Post scriptum - 1. Act One

Chapter 4 - The Lair

"Taa-daa!"

Castro's room is awesome. It's big and kinda resembles a small flat. The right side of the room was already filled with furniture and all types of things. The left side appears to patiently wait for its master.

"C'mon, Logan!" Castro grins. "Have courage!"

He pushes me to the center of the room. Seeing me bomb-scared, he can't help but laugh wholeheartedly.

"It looks... sick," I say eventually. "Although I wasn't expecting to..."

I glance at Castro's bed. It looks as if a bunk bed and a couch decided to have a baby one day. The top is a bed filled with cushions and pillows and it seems like a nest; the bottom part is a soft sofa. In front of the breathtaking structure is a small coffee table made from lightly coloured wood.

"So, this is your den, right?" I say.

"Den, lair, CastroCave, call it as you wish!" He chuckles. "I have everything I want in here: CDs, snacks, refreshers..."

He sits himself on the couch and, reaching out through some pillows, he opens a secret door somewhere and acquires a can of soda. He cracks it open and chugs it with grotesque efficiency.

"Make yourself comfortable!" He says. "What's mine is yours."

I walk to the other bed in the room and begin to unpack. I didn't have a lot in my bag, just two t-shirts, my headphones, the MP3, a pencil case and a small notebook in case I needed to write something down. Something still doesn't make sense to me: why did my parents send me here? If I was being such a nuisance to them, they should have at least told me in the face.

"Hey, Castro, mind if I look around?"

"Not at all, dude! Let loose!"

I begin searching through the drawers in my side of the room to see whether I am lucky enough to find something interesting. Then, I take a closer look at my bed: it's a single bed, wrapped in white sheets, just ready to be used. In comparison to what my roommate has, my lair looks more like an empty hollow.

I suddenly begin to feel a bit uneasy. It's an eerie feeling, everything feel knew and peculiar. The logical answer to my confession would probably be You'll get used to it!, yet u I can't see where this will help me now.

I had to change the topic fast.

"So..."

I turned to Castro.

"How was it at the beginning?" I ask.

"So and so," he replies gesturing, shaking his right hand side-to-side. "I quickly got used to it, linked a few friendships here and there. Then..."

He takes another sip of soda and struggles to remember, however he raises his shoulders. My gaze quickly shifted upon his sword.

"Where have you got it from?"

"Oh, this?"

The boy stands up and leaves the soda can on the table. He takes his sword in his hand and says:

"Family heirloom. It belonged to my father and, before I came here, he left it to me."

"The sword of Romeo Montague?" I am amazed.

"The one and only! And, in the hands of a Montague, is a miracle-maker."

I watch Castro's hand with admiration as it writes gentle circles in the air with the thin silvery blade. He looks like an artist at work, handling his brush with the certainty that his hands create nothing but wonders.

"What did they leave to you?" Castro asks.

"I can't really say that they did leave me something," I replied slightly disheartened. "Apart from the coat I am wearing, I am basically inheritance-less."

I sighed.

"It's a mistake," I said. I haven't realised that my voice is weighed down by a tint of sadness. "I can't be one of you. I don't belong here... I don't belong here..."

And I could ramble for ever and ever if Castro hadn't stopped me by saying:

"At first, I didn't think I should be here. And, to be honest, I am not even one hundred percent convinced of it to this day. But time will tell and prove to you that you are, indeed, worthy. I am sure."

I smile and thank him. Such calm and kind words have really made me feel more at peace.

* * *

The next morning it was officially time for my familiarising process here at Novel High to begin. I found my uniform on the nightstand: a white shirt, black pants, a black coat and sweater bearing the academy's coat of arms in the area of the heart. I got dressed quickly, as back home I also had to help Gustave get dressed and I asked Castro whether I could borrow a vest of his (my back was itching like crazy thanks to the sweater).

We left the dorm and walked through the corridors to the canteen, a big mess-hall where all the students gathered for the meals of the day. The air smells of waffles and hot coffee, reminding me of the times when my mother cooked breakfast for us... April joined us too, this time wearing a red summer dress reaching her knees.

"So, Logan," she says turning to me, "are you ready for the fun to begin? Are you nervous?"

"A bit. But I am confident that everything will be just fine."

"It will be!" Castro says. "That's why we are here!"

In front of us are landing plates filled with freshly baked sweet treats, cookies, pancakes, waffles. Seemingly out of thin air, cups filled with tea or coffee appear on the table.

"This is how we serve breakfast," April explains. "Usually, you get in front of you anything your heart desires. Think of it and Proof! It's here in front of you!"

We sat eating our meal, one of the most delicious I ever had. After we are done, the plates fly to the kitchen in what resembles a military march.

"Now," Castro says excitedly. "Let's show you the activities!"