Strains

Dying in Near Elysium is – for lack of a better word – a major inconvenience. First there’s the actual dying part, which can be painful. I was fortunate that Matthew had found out that I couldn’t swim. On the way back to campus, he had showed me the knife he had packed as an alternative method. One of the perks of having a psychic as a facilitator I guess.

Second, is the amount of time that gets wasted. It took my soul hours to reset to my arrival point, meaning I had missed lunch. Matthew, in his infinite generosity, brought me an apple for the walk back.

One perk was that my entire body had been reset too, so whatever damage I had done to my knees and ankles had healed by the time I woke up. Which was great, since the walk back was over a mile and it was nearly dinner time.

We couldn’t afford to be late this time, Matthew had told me. All of the other facilitators and their houses would be eager to see where the newest student, aka me, would be placed.

I pull a curl of my hair to the other side of my part. I guess I look okay? Who am I kidding, these kids saw me faceplant yesterday.

There are three knocks at the door before it opens. I exit the bathroom.

“You look fine, just remember to keep your head up, alright? Only the dean and I know you’re strainless, let’s try and keep it that way.”

I nod hesitantly. “You really think it’ll work, Matthew?”

He sighs. “You have to address me properly. Like I said, I’m perfectly fine being called Master or your highness.”

“If you want to be master to something then get a dog, Teacher.”

He cracks a smile.

“After dealing with your attitude, I’d say I already got one.”

My mouth gapes at him. Insufferable ass. I follow him out of the room and to the dining hall.

Okay, gotta sell this. We’re outside and there are students filling the building. Matthew makes a beeline for the entrance, bypassing the rows of students waiting patiently. I follow behind him, trying my best to make it look like I’m meant to be there.

It isn’t easy. My dress sticks out like a sore thumb in the sea of white uniforms. I can feel eyes tracking me as I follow Matthew up the stairs to the faculty table. I lift my leg to slide in next to Hercules when the dean stands.

“Just a minute. We have an announcement to make, Matthew?”

Matthew nods and stands. Guess we can’t leave everyone in suspense. I follow Matthew to the center of the stage. The last of the students are filling in the tables and when the last one rushes to their seat; the dean speaks.

“As you are aware, we have a new student joining us. Matthew, if you may.” The dean says, going back to his seat. Probably isn’t in the mood to deal with however the school is about to take this. Matthew seems much more at ease, that princely air about him causing all the students to stop talking and listen intently.

“Good evening, everyone. I’ll spare you all the pleasantries and clamor that comes with a new student admission. With midterms starting in a few weeks, there isn’t time for antiquated ceremonies. This is Elizabeth, our first student in a century and, as per council decision, the first I am tasked with facilitating.”

And there’s the darkness I know all too well. He could’ve made it sound like he’s actually happy to have me around.

“Now, with that out of the way, please enjoy your dinner.”

Matthew turns abruptly and I nearly jump out of my skin to follow him back to our table. I wedge myself between Matthew and Hercules’ crate of wine. Slowly, predinner chatter returns to the room.

“Well, that was unexpected.”

“What, Tiffany, didn’t think I could ever get promoted to facilitator?” Matthew says coyly.

She rolls her eyes.

Hercules laughs. “Is being a facilitator really a promotion?”

Another man, a tall guy with blond hair and green eyes interjects. “Says the guy who got canned decades ago.”

“Careful, Ynez, those unnecessary roughness claims were substantiated, and I heard they cut him a deal,” another faculty member whispers.

“BS!” Hercules yells and slams a wine bottle on the table. “My students loved me, and one nearly graduated.”

“You only had one that actually made it to class and didn’t end up at an arrival point every day. We didn’t have a Meat graduate for half a century under your control.” Matthew says, sipping on a glass of water.

Hercules relaxes.

“Eh, they were weak. I prefer teaching my class anyway. Much more diverse targets.”

Suddenly I have the feeling I’m not going to enjoy Hercules’ class very much. Ghosts serve our salads, but mine seems lacking compared to the others.

My first bite is dry, the only moisture coming from the water used to rinse the lettuce leaves. I try to catch a ghost but the sheets slip through my fingers. Matthew looks over and hands me a small covered dish.

Finally some dressing. I take the lid off to reveal two calorie-less lemon slices. Why am I getting the diet plate? I look around and all the other plates are swimming in a creamy Caesar dressing, or maybe ranch. It doesn’t matter which, I just want some.

“No student of mine is going to indulge in luxuries. Consider yourself on a diet. Complain and I’ll make it worse.” He whispers in my ear, then straightens himself. It’s like he’s trying to make my life hell, like my own Prince of Darkness.

The rest of dinner is pretty uneventful. I sit through idle chatter, the others at the table try their best to ignore me, and the chicken was baked excellently. I was even allowed the privilege of watching them eat dessert, because Matthew is only worrying about my health. Never mind there is a guy next to me that’s already chugged four bottles of wine.

