows everyone else. Most of the students came here from the same feeder Catholic high school and have been classmates for years. I would have assumed you were a freshman, but you said you’d lived in a dorm before. Ergo, transfer student.”

  Nick whistled. “Damn, that was some Sherlock Holmes shit.”

  “Elementary, my dear Nickolas.” He pretended to puff on an imaginary pipe. “It is Nickolas, right? And not like, Nickstopher or something?”

  Nick laughed, relaxing for the first time since he’d been on
campus. It seemed he’d lucked out in the roommate department. If the rest of the year went this smoothly, he’d be set. “Nah, it’s Nickolas. Nickolas Steele. What year are you?”

  “I’m a sophomore, so I’m a year younger than you.” Deen waggled his eyebrows. “That makes you my senpai.”

  Nick started to correct him—thanks to his year off, he was older than most juniors—but at the last second, he clamped his mouth shut. That would invite questions he didn’t have the energy to answer right now. Not on the first day of a new semester.

  Instead, he repeated what Deen had said earlier. “So, everyone knows everyone else? I’m going to stick out, huh?” So much for keeping my head down.

  “Pretty much. Where are you from?”

  “Chicago. Born and raised.”

  “What made you decide to go to school in Evanston?”

  Fuck. Avoiding the subject is going to be harder than I thought.

  “The Academy offered me a full ride,” Nick answered truthfully. “Without that, I wouldn’t be here. What about you? Did you go to that feeder school you mentioned?”

  “No, I moved here from out of state, believe it or not. I got a great scholarship, since I’m studying engineering.”

  “Oh, hey. I bet we got similar scholarships. I’m in the STEM department too.” Nick figured he might as well unpack while they spoke, so he hopped up and opened his bag.

  “No shit. What’s your major?”

  “Physics. That makes us science bros.”

  “Excellent.”

  Nick deposited his clothing into the bureau, pulled out a tangled charger, and plugged his phone into one of the outlets above his desk. Then he tossed his bulky laptop onto the mattress.

  Deen eyed it, lips puckering like he’d bitten into a lemon. “You might want to invest in some new tech, buddy. That thing looks like it’s on its last legs.”