Page 20 of A Dead Man's B-Side
But Alexei… He deserved someone who saw that intelligence in him and was willing to foster it.
The boy who barely made it past Cassius’ hip danced closer to the invisible line separating the gym from the hall, toeing it in excitement. “Can I go in now?”
Cassius raised a finger with what he hoped was a stern look. “You will be allowed if and only if… you read a chapter and give me aproper,” Alexei groaned and threw his head back, but Cassius only pressed his open palm over his head and tilted it to meet his eyes, “summary every time you want to come back.”
The young boy grumbled, but it didn’t take long for him to agree. The rose-coloured glasses that seemed to occupy his vision whenever the gym was mentioned told Cassius enough about the answer he would be getting. “Fine.”
Chapter Five
Alexandr Miroslav
1982
“Come in.”
Her voice was like a soothing melody that didn’t match her rather honed beauty. She smiled at my entrance, and for a fleeting moment, I wondered if this was why women were so often favoured in intel work.
“Alexandr, have a seat.” She motioned to the twin armchairs facing her in an office slightly grander than the dean’s. I let my mind wander to the capacity of her power as my feet marched me, one in front of the other, to what felt like an execution.
After what mimicked nine lives of classes, and a lonely yet peaceful lunch, the final bell rang. A somber chime that matched the gloomy weather, signalled my walk back to the dorms. The weight of exhaustion pressed heavily on my shoulders, and the thought of solitude, of drawn curtains and a heavy duvet to block out the dull hum of fluorescent lights buzzing from the hall, felt like a victory after a long battle.
Except, my plans were put to a halt when the Literatureprofessor, Ms Ransom, a young but stern woman, passed me a note and informed me of my meeting with the student body president, a meeting unbeknownst to me.
Ms Ransom was a woman of clever and intuitive intellect. Her lesson was interesting, to say the least. She spoke in a clear voice that captured everyone’s attention, like a siren singing from the edge of a ship. She reels her students’ attention in, speaking of death and legacy, of fate and rebellion, authority and power, before tying the themes back to the semester’s reading list; a philosopher passing down their wise and archaic knowledge to their pupils.
She wore black pants, a white dress shirt tucked into the waistband, and a tie around the neckline. One better done than mine, I had to admit.
Her hair was held back in a low bun, but she left her bangs to curtain her temples. From that alone, something told me she was out of her norm.
Despite this being my first impression, I couldn’t possibly imagine her sharp mind stuck in a classroom all day.
When she pulled me aside, she told me this meeting was a personal orientation of sorts, but my eyes were burning, and my muscles were aching.No matter what truthful excuse I sent her way, she only pursed her lips and reiterated the importance of thisorientation.
Never mind that I’d encountered the same boy, August, getting tripped in the halls on my way there, which only added to my growing migraine.
August stood, and when the boy who stuck his foot out tried to smother a laugh with his friends, telling the smaller boy he had a spasm and not to blame his ‘jerky leg’, August was quick to retaliate that his ‘jerky foot’ was, aside from his pig face, another unfortunate side effect of his mother’s preference for bestiality.
I didn’t stop and watch, but I did catch August running across the lawn with the insulted boy chasing after him from the windows of Abbot House, where I was now.
The student body president, upon closer inspection, was the same girl from this morning. Who’d feigned getting something from her backpack to check out my desk neighbour. I wasn’t planning on painting a target on my back as a first-day accomplishment, so I remained silent and shuffled to the seat she offered.
I sank into the armchair, its leather cold against my weary frame. Her smile didn’t seem to wane or shift, locked in place as she stared at me with inquisitive eyes. I didn’t know whether to like or hate her. Which was something I considered myself good at; knowing who I can trust and who I needed to hold my cards against my chest from.
“It’s nice to finally meet you, Alexandr.”
I didn’t catch it the first time she’d spoken, but there was a soft Japanese accent, almost washed out by the posh English behind her soft voice. I held her stare for a few moments as her words fell into silence, though she didn’t seem to mind. She was someone to be wary of, considering her place in the student body hierarchy, but the more I thought of it, the more I convinced myself I wasn’t of importance to her. Maybe this was her way of asserting the certaintyof her power over me. But I wouldn’t mind playing the part of her underling at the small cost of remaining as invisible as possible.
I was sure she’d done this to anyone she thought might underestimate her.
“It’s nice to meet you as well,” I finally said.
She intertwined her fingers on her desk. “How are you liking Castle Hill? Are there any questions you may have for me?”
I thought of the spacious dorm, state-of-the-art facilities, and dining hall food. “It’s nice, more than up to my liking…”
I would still be surviving, I told myself. All these factors considered, my guard would remain intact.
I promised myself I wouldn’t get lazy. I wouldn't lose sight of myself and get comfortable.