“Well now, another fine meal by Chef Floy,” Dean Hadden says, putting his napkin on his plate. Everyone is finally getting up to leave. I wanted to leave earlier when I was denied dessert, but Matthew insisted that Houses go to and leave with each other. The minute Matthew moves from his seat I pounce from mine.

“Now I have another ritual to explain to you, Elizabeth. Look around, each House works as a team to clear the table. Then they do the dishes together, it tightens their bond and it’s a chance for the students to practice their powers.”

All of our table has cleared out, except for us. That’s a lot of dishes for two people.

“You should get started, make sure you get to your room by 10:30 or you might get the Caesar treatment.”

“Wait I’m supposed to do all this myself?”

“Cleaning the dishes is the student’s responsibility, and as a newly admitted student, you won’t be getting any special treatment here. Now hop to it, I have to go.”

I just can’t win at this place.

The easiest way to start was to get rid of all the trash by throwing it into the crate of empty wine bottles. After getting rid of the contents of the crate, I was able to stack the dishes inside. I was surprised I was able to carry all of them to the kitchen myself. When I push myself through the doors it’s packed, students are at the various sink stations doing dishes. I take a step back as a plate wizzes by my head. Looking over, I see that a student has caught it and begun drying it.

Everyone has other methods of doing dishes, including getting them to do themselves. I find an empty sink and set the crate of dishes on the floor. People seem surprised I’m doing dishes the old-fashioned way; and I can feel them burning holes into the back of the head. Matthew should have warned me about this. I didn’t think I would be interacting with my peers until tomorrow, after the news of my housing assignment had died down.

Then again, other than the stares, no one is bothering me. They watch from a distance as I dunk plates and spoons in soapy water, scrub them with a sponge, rinse and stack them. There’s nothing remarkable about it.

But I guess that’s what they’re looking for.

As long as I keep my cool, mind my own business and get this done before anything happens, I’ll be fine. If I’m the first to be here without a strain, then that should be the last thing they suspect. And, since Matthew is my facilitator, there shouldn’t be any expectations of what my strain could be. You know, if I actually had one.

Matthew, though he may be an immense jerk, might be right. No one is going to have the balls to mess with me. As an unknown, I’m untouchable.

It’s a much better position to be in than I had experienced before I was sent six feet under. In high school, I was a nobody who spent most of my time in the library. It was perfect, a place I could be alone at without looking like a complete loser and also a place that had the convenient social rule of being quiet. No interruptions, no small talk to stumble through.

“Hey, you’re Matthew’s new student, aren’t you?”

It isn’t like the library after all.

I look over to the uniformed boy leaning on the counter next to my clean dishes. My eyes drift to the clear emblem on his chest.

“That’s right,” I say and continue washing the dishes. Like he could confuse me with anyone else, my dress is a dead giveaway. Matthew intended it to be.

The plate I’m scrubbing slips out of my hands and back into the suds. Damn. Keep it together, Elizabeth. I grab it again but this time it slips and somehow maneuvers itself out of the sink and straight to the floor. It shatters at my feet.

Everyone looks over to my washing station and that’s when I notice the boy’s arm is wet and covered with suds.

Oh crap.

“Come on, let’s talk.” He flashes me a crooked smile, as if I could ever be charmed by someone who gives me extra work.

“About what, exactly?” I ask.

“You’re psychic aren’t you?”

Of course. Now how should I go about this.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

Deflect, deflect, deflect.

His smile wavers.

What exactly is my plan here? Matthew never did give me any pointers on how to interact with the other students. We should come up with some kind of mystical lore to go with my non-existent strain. I have no choice but to pretend I’m psychic, it’s the only thing that would make any sense. The thing is, I’m not psychic and that is going to become brutally obvious if I keep talking to this guy.

“You think you’re better than us? Just because you’re his and sit with the academy staff?”

“Careful, your insecurity is showing,“ I lower my voice to whisper. “And everyone is staring at you.”

None of that is true of course. Everyone is actually staring at me, they have been all evening; but from this angle, the eyes are on him as well.

He glances behind him, and confirms my lie.

“If you were worth anything, you would’ve been placed in a house. Have fun with the rest of your dishes.”

He walks away. I turn back to my station and breathe again.

I wonder what Matthew must do here to garner so much respect from the students and faculty. Maybe he teaches a class, like Hercules does. But what would he teach?

I stack the final plate on the drying rack. Above me is a clock. It’s a quarter after ten, I’ve been here for three hours. What did Matthew say before he abandoned me? Something about getting back before 10:30 or getting the, dang what was the name of it.

Whatever, looks like I’ll get back in the knick of time anyway. The night air hits me as I leave through the back door of the kitchen. There aren’t any lights on campus, except from faint glows of lamps along some of the paths. Most of the light that illuminates my way back to my room comes from the full moon above me.

It’s huge, and seems alarmingly close, as if Majora had forced it to crash to the earth any day now. Still, as I took in the craters on its surface and perfect edges, it looked just like the one I saw when I was alive.

A rustle to the left of me snaps me out of my moongazing. What was that? I grasp the handle to the administration building. More rustling, okay so I didn’t imagine it. I throw myself through the door and run down the hallway and into my room.