The Obsidians

Chapter 1

The principal, a tall and slender woman in her mid-fifties, peered at me through her thick glasses, which magnified her eyes to an almost comical degree. Her short blond hair brushed her shoulders, and she wore an impossibly vibrant pink sweater. As we entered, her eyes sparkled with welcome, and a warm smile spread across her lips. She gestured for Helen and me to sit in the chairs across from her ornate desk, adorned with golden candlestick holders and a framed photo of two freckled, smiling children.

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. Whitmore. Your advisor mentioned you're interested in joining our psychology program. Is that correct?" she inquired, her gaze flitting between Helen and me.

For a moment, silence filled the room. The sensation of being examined by the principal was strangely unsettling, and I felt as though I were melting into the plush comfort of my chair. I managed a nod, staring straight ahead.

"Wonderful, absolutely wonderful!" she exclaimed, flipping through a thick file she retrieved from her desk. "Since it's the start of the new semester, you haven't missed much. Your timing is impeccable, and we greatly appreciate that."

Her boundless optimism struck me as almost surreal. The thought crossed my mind that she must be either extraordinarily high-spirited or utterly insane. Who else would wear such a garish sweater?

Helen spoke up. "Elias here is incredibly bright. Despite some past difficulties, I believe everyone deserves a second chance."

Suppressing a laugh at her remark was difficult; it seemed both ludicrous and humiliating, sitting next to Helen like a child. Despite having recently celebrated my 21st birthday alone in my old apartment amidst a pile of dirty clothes, I was taller than her.

"Not to worry, Mrs. Jones," the principal replied. "I'm confident Mr. Whitmore here will fit seamlessly into our community. Our teachers are dedicated to nurturing the next generation of bright minds."

She closed the folder, and I finally noticed the small nameplate on her desk: Elizabeth Susan Kelley. A name instantly forgotten, as I saw no need to remember it beyond the formality of addressing her by her last name.

"So, Mr. Whitmore," she continued, "I'm sure, after your journey, you'd like to see where you'll be staying. I've spoken with your head teacher, Mrs. Denver, and she has arranged a room in our dormitory for you. I trust you have no issues with roommates?"

At that moment, my heart sank. While I expected to interact with fellow students and teachers, I had hoped for solitude at night. I wanted a moment of peace while I sleep or at least try to sleep which became harder and harder with that cursed orange bottle at the bottom of my bag.

"Roommates?" I finally managed to ask, gripping the edge of my seat.

The principal's smile, sweet yet tinged with what seemed like veiled disapproval, broadened. "Oh yes, we were selective in your roommate assignment. I'm confident you'll get along wonderfully with Mr. Winters. His teachers speak highly of him," she said, clearing her throat. "I'm sure you'll find much in common."

Helen's look screamed, "Be grateful and don't cause trouble!" I nodded, which seemed to satisfy the principal.

"Excellent. Well, Mrs. Jones, I believe that covers everything. The paperwork is complete, and Mr. Whitmore can start his classes tomorrow. I'm sure you already have his schedule so could you show him the way?""

"Certainly," Helen replied, standing up. I followed, mimicking her like a loyal parrot.

Without glancing back, I grabbed my bag, averting my eyes from the framed photo and the ghastly pink sweater. I could only hope that the student that the principal called 'Mr. Winters' would not end up another casualty at the bottom of the grand staircase in the main building.