A Study At Bullimore

2

John hurried across the grounds, map in hand, his jumper sticking to his damp skin. He was itching to take it off and lay topless on his bed, but he imagined that his roommate wouldn't be best pleased with the sight when he arrived. He thought it was ridiculous that people paid so much for university and yet had to share a room, but assumed that it helped bring the students closer, letting them develop their network more.

His dorm was halfway across the grounds, by a cluster of trees. The sun's light made the landscape's colour's fluorescent, everything was intensely bright. Bold greens, bright yellows and blinding whites that made the landscape seem like a cartoon. His building was surrounded by a picket fence, the house an old English cottage made of grey brick and spotted with perfumed roses. The terracotta roof reflected the sun and John had to shield his eyes as he searched in the pack for his house key. It was heavy and grand, slotting neatly into the wooden door, turning easily in the lock. He paused, unsure who would be inside, before pushing the door open.

—

The entrance opened immediately into the kitchen and living room. It was open plan, with large windows either side that let in the summers light. On his left John could see a few sofas, along with armchairs next to a fireplace. They were made of old leather and draped with a mismatch of blankets that looked handmade. He wondered if one of the students made them or if they had been a gift from a sponsor years ago. John could see himself reflected in the mirror above the fireplace and, upon seeing his reflection, brushed his hair out of his face to appear less sweaty. It did not work, the fringe plastering over his forehead and so he settled with shaking his hair out instead. On the shelves on the furthest wall of the living room were thick textbooks, as well as a radio. To his right was the kitchen, which had a silver double doored fridge, an aga and a sink, as well as cupboards lining the walls. There were random nick-naks, like a metal statue of some man and beast, stood on the center of the kitchen table and a vase of flowers on the windowsill. Everything was oddly mismatched but in a way that was charming and purposeful.

John didn't know whether he should call out to the emptiness or not. The air was very still, and the school had called him in early so he could get settled first, but there was a chance there were other newcomers he may have missed. "Hello?" He half-heartedly called into the stillness, "is anyone here?" There was no reply, the clock on the wall ticking like a metronome. So, John took off his shoes and left them by the door.

Straight ahead of him was a low doorway, which John walked through. It led to a blue tiled room which had a number of washing machines in, as well as a washing line that ran parallel to the ceiling. To his left was a door which had the number 21 carved into the wood. Behind that door, John assumed, was a corridor of rooms that held dorms. Instead, John followed the room along to another doorway, which was signed 'upstairs to 22'. This was where John assumed his dorm would be, so he walked through the door and up the curving stairs. He could feel the cold against the holes in his socks, the slats of the wooden planks scruffy and stained, as if unkept. At the top of the stairs was another corridor. There were two doors at opposite ends of the corridor. One read 22 and the other encouraging people to follow for rooms for 23. John tried his key for 22, and it came open.

After stepping through the door, John closed it firmly behind him, listening to it click shut. There were only 3 doors in this corridor, with John's room being in the middle. He was surprised by how large the house was, the amount of stairs and bedrooms outweighing any expectation he had before, as though it were bigger on the inside. His dorm room was sizeable, with two single beds, two desks and a 3 sets of shelves. The two beds were pushed against the left and right wall, with a desk at the foot of each bed, the chairs facing away from the door. There were a set of shelves on each wall, as well as a wardrobe and a chest of drawers near the window. It was well kept, the desks scuffed out of use and shelves tilting from the weight they had bore, but clearly had once been spotless. John picked the bed to the left of the door, chucking his welcome pack on the sheets, before gazing out of the window.

It had a stunning view, the fields stretching far away. John could just catch a glimpse of water, which must have been the river that had followed the road. Surrounding the hills base was a woodland, with horses wandering back and forth across the pastures. It was tranquil, silent, but there was a niggling worry that it would not last long. He worried that his roommate would be an arsehole. That they would be loud and messy and selfish. He shared a room with Harry his entire life, so it wasn't anything new. However, sharing with someone he didn't know made his stomach twist.

But at least he was here, at Bullimore University for Young Gentlemen (what a name, John had said to himself when he read the pamphlet, what an awful name.) Despite all the odds. The hours of stress and study paid off. 100% of the fees paid, reminded himself, if grades are maintained. He remembered receiving the letter, heavy and in a thick manila envelope that was pointlessly high quality. "They have to spend the money somewhere!" Harry had quipped, but now John was sure that all the money went towards keeping the grounds pristine, not a blade of grass out of place. With a small smile, John stepped back from the frame, before opening his guide.

The front was glossy and dark blue, with a picture of the university on the front, along with the words 'strength through education. Bullimore University for Young Gentlemen ' This phrase made John roll his eyes. What did that mean? The first page had a Welcome From The Vice Chancellor, an old, stout man that reminded John more of a raisin than human, as well as comments from the school donators. John didn't care to read the page, he had been to enough welcome events to know exactly what the paragraph would say but noticed the phrase "excellence can only be achieved by one's own determination to succeed", which made John snort. It sounded as if the tutor had never seen anywhere else except for the inside private schools.

The next page was filled about the information for scholarship students. After reading the page, a hard lump formed in John's throat. It wasn't information he didn't already know but seeing it again whilst standing in the university made him feel worse. 'Failure to maintain the grades you entered the school with will lead to the scholarship being revoked.' For John, a revoked scholarship would mean that he'd have to leave the school. He didn't have the money to pay £20,000 a term, in fact he wasn't sure they had £20,000 at all. 'Scholarships can also be revoked due to poor behaviour e.g. missed classes, consistent underachievement and tutor referral.' As a school, we understand that students can have bad exams. However, if a students' work and exam results reflect a lack of care or intelligence, then the privilege to carry on the Bullimore Achievers Program will be revoked.'

This somehow made John feel worse. He was a scholar in all 4 of his subjects, but if he dropped just one of the grades in his studies, he would have to leave. The thought made him sick. He came to Bullimore because of the opportunities he would be able to gain from it, the networking, as well as the quality of education. John still couldn't believe that he had managed to obtain a scholarship at all, let alone 4.

"I'm so proud of you." Is what Harry had immediately said to John. They had opened the acceptance letter from Bullimore together sat on Harry's bed. He let her read it first, fighting back the anxious tears that had been building for the months he had waited for the results. She had taken longer than necessary to read it, her eyes scanning the page over and over. But then she had hugged him, and he knew he had got in. They didn't mention that John would be leaving, that he would have a new life, that Harry would be left behind.

"I can't believe it." Was all John could say. He had picked up the letter and got as far as 'Congratulations, we would like to offer you a full scholarship to Bullimore University for Young Gentlemen' before needing to take a moment to process it. She ruffled his hair in the way that she did when he was a child.
"Johnny's got a full ride!" Harry mocked in a fake American accent, flashing a bright smile. John half smiled at her. "Are you going to tell dad?"

"I don't think he would care. At all." Harry had slowly nodded in response, re reading the letter. "Mum would be proud. So proud."
"I hope so."
"I know she would, Johnny."

And now, as John lay down on his bed, resting the pack on his stomach, he thought about everything that had brought him to this point. How insane every moment had been, the pain and heartache, how hard he had worked. He wondered if his dad had noticed that he and Harry weren't home. He wondered what he would say when Harry came back alone. They had agreed to tell him after he had gone, so the man wouldn't stop them from leaving. He wondered what Harry would say back and then fell asleep, as if for the first time in months.