CALVIN

twenty-four: the christmas party

Trigger Warning: suicide, self harm, rape

Beginning as a black tie dinner, merging into a drunken rave and ending on the edge of the woods puking your brains out: that was the Christmas party's itinerary. Girls wore short sequined dresses and bright red jumpsuits, guys wore dinner jackets and, in Nikita's case, Swarovski-encrusted lapels. When you walked into the dining hall (straight line, rehearsed), the on-campus teachers (wearing white button-downs and red waiter aprons) clapped us into the hall, ready to, as PhD-graduated professionals with a 60,000 annual income, be tasked with the degrading effort of serving pumpkin soup to the sons and daughters of media tycoons and marquis. It was a little bit unethical, and also cringe, but such is the way of life.

Sat at my house's table (white tablecloth, thick red serviettes, two wine glasses per person), the programme began, a schedule consisting of a piano performance from Olivia, a speech from Mr Taylor, words of wisdom from Roman the School Speaker, and a stiff round of applause for the kitchen staff and decorators, or in other words, the peasants. I made brief and awkward eye contact with Ana, who was sitting a couple tables up, wearing a jewel green dress. I think I looked away first, but I couldn't be sure.

"Well," said Schneider, sitting down at the table, "the swelling's gone down, so now you're back to your handsome self." He squished my cheeks as he said handsome. "What has it been, five days?"

"Can we just make a pact?" said Leon in a low voice, leaning into the table. "That if any of us find ourselves alone in close proximity to anyone from house 15, we text the groupchat."

"Yeah, sorry I couldn't reach my phone as I was getting my teeth kicked in."

Ehsan uncorked our bottle of wine and began pouring everyone else's glass.

"Do you guys know if the smoking ban is gonna happen?" asked Denis.

"Parliament is postponing the vote until after the break," said Patrick.

"Great," Denis pounded the table with the flat of his hand and stood, "I'm goin' for a shmoke."

Ehsan got up too. "Oo, me too."

"Guys, we aren't supposed to leave."

But they left.

Later, somewhere between the entree and dessert, Schneider came into the bathroom to find me washing my hands. He turned on the faucet to the sink next to mine and washed his, too. "The Gemüsepfanne was pretty gross," he said.

"So oily. You have to be psychotic to drench vegetables in cooking oil." I threw my paper towel in the trash and started walking for the door, but Schneider gently pulled my elbow back as he leaned his back against the wall. "Wait," he said. "The dessert's not out yet."

"Sure."

"Did you ever think of telling Mr Taylor what Neal did to you? Or at least Herr Hayes?"

"I think they know, Schneider. A face doesn't get as fucked-up as mine did without the puncher getting bruised knuckles." I shrugged. "What are they gonna do? Neal's entire family went to this school. There's probably five separate steady donation streams all from sources with his last name. You can't outmaneuver that."

"Rich cunts."

"Yeah, well..." the look I gave him said something along the lines of, and you aren't? He got what I meant, hung his head for a second, then changed the topic.

"You know why Roman and I fought, right? At the Halloween party?"

I observed him cautiously, then nodded.

"Patrick told you?"

Quietly: "Yeah. Patrick told me."

"Okay. Because Tim Wong came to my room really upset the other day, because of how Roman was treating him."