In Too Deep

“Most use the time to eat, shower, and catch up on assignments.”

In my old school I had exactly thirteen minutes to stuff my face after the time it took to walk from my Spanish class to the other end of the school, wait in the cafeteria line, and find a seat. Then again, I also never went to classes until five. My old school got out at three in the afternoon.

We climb the stairs to the third floor towards the dorms. I expect to finally meet the other students, but the hallway is empty.

Vera pauses at a long and narrow room occupied by eight beds. “This is the girls’ dormitory,” she says as I step up next to her. I recognize my two black suitcases lying on top of the twin-size bed closest to us.  Each of the other beds in the room sport blankets and quilts in various colors and patterns, but the white iron headboards give everything a uniform feel. There are floor to ceiling windows along one wall, and the window in the center opens onto a tiny balcony with a decorative wrought iron railing.

Vera nods toward the other side of the room. “The boys’ dormitory is through there.”

I glance at the opening that separates the two rooms, not even an actual door.

She crosses the room and opens the doors to a large, dark, wooden wardrobe. “You can unpack your things here.” She runs a finger over the shelf, inspecting it for traces of dust. Seemingly satisfied, she shuts the door. She then turns and leaves the room. I stand there for a second, unsure if she intends for me to follow, and when I hear her voice in the hallway, I hurry out after her.

“This is the girls’ lavatory, which is shared by the first and second year girls. The boys’ lavatory is down the hall.”

At least that is separate. Sharing with other girls will be bad enough. The bathroom is large though, and, thankfully, clean. There are half a dozen dark wood vanities, a separate area for toilets, and four shower stalls along the opposite wall. Each has a frosted glass door. Not bad, considering there are only a few girls in my class. I can make this work. The bundle of nerves in my stomach uncoils just slightly.

Vera turns abruptly, leaving the bathroom and heading back down the hall.

“Where is everyone?” I ask.

“The rec room. That’s where we’re going next.”

I had hoped to change before meeting the student body so I could make a better first impression than I was sure to make in the clothes I’d spent travelling in all day, but I don’t have any choice. I tuck my hair behind my ears and draw in a deep breath.

Vera pulls open the massive oak door and the voices and laughter immediately die down Every student turns to stare at the door and the odd new girl who surely looks stunned and bewildered.

The room is like a big family room with several chocolate brown couches, a large TV screen mounted on the wall and several desks scattered at the far end on the room. A few people practice self-defense moves on one end of the room and another group is huddled around a set of high-tech computer monitors, but other than that, they appear normal.

“This is Taylor Beckett, a new first year,” Vera introduces me in her official sounding voice and then abruptly turns to leave me, letting the door close behind her with a thud.

Many of the students who had glanced my way at our arrival have gone back to talking, watching TV or doing homework, but a few continue to stare. I straighten my shoulders and put on my best breezy, unconcerned face, studying them right back. Surely someone will come up to introduce themselves or wave me over or at least smile from across the room. The seconds tick by. One friendly face, that’s all I need. I can walk over and make the introductions myself. One friendly face.  Come on, come on. No one makes a move. My insides tighten like they are being twisted with a fork. I have never felt so alone and dejected.

I remind myself silently not to panic, that surely these people aren’t as unfriendly as they seem. In fact, I’ll probably be having a good chuckle at this tense standoff by tomorrow. But a few seconds more slip past and I realize I am just as alone as I feel. I need to get the hell out of here. Now.

I turn and yank on the door, but it doesn’t budge.  I grab the handle with both hands and pull. Hard. Nothing. Damn it. It’s stuck.

All conversation in the room dies away again and I can feel a roomful of eyes on my back.

“You have to push,” a girl with a deep, throaty voice offers from behind me. I hear a few people laugh as I shove against the door and charge out of the room. Oh. My. God. That could not have gone any worse.

I escape back to the dorms, my mind racing and emotions competing against each other. I miss my friends, but I’m stuck in this strange new school. They know about my cheating and now I have to keep up the charade, or risk my parents finding out. This blows. I glance around the silent dorm room and notice my bed is the only one with industrial looking linens. I’d never even thought about bringing my own sheets and comforter. An obvious newbie mistake. I try to remember if that had been on the list of approved items, but I can’t remember seeing it.

I glance down at the foot of the bed, and the sight of my computer bag brings some comfort. Taking a deep breath, I pull my laptop out, sit down on my new bed, and tap the power button. I immediately open the folder of photos, and smile when I see the picture of me and Piper from the summer at her cousin’s bonfire, otherwise known as the night I learned warm beer, almond liqueur, and vodka don’t mix. I made out with Archer Gibson in the woods after puking behind a tree. Not one of my finer moments. Good thing I knew how to remove the photographic evidence of that night that had been posted online. The next photo is of Wes planting a kiss on my cheek. I groan, certain I had deleted all of those. The look on my face is pure happiness, as he presses his lips to my cheek. To make sure I don’t make the same mistake twice, I hit the delete key with more force than necessary. What was meant to make me feel better was only making me more homesick, so I closed the folder. My eyes linger on the icon in the bottom right of the laptop screen. I’m connected to the school’s network, and I find myself wandering to what extent.

With each key I strike, I curse myself for landing here. If I hadn’t hacked into the test, simply for the thrill of seeing if I could do it, I would’ve received the very average score I deserved and I’d be applying to state schools next year with Piper.

I type in a string of commands and wait. Seconds later, Mr. McAllister’s computer desktop fills my screen, and for the first time today I smile.

Seeing nothing of interest in his e-mail account, I open a folder on his desktop marked “Assignments.” Scanning the contents, I come across a new assignment for a first year named Mary Jean who speaks fluent Russian. I skim over the numerous pages in the file.

I sink back against the pillows and let out a long slow breath. “Holy shit.”

Mary Jean’s assignment is to translate some documents and listen in on phone calls to do real-time translation for a Russian mafia guy the CIA is interested in. My stomach aches at the idea of having seen too much, and I look over my shoulder to make sure no one is watching. So much for book reports and spelling bees.

My new roommates begin filtering back into the dorm. I manually power down my laptop and shove it into its bag. Hoping to avoid another awkward situation, I head to the bathroom for a shower.

I take my time in the shower, letting the steam and hot water work away some of the tension that’s set in at what I’ve just read. I think about what type of assignment Mr. McAllister might have in store for me, and what my parents would say.

By the time I make it back to the dorms, everyone is in bed, though a few of the girls read by lamp light. I set my shower bag beside my bed and pull back the starched sheets and crawl under the covers, settling into the not so comforting scent of chlorine bleach. I’m almost asleep when I hear a creaking sound and metal sliding against metal followed by male laughter. I look toward the window with the balcony just as a lanky boy climbs inside, followed by the gravelly voiced girl from the rec room earlier. I watch as she stubs her toe on a bed frame. He laughs and pulls her along.

“I feel like I’m walking bowlegged,” the girl whispers.

Gross. TMI.

The girl in bed nearest the window sits up, peeling off her sleeping mask. “What the hell, you guys. Keep it down.”

“Oh, blow it out your ass Brooklynn,” the gravelly voiced girl whispers back.

“You’re going to get in trouble again and no one’s going to cover for you.” Brooklynn huffs and rolls over in