Elliot Grey Solves a Murder

Chapter 2: Some names have been changed to protect me from the not so innocent

The next two days pass swiftly. My father is tied up completely with work. My mother texts and I say I'm all right. That's it. I spend the rest of the time sleeping, and going through the stuff that my mom's probably house staff, packed up, and catching up on sleeping.
My dad tells me via text to Uber whatever food I want. I do that in moderation, a couple more pizzas to eat off of and I'm more than happy. When I get bored packing I lie in front of the TV binging Star Wars movies, and falling back asleep under cashmere throw blankets which shouldn't even be a thing but they are so soft.
In between meetings my dad comes out to take food, and occasionally laugh with me at the TV for a few minutes. We keep things light. I'm properly medicated now, and we act like it's any other weekend when my mother would drop me and/or my brothers off here. I don't think about that too much. If she knew. If she was intentionally letting me be around my father. He'd let us play the latest games and eat junk food and probably go jog with him in Central Park. Those are good memories and I'm ignoring how much they're tainted now. I think we both are.
"You sure you're packed? If you're not just Amazon yourself something you have my account," he says.
"I'm fine," I say. Now I feel a bit bad. He didn't get told for fifteen years I'm his kid, and finds out when I'm a hot mess and need the most care.
"Seriously, and call me, if you can't get me get Jason, or just book yourself a ticket back here, we'll deal with whatever," he says.
"Enough therapy lines," I say.
"Okay," he holds up his hands.
"Seriously, I'm sick of it from being in that place," I say, texting my mother to assure her of my survival.
"I know you got bullied pretty bad last year—I know that's not why—look I got bullied too all right?" He says.
I look up at him slowly.
"You don't have to say it I know it's not a surprise but. My step father always made me stick it out, stand up to them, fight back, I never got to skip because they were making my life miserable," he says.
"I was actually surprised someone survived the weight of your wallet," I say.
"That was funny actually, in the end they did not. My point is, I know life sucks right now, but you have somewhere to run to, don't put up with that," he says.
"Thank you. I may grudgingly admit I'll take you up on it. Last year, Lucas kind of protected me from them so if he's—gone too," I say, shrugging.
"Just come home. There's good schools here," he says.
"Okay," I nod. But I have to solve it first.
Our flights are both super early, he timed it so we'd both leave around the same time, and I go check in at school he goes and is a tech millionaire feral in Europe or whatever.
I am packed mostly in a Patagonia designer hiking bag that actually holds a good deal of stuff, and a duffel bag. There is no dress code at Forest Grove besides the obvious of nothing revealing, have to let those rich kids rock designer swag. My old laptop and such were confiscated by over concerned mental health authorities. I don't mention this but the morning we're to leave, my dad hands me a tablet and a keyboard.
"It's old—I asked your mother if she had yours, she said that they took it, I—I'll send you a newer generation from the next shipment," he says, a bit awkwardly.
"It's fine—this is great, thanks, I could have snagged a school laptop," I say. It's a rich school they have MacBooks we can check out.
"Well best have your own, seriously that was a tester, whatever," he says, shaking his head.
We drive mostly in silence. We're keeping things light again, and just acting like this is any school run. Not the first time he's dropped me off for a flight, let alone for school. When I was little I called him uncle. That feels very incestuous now to be honest so I dropped it.
La Guardia is packed as usual. He'd be on a private jet, but he's staunchly environmentally friendly so far as the press is concerned, and to that end he flies commercial whenever possible. No applause necessary this is the bare minimum a person could do. Seriously jokes aside he does try with the company I know that.
We go through security agonizingly slowly. I still don't have a formal ID, well I have old passports, but I'm startled to see my plane ticket in his last name.
"That was fast," I mutter.
"Oh I paid several million dollars for that," he says, dryly. The court case was expensive.
"Nobody asked me," I say.
"Do you want his last name?"
"No, I want yours I'm giving you shit, Stephen," I say, shoving my stuff in the X-ray. I just turn around in time to see his bemused, nearly pleased expression as he realizes that I did just admit I want his name.
We get through security without incident, both of us are platinum gold star fliers by now, he's on a plane probably more than in a car. I've spent my fair share of time jetting between houses, schools, and resorts. I'm aware of the privilege, and through a healthy dose of the internet, I try to stay normal or at least aware of it.
