Villainous

Chapter 4 | Caspian

The school is less threateningly large than my own home. Or what used to be my home. It's all winding white towers, too big statues, and students in overly formal uniforms. IAD. International Academy of the Destined. My curls bounce as I somehow find the smile to propel myself through the gates. I'm pretty sure the lip gloss stayed on. I think of the soft pink lips of the girl on the train. I think of her confident gait. I think of her strange hair.

Then I force her out of my brain. I don't have the space in my brain for the girl. I bounce like Mother taught me to the front desk. My knees wobble and my hands are glued to my side and I can hear my heart pounding in my gut. Administration desks get bigger and bigger every year. This one comes up to my collarbone. I eye the woman sitting behind it.

Grey hair without a single silvery twinge. I flash back to the threads of silver in train girl's eyes. I am in control. Breath steady, unclench your fists, brave a nervous grin. "Caspian Storm." The woman lifts her head and pushes up her glasses with one finger. With a long sigh, she closed her paperback book and spun her chair to dig for my file.

I rocked back and forth on the balls of my feet until she pulled out a cream coloured folder and passed it over to me. "Your dorm room is number 378 in the blue dome. I sincerely hope you enjoy your stay at IAD." She gave me a cordial smile, but I could sense the sarcasm.

I took the key she held out, gave her a brief respectful nod, and pivoted to my right. I followed the signs through the labyrinthine school, all the way to what looked like a large blue greenhouse. The blue dome. I shrugged, skeptically eyeing the little room key, which looked something like a key to a cheap hotel room.

The wallpaper in the halls of the blue dome were blue bokeh shapes, and the doors were painted in various shades of blue. Three-seventy-eight. The door was just half a foot taller than I was. Part of me wondered what ghastly shade of blue the room was, and part of me was just happy that there was a new home at all. I stuck the card into the locking mechanism above the door, then turned the handle. The blue door knob creaked as it turned.

I leaned my head inside first, as though I was an undercover cop and this was a drug bust. Once I looked around the cerulean walls, cobalt cushions, and blue king bed, determining it safe for entry, I edged myself the rest of the way in and flicked on the lights, closing the creaking door behind me.

I quickly shucked off the pink jean jacket, pastel button up shirt, and new pink sneakers. The girl on the train was right. I did wear too much pink. But in a house where Mother's favorite color was pink, it was little more than a survival mechanism. In truth, I despised pinks, preferring greens and yellows. But if I wanted to retain the ability to purchase clothing, school supplies, food, and other necessities, it all had to come in various shades of pink.

I am in control. I shoved away my past and the girl on the train with one firm hand. My hands found my mess of curls. Mother would have chastised me for letting them get so out of control. I shook it out of my hands, let it dance wildly over my torso and back. A small rebellion.

I reached for the button of my pink skinny jeans, shoving them down around my ankles. I critically eyed my long, thin legs. My figure was a number one. I didn't have any more curves than a ten year old boy. I wore plain pink undergarments, as Mother requested. I made my way to the blue bathroom, throwing off what remained of my clothes as I walked. All were pink.