Foreigner

Chapter 1

There's about a fifty percent chance I survive this. By "survive," I mean avoid getting beat up, tossed out a third-floor window, or locked in a bathroom stall for two days. All things I can dodge if I keep my head down and don't draw attention to myself. But seeing as I've been here for five minutes and already caught a bunch of weird stares from the students, my odds aren't looking great.

I only had a year and a half left of high school—why couldn't I just keep my fists to myself? I could've told my parents I wanted to switch schools, told them I was sick of those idiots joking about my sister's accent. Instead, I let my body do the talking, and now... here I am.

My parents are talking to the principal—a tall, skinny man with a smile way too cheerful for this bleak place. He leads us through dim gray hallways that twist and turn until I'm convinced we're walking in circles. But I'm too busy studying the floor tiles to bother listening to what they're saying.

I can feel the stares of the students we pass, assessing me, sizing me up like they're mentally calculating how quickly they could flatten me if necessary. We're in the dormitory wing now, where most of the doors hang open, revealing chaotic glimpses of rooms that look more like war zones than living spaces. I just hope my roommate isn't a slob.

We finally reach a stairwell and start climbing to the third floor. Room 355—that's where I'll be. One suitcase in my hand, my backpack slung over my shoulder, I follow my mom's blonde hair and my dad's stiff blue suit up the stairs.

At the end of a long hallway, we stop in front of a door with the number 355 glued on in slightly crooked letters. My mom gestures for me to pull out my earbuds, and I reluctantly oblige, catching the tail end of the principal's latest cheerful remark.

"This will be your room for the rest of the school year," he announces, his smile practically stapled onto his face. "Your roommate is... quite the character, but you'll be fine. He doesn't bite."

Not exactly comforting, but I nod.

"If you ever want to change rooms, I should warn you—you can't." He pauses, the smile faltering just slightly. "This was the only room with space left. But if you ever need someone to talk to, the school psychologist is in room 029, down in the basement."

I nod again, not trusting myself to say anything that won't sound like sarcasm.

He presses a small silver key into my hand. It's labeled "#355" in scribbled black marker. "Go on, then," he urges, still grinning. "Get yourself settled. Your class schedule is on the desk, and lessons start promptly at 8 AM every weekday. Don't be late!"

I unlock the door and step inside while my parents linger in the hallway, finishing up paperwork with the principal. The room is cleaner than I expected—almost disturbingly so. Both bunk beds are neatly made, the carpet spotless, the bathroom faintly smelling of bleach. I open the closet, and, yep, there are clothes neatly folded on the shelves. So my roommate is definitely real, and, apparently, tidier than I'd imagined.

I set my suitcase and backpack beside the closet and wander over to the small desk. My schedule is lying there, color-coded and labeled with tomorrow's date. Monday. Starting midyear and midterm means everyone will know I'm the new kid. Just what I need—an extra dose of unwanted attention. I grit my teeth and vow to ignore it as best I can.

A few minutes later, my parents step into the room. My mom looks around with a mix of concern and forced optimism, while my dad just stands there, hands in his pockets, as unreadable as ever. He's the one who pushed for this boarding school after the fight, convinced this is what I need to "finally grow up."

"Oh, sweetheart..." my mom sighs, pulling me into a hug. "I'm so sorry we have to leave you here, but we'll come to visit every Sunday!"

I roll my eyes. "Sure, Mom." I'll believe it when I see it.

She releases me, and my dad steps up, giving my shoulder a firm pat. "You'll be fine here. You'll get your grades back on track, stay in shape, and maybe even make some new friends." He pauses, his hand lingering on my shoulder a second too long. "This isn't a punishment, Lukas. Think of it as a chance to grow up."

Yeah, "growing up" in a place that feels more like a prison than a school. One wrong move, and—BAM!—you're on the receiving end of a teacher's wrath. Welcome to boarding school.

My mom sees the scowl on my face and sighs again. "Lukas, ära ole nii mossis! Sina alustasid, nüüd lõpeta ka." (Lukas, don't pout like that! You started this; now you finish it.)

I let out a long breath. "Safe trip back," I say, glancing pointedly at the door.

¤ ¤ ¤

It's 8:04 PM. Four minutes past curfew, two hours since I finished unpacking. I watched a movie to pass the time, but now, shutting down my laptop, I hear footsteps in the hallway outside. The door unlocks, and I straighten up, shifting closer to one of the desks for cover. I didn't know which bunk was mine, so I parked myself on the floor to avoid claiming my roommate's bed by accident.

The door swings open, and a tall, muscular guy with messy blond hair strides in, his sharp green eyes fixing on me. He peels off a worn leather jacket, then kicks off his boots, still silent. My gaze flickers to the tattoo on the side of his neck—a skull, inked in black and gray.

We stare at each other for a long, awkward moment, until he finally turns and heads to the bathroom, locking the door behind him. Through my earbuds, I hear the muffled sound of the shower turning on.

That guy's expression was pure ice. He looked like he'd kill someone if they so much as sneezed in his direction. My dad's "disappointed" face has nothing on him. I make a mental note to stay out of his way. I'd rather avoid being his next victim.

A notification dings on my phone. It's from my little sister.

Isadora: Hey! You doing okay?

Me: Yeah, just chilling.

Isadora: Have you met your new roommate yet?

Me: Not "met," exactly. But I've seen him. He doesn't talk much.

Isadora: Is he cute?

I roll my eyes and sigh.

Me: Izzy, for the last time, I'm not into guys. I don't know why you keep assuming that.

Isadora: Whoa, defensive much! I just asked if he's cute, not if you wanted to marry him.

Before I can respond, she types again.

Isadora: But my gaydar is never wrong.

Me: No, it's just broken.

Isadora: One day I'm gonna say "I told you so."

Me: Don't hold your breath.

There's a pause, and I see she's typing something longer this time, probably choosing her words carefully.

Isadora: I'm sorry I couldn't see you off. After everything you did for me...

I clench my jaw, forcing a sigh back down.

Me: Don't worry about it.

Isadora: But I am worried! Whittiker All-Boys Boarding School is no joke.

Just then, the bathroom door opens. My roommate steps out, a towel slung low around his hips, water dripping from his hair. He's even more intimidating half-naked—muscles and all. I turn back to my phone, typing fast.

Me: I don't want to talk about it. Goodnight, Izzy.

The lights suddenly go out, leaving only the glow of my phone screen. I glance up to see my roommate settling onto the bottom bunk, facing the wall without a word. Guess it's bedtime. I check the clock on my phone—8:20 PM.

Welcome to boarding school, Lukas. Awesome.