"I have time, I'll walk you to your gate," Stephen offers.
I shrug but consent. I know my way around an airport. Wouldn't be the first time I waited for a flight myself.
"You've got your pills, I called the nurse's office they have your prescription, you have to go down and get them twice a day but I told them to give you an extra dose if you need it if you're going out with friends or something and want to palm them. They will only give you one, okay?" He asks.
I nod. I expected as much. It's less that I can't be trusted with the meds, and much more that that many meds can't be laying around my dorm. In theory like on the flight or at home I can self medicate. I'm sure my dad has been checking to make sure too many aren't gone. The thrilling thing about my drugs, if I OD'd it'd be damn obvious I'd be sick before anything else.
"Figured, thanks, for getting me at least one," I say.
"They are probably going to give you a wake up call on the weekends if you're not down there quick enough," he says, shrugging sympathetically, "After a semester maybe the doctors can send them a note so you can keep a dose in your room to take and go back to sleep?"
"I'll get up, better to keep on track anyway," I say, as we loiter by my gate. Nothing out of the ordinary. Just two men in oddly designer clothing, standing five feet apart cause we're not father and son. He's got his designer pleather backpack on, no roller back he'll have clothes where he's going. I'm loaded down with all my stuff and am still Arkham-asylum skinny. Seriously that food is terrible, I lost like fifteen pounds.
"Okay, Elliot, look at me. You fucking call me, okay? Day or night. Night or day. You fail a test someone, anyone, says anything, you fucking call me. I will fly there and get you. I will buy you a ticket to wherever I am. I will buy you a ticket home. I will not call doctors. I will not tell your mother. You can come home and sit in your room and eat cereal for as long as you want, no questions asked. Do you understand me?" He asks, hands on my shoulders.
I look away, tears filling my eyes.
"Look at me. I mean this. I swear to you I will not call cops. I will not call a hospital. I won't put you in a hospital. You can come home at any moment," he says, shaking my shoulders.
I nod. Tears stream down my cheeks unbidden.
"Nothing matters, not your mother, not your fa—not anything. Nothing but you got it? You can not be okay. That's fine. You can call me even if you feel like shit. Day or night that's it I will get you, okay?" He asks, shaking me a bit by my shoulders.
"Someone tell you to say this?" I ask.
"Me. Every goddamn night we thought we were going to lose you in that hospital, okay?" He asks.
I nod, wiping my tears from my face, "Okay. I'm okay. I promise."
"Okay," he shakes me again, in lieu of a hug. I wouldn't mind a hug but I find out at this moment I'm not mentally capable of asking for one. Interesting.
"High five," this should be in my case file for why I need therapy.
"Okay," he high fives me.
"I should go," I glance at the plane. They're boarding my group, which is first class.
"Okay, text me when you land, I'll be in the air but I'll get messages," he says.
"And say what?" I ask, shaking my head. We are not a 'text when you get there' type of family. We're not even a family anymore.
"Anything. Just let me know you landed, and how it's going. I'll try to call you tonight," he says.
"Okay, what are we supposed to say that?" I ask. We're not a 'I love you goodnight' type of family either. You probably figured that out by now.
"Anything I don't care, tell me some reasons you're mad at me I don't care. Let me know how it goes, I'm here," he holds up his cell phone.
"Thank you," I say. I'm well aware he fixed things to get me out of inpatient. And to get me into school this quickly. Plus he's rearranged his whole schedule. And that's just the last few days I know for a fact the trial's been going on plus me in the hospital.
And so like an ass, I say, "Bye, Stephen."
"Call me, anything. Jason's working all day I told him to get you whatever so if you want to get on a plane back home he'll book it," he says, "Or book it yourself if you want you have my credit card."
"I'll be fine," I say. I have to be. It's that or like, die. And I have a best friend to find.
I board with the other first class passengers. It's a breakfast flight which means only slightly better food than if I were back in the hospital. I'm technically an unaccompanied minor, but I'm sixteen and getting tall, so like, nobody fusses over me and I don't have to wear a dumb paper bracelet. Which is great.
I curl up and watch movies I downloaded, and alternate between that and reading. I downloaded a couple of books, thick historical novels with way too many characters, to keep me entertained. I take my meds with the breakfast service and feel a bit better if sleepy. Out of the hospital I'm back on caffeine, so as an experience traveler I ask for coke. Coke is, the cheapest, safest way to get caffeine anywhere in the world. Why? Well water is bad, like, a lot, especially on airplanes, and that is what coffee and tea are made with. So, any caffeine addicted experienced flyer and traveler either carries excedrine, or drinks coke. My father won't normally drink soft drinks, but if he needs the caffeine he will, and in an unfamiliar town or hotel, it's a safe drink that's not been tainted, or tampered with as it's sealed.
The long flight to the west coast passes quickly enough. I've been on international flights so this isn't so bad. My seat mate is a business traveler and goes to sleep, so I stare at my phone and push from my mind thoughts of my coming day and my missing friend.
Chances are Lucas is going to be there and he'll just have had as miserable a, well, eight months, as I have. And he'll talk to me and we'll go and hang out on the roof of the dorm, and eat food we're not supposed to have and everything will be fine. And maybe I'll go home. Or I won't. And if he is there and he doesn't want to talk to me anymore because of nothing to do with me I am a fucking delight. Just kidding I was hopitalized for a very good reason they didn't even want to let me out it's bad. Anyway. If we're not cool then I'll just go home. Even if home is complicated too. I just want to be normal.
So, Forest Grove.
No that's not what it's actually called. That's the first thing I came up with while typing this out. I can't write it's real name here. For one thing, it's kind of private and secret. For another so many people are about to die and a lot of laws will be broken. I can't even. Like I can't confirm I was really here.
I land at SeaTac and meet my personal escort. So much for normalcy. I have a chauffer, for the next four hour trip. A drive, plus a boat ride out to a remote island in the sound. It sounds excessive and that's because it is. But parents will pay, and in fact kill, for their children to have relative privacy. There's cell service of course and all modern amenities. But. No press. And no social media. All social websites are blocked. So naturally we as a student body have perfectly fine access to social media.
Staff monitor any of our pages and take down any photos. Here we get to be normal. In fact that should be the school motto 'a not at all normal school, where you will be treated like 1%rs you are, by the not so normal'. Seriously it's a labor of love to work out here, and mind us twenty four seven. Staff live on site. It's not rough, at all, but it is a lot. Supplies come in by boat. So do cops, doctors, parents, and new students. Except for that probably very memorable time one dumbass was airlifted out by helicopter.
Arriving by boat is surreal after leaving by helicopter this spring. My chaperone is distinctly average. No reaction to my return of course not. They're paid to ignore our after hours over doses, scandals, and psychotic breaks. They're getting paid a lot to ignore that. But at the moment? I'll take it.
I text my father a string of emojis, symbolizing my journey and how well I am. Like hyroglifics. I'm sure he'll need a translator to understand that but it amuses me so I do it.
🛫💀✈️🥵😳😈🤮👏🚶🏻‍♂️💺✈️🛬🚕🎹🚣🏻‍♂️🚣🏻‍♂️🚣🏻‍♂️🚣🏻‍♂️🚣🏻‍♂️🚣🏻‍♂️🚣🏻‍♂️🚣🏻‍♂️🏫
Forest Grove (not it's real name) is situated on an island in the misty sound, where the mist never seems to rise and it's never warm enough to take off your designer hoodies.
There's a couple of class buildings, then a series of dorms in the form of log style cabins, two or three story, each containing about 20-50 kids, more for the lower classmen, who are three to a room. I'm upperclassman, so two to a room usually, seniors get highly sought after private rooms. You can almost hear the deafness to underage drugs drinking and sex, echoing away as we age. No seriously, the truly bad rich kids? They aren't enrolled at a place like this. This sort of school, is for the kids of the invisible rich, the bankers, CEOs, tech billionaires, who want their children educated by former college professors, every class is dual credit, and we have great sports teams, and rotating guest speakers that do lecture circuits in stadiums. So people like my family, who you probably have never heard of, less celebrities but more the people who own the corporation that is printed on the back of your cereal box. Old, old, old money, and new money that know how to shut the hell up. Most of us you won't even seen in the news. Even my scandal, one or two articles max.
I've gone to various boarding schools, this is the most remote. Most of us are getting dropped off by chauffeurs, though there are a few families dropping their students off.
I just get in line, glad to be out of muggy New York and in the relative cool of the island. They check us in swiftly, and most students are catching up with friends, paying little heed to me. I don't see my brother yet. And I don't see Lucas either. Then again it's a bit early classes don't start for a few days. And he might already be here. Or not yet. It's not too alarming.
"You've changed dorms this year I'm afraid, you'll be in Lion Lodge, room 324," the attendant says, "Your class schedule will be in your portal."
"That's fine, thank you," I say. They usually try to keep us to the same dorm, we get to decorate it and the like. But I'm sure after last year I was completely disenrolled. So they put me in a new one. I don't care that means I'm in a different cabin than my brothers, which is completely fine by me.
No hands are held here. We're honored guests. Which is to say no one shows me to my cabin. That's fine. I passed it before I think it's—yeah it's in this grove of trees. Last year I was in Elk Cabin, which is presumably where my brothers still are, since we keep dorms. Lion Lodge as I recall was the athletes, by all my pop culture references I'm sure you've guessed I am not an athlete.
The cabin is two floor, A frame, with a big common area with couches, tables, and TVs, as well as some rec stuff like a pin ball machine, laptops for rent, and a full service snack bar complete with mini fridge. In the past they'd stock those with drinks like water and iced tea, and then in the freezer usually a frozen pizza or two. The snack bar is available to all residents, though any amazon packs of snacks, after being checked at the front, can be stored here. It's an honor system, and people suck generally, but it's no food in the rooms.
Lion Lodge is nearly identical to my old one, except red and cold color theme. The house father is greeting some parents. Some other parents are helping kids carry stuff. Faces I recognize from the odd retreat, and sometimes Vanity Fair, but everyone now is distinctly average, jeans, hiking boots, and designer hoodies are the uniform of the day.
Room 324 is at the end of the second floor hall. I am now dragging my duffel bag behind me, and panting from the trek. Who knew months in a hospital room while they experiment drugs to keep you sane, would have an adverse affect? Okay I did know that but I can whine.
My roommate is getting dropped off, by none other than a WhiteMaleUSSenator. Referred to as such, because I'm sure he'd have his name if not the entire book redacted if I call him anything but a WhiteMaleUSSenator. Honestly the only reason you'll get to read this and it won't get pulled completely is I die in the Events of the Last Chapter In Which I Escape Hell, and so he feels kinda bad and it gets published. Anyway.
My roommate, a slim boy who looks like he gets murdered every passing period, is talking earnestly with someone I recognize as a WhiteMaleUSSenator. Clearly, he's getting dropped off too, with bags strewn on his half of the room.
Our room is large, for a dorm, with beds for each of us, in either corner, and desks at the foot of those beds. There's a private bath in one corner, and a closet in the other. The closet will be shared half and half, and the bathroom obviously.
I drop my backpack on the unclaimed bed, and kick my duffel bag next to it, nodding vaguely at the pair.
"Hello, I'm Garth," I didn't know we were naming people Garth. That's like it came out of a western. No, of course that's not his name I made that up. The boy waves, smiling nicely. I don't remember him from last year but I wasn't the only person getting bullied those guys were practicing somewhere in the off season.
"Hi, Elliot B—Elliot Grey," I correct. Normally we don't give last names here. For some reason I want to.
"This is my dad. I guess we're roommates. Nice to meet you," the boy waves again, smiling nicely, then he turns to his father, "I'm going to go see if he got the schedule changed it's really fine—,"
"You need that study hall," WhiteUSMaleSenator says, "Go ahead, I'll put up your gear, get this out of the way."
"Okay," the boy squeezes his father's arm then hurries off to I guess go check his schedule.
WhiteUSMaleSenator makes about 0% effort to get anything out of the way much less my way, moving exactly one box with his foot, before addressing me, "Hello. You seem like a very violent young man."
"Ah—," that's not inaccurate but I'm actively in therapy to stop me from agreeing with statements like that. "Sure." Therapy isn't going well.
"You just met my son. So. I will pay you two hundred dollars now," texting. My phone dings. Jesus Christ. "And twenty dollars every week he remains unharmed. By anyone. And anything. I am aware how cruel people can be. And how kind he is. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir," I say, checking my phone. He just Venmo'd me. Okay. I think this is how organized crime works but I'm not sure.
"If anything should happen to him. I will hold you personally responsible," WhiteMaleUSSenator says, pocketing his phone.
This is definitely how organized crime works. Cool.
"I understand," I say.
Garth returns, carrying a box looks like filled with fairy lights. Well. His father knows him. He sets it on the bed, "There's only like, two more."
"Okay, I'll come help you," WhiteMaleUSSenator says, in the nicest voice I've ever heard in my life, certainly a different one than he was using to actually threaten me, two minutes ago.
The pair departs. I look at the Venmo balance. I can probably use that. Food money at least, not that food is bad here but it's nice to have snacks.
I tug my duffel bag on the bed. I guess I'll start getting un packed. I don't have that much compared to him. I should just be glad I'm not rooming with one of my bullies from last year.
A man, who I recognize from television, but for a different reason not to do with the US government, enters. I shall call him. NotAGovernmentScientist. Yes that's very good and vague. Anyway he walks in, clearly carrying a box. Okay, both these people have been on CNN I did not know they were raising a child together. Clearly they are. Same as the other parents he's wearing beat jeans and a baggy sweatshirt, but again, a face that has been on CNN. A lot.
"Hello," I say, sitting down on my bed to get out of the way. He's got a box with 'lamp' written on it. "I'm Elliot."
"Ah yes, hello, you're my son's new roommate?" He asks, setting down his box.
"Yes," I say.
"Did my husband speak with you?" He asks, suspicious.
"No," I lie, because I want the money and I think this is how organized crime works.
"Right I'll do it then, so, if you haven't met our son it'll make sense when you do. I'm going to pay you two hundred dollars—,"
"He did talk to me. About that," I wince, holding up a hand, "I thought—never mind. Yeah. I've already been paid."
"I'll double what he offered you next term if our son remains healthy and happy, understood?" He asks. This is definitely how crime works.
"Yes, sir," I say, "I'll ah—let you all unpack."
"Remember what we talked about."
"I am not going to forget this," I say, leaving just as the others are coming up the stairs.
"Oh are you going?" Garth asks, incredibly nicely.
"Yeah, I was going to see some friends, I'll be back," I say, as his SenatorFather glares at me a bit. Like intimidating me to be nice to his ray of sunshine child.
"Okay," Garth smiles sweetly, nearly tripping as he carries a huge box labeled 'wall art'.
It's a bit of a lie. But not completely. I hope to find Lucas but if not I'll stick with my old enemies. That is. Last years roommate.
No not my brother. Either of them. No families don't share dorms wouldn't want nepotism to happen at the elite private school on an island.
I cross the yard to Elk Cabin, the doors are open because it's move in day. And everybody's favorite vampire spends the summers here. So he's going to be moved in.
I go down the hall room 103, dodging past laughing kids and their quiet celebrity parents. I keep an eye out for my brothers, but they likely won't be here for another day or two.
I knock on the "Keep Out" sign and then kick the door.
"What do you want and how much is it worth to you?"
"Hey, Con," I say, opening the door and leaning in. Death Metal band posters, Halloween spider web on the ceiling and floors (that is not a typo). Black velvet draping the walls. Vampires would be proud of this abode. My bed has been taken over.
Currently sporting glittery purple nail polish, and an undercut, my former roommate's picture should be in urbandictionary for 'teenage rebellion', his dark eyeliner is appropriately smudged and he has two new ear piercings. Currently typing away on an old Alienware laptop, feet up on the wall, head hanging off the bed. I didn't mind rooming with Con, it was a great excuse to explain my love of Falloutboy, and he's pretty quiet.
"Look who's returned. Had a nice summer?" He asks.
"I know you hack, so Arkham Asylum was awful thanks for asking," I say, leaning in the doorway.
"Well, I was here so," he says, "You here to ask if they talked about you? That comes at a price."
"You're all heart," he's like this. "No. I wanted to know if you'd seen Lucas."
"That tall boy you used to stand on the roof with? No," he shakes his head, "Why? Oh those missing boys. No he wasn't with them. That was our old bullies, Chase, and Brandon, and Micha. They were found dead."
"They were?" I ask.
He rubs his thumb and forefinger together.
I sigh, venmoing him ten of my hard earned dollars (sarcasm).
"Dead at the bottom of the cliffs on the north end of the island. All their necks broken. Figured it was alcohol but," he waves a hand, "Took them days to find Brandon's body, he washed away."
"Were they pushed?" I ask.
"I'm not forensics. Neither are you."
"I know that," I sigh, "Look, if you see Lucas around can you tell him I want to talk to him?"
"I think he's a grade above us, I never had classes with him," Con warns, "Don't you have his number?"
"He's not answering. I'm worried," I say. I don't feel remorse for three guys who died. They were jerks. To me particularly. But it's a bit odd. How do three people fall off a cliff? And why did Lucas stop talking to me?
"Cool thanks Con," I say, rapping on the doorframe with my knuckle.
"Is there anything you want me to start telling people? About where you've been?" He asks, almost sympathetically.
"You'd do that?"
"For a price."
"It doesn't matter. No. Tell them whatever," I shrug, "I don't care anymore."
"If there is anything you ever need to talk about—,"
"Aw thanks—,"
"—seek therapy."
"There it is," I shrug, "I'm over in Lion Lodge, see you at lunch I guess."
"I have a note."
"Of course you do." We can get notes to get out of meals, like if we're sick or something. I could probably have one for one psychiatric diagnosis or the other. But I'm not going to do that. He's anti social to a fault he got out of meals last year.
It sounds a bit shallow but his reaction was pretty normal. We don't talk about parents, much less home life, as a rule. And yes there are some brats but most of us do relish the chance at anonymity and pretend to be normal. At least for a while.
I turn and head back to my dorm, ducking my head. I don't want to run into my brothers or anyone I knew from last year, though I do keep scanning the crowd for Lucas. I don't know what his parents looked like or who they were, anymore than he knew mine. Fairly common here, and he had a foreign accent so it's not like I keep up with Europe's invisible elite.
I'm nearly out of Elk Lodge when a hand contacts my shoulder.
"Can't believe they let you out."
"Ah, Trent, how original did you plan that line all summer?" I ask.
"Hey I'm just trying to be nice," Reader he is NOT.
"Cool, I'm in another lodge,"" I say.
"So you're stalking me now? I'm gonna have to report that Bravs."
"Bye Trent," I walk on, pushing away the feelings of utter hopelessness. They were always going to be like this.
So Lucas isn't one of the three missing students, that's good, but I don't get why he quit texting me that day? That's more than a coincidence, I would think. And most students don't change high schools, not like this. Like we're here for a reason so unless you're me and have some sort of crisis you usually come back.
I text him again.
Checked in for the fall term. Hey if you don't want to talk to me that's cool but I'm worried about you now?
No answer, not that I expected one. The message sits on 'delivered'.
I hike back to Lion Lodge. I'm feeling tired and a bit low. I was genuinely hoping I'd find Lucas checking in or something. I mean maybe he's coming later. I don't know. It's just odd. And I can't push away the feeling that something is really wrong. That said my feelings haven't been so reliable lately.
When I pass the main entrance Garth is bidding his dads goodbye, which looks like it involves multiple hugs as well as at least one forehead kiss. If I sound jealous it's because I am. But the thing is, it's my fault my family's screwed up. No one to blame but me, as much as I'd like to blame all three of my parents.
I go back up to the room and start to unpack, which mostly involves tossing my clothes into the closet and then collapsing on the bed unable to do any more. I look at my phone, as if that will make a text from Lucas magically appear. It does not. My father appears to have finally interpreted my text and says he's glad I'm there safe and hope I'm settling in and able to use words not pictures. I sent a skull emoji which is the only way to represent my current mood.
"Hello again," Garth says, smiling nicely as he comes back in, "Just seeing my parents off. You all unpacked?"
"This is as far as I'm getting. I'm a pretty shitty roommate, but, last minute enrollment so sorry you got luck of the draw," I say, staring at my phone.
"Oh I don't mind!" He says, kindly. I'm gonna get sick of writing kindly. In case you weren't reading it with some sort of english accent, he has an english accent. "I told admissions that I was happy to year with a new athlete. I'm on the fencing team and I always truly enjoy mentoring new students."
"What," I drop my phone on my face.
"Aren't you on the fencing team—? I'm sorry perhaps I'm confused," he says.
"No I have several mental disorders it's me," I say, logging on to my student portal. Yep. Fencing. "Fucking balls. Jason."
"I'm sorry?"
"If you'll excuse me for one moment," I say, hopping up and walking out of the room as I place the call. Jason answers on the third ring.
"Hello?" He says, despite knowing it's me we have caller ID.
"Why did you sign me up for fencing?" I ask.
"You needed an activity and it was that or swimming with slots free I figured they'd show you how—?"
"Jason. Do you think fencing is putting up fences?" I ask, incredibly nicely given the sentence.
Quietly, "Well what it is it then?"
"Sword fighting! It's fighting literally and it's fucking hard!"
"Well I wasn't realistically to know that. Just get a doctor's note and help them—polish swords—,"
"Useless," I growl, hanging up.
Then I compose myself by screaming, and then walk back into the room.
"Is everything all right?" Garth appears to have spent this entire time wringing his hands.
"Yeah. Looks like I'm on your fencing team. Total disclosure I suck at most sports and I have no idea how so sorry to take up a slot," I say, "I was last minute and I needed a sport credit or something."
"Oh that's all right! I'm happy to help you, it'll be fun," Garth says, earnestly.
"I can try to change it. It's my dad's stupid secretary who booked it," I admit.
"Oh I see. Well it's good you're enrolled don't worry. I'll help you, our team captain is rather committed but there's always room for beginners it's only for fun," Garth says, "I got into fencing at my day school in London. My father was lecturing at Oxford."
He doesn't specify which father and I'm not about to guess.
"I don't usually do sports. Like I said I might be a pain of a roommate, I have to go and get meds from the nurse' station twice a day, eight and eight, so if you sleep in on the weekends you might need headphones."
"I'm usually up at seven for a brisk run, I find it relaxing."
I can't be mad because he's completely nice but he also shouldn't be this healthy and sweet. Okay. I can handle this. God I'm a miserable person.
"I may leave I don't know. I'm going through shit at home, if you remember me from last year," I say.
"I confess I do not. I've been quite focused on my own academics," he says, hands clasped. That could be a lie but I doubt it. I'm sure he didn't miss the emergency med evac, but I'm not that mentally sound I'm not bringing that up.
"Anyway I'm going through shit so I may wind up leaving. I don't know. I honestly only came back to see one of my friends. I don't know if you know him. Lucas Yarrow? He was probably in your year?" I ask, holding up my phone with a picture of Lucas. Sitting on the roof smoking, flipping me off for taking his picture.
"Possibly? I'm not very good with faces," Garth says, looking at my phone for a moment, "I don't think he was in my year though I don't recall the name. I'd be glad to tell him you're looking for him if he is this year though—do you not have his number?"
"I do, that's the thing. He's not answering. And he hasn't answered since the day those three students went missing," I say.
"That's odd," Garth admits.
"He wasn't one of them—I know who they were though. And more than that—okay I was pretty fucked up last year. And those three made it all the worse. Drama you don't care about, shortened, they bullied me pretty bad. I wound up leaving in early spring last year and after that Lucas knew I was in the hospital and stuff. In our texts I vented a little bit about the bullying. Anyway, the last text I have from him is the day they went missing. I can't help but think—what if he tried to confront them or something?" I ask.
"Oh dear. I can see why you'd be worried. Yes it is best we make sure he's doing well," he frowns.
"And if I'm making this up in my brain, then I want to at least apologize to him. I know I was fucked up last year, I'm not great but I'm doing better, I was probably a total dick to him I'd believe that. If so I want to at least say I'm sorry," I say.
"Yes closure is important, though I'm sure a good friend like it seems Lucas was will understand if you were having issues in your personal life that affected you negatively," Garth eloquently understates how utterly horrible last year was.
"Yeah. So, I just want to see if he is okay, talk to him, cause he's not answering my texts, and last thing I know was on the day three other students died," I say, looking down, "I ah—feel a little crazy saying all this. I haven't really told anybody else."
"I'm so glad you shared it with me! No that would be quite disconcerting. Here's an idea, why don't we see if he's enrolled at all this year?" Garth offers, "That way if you'd like, I'd be glad to approach him and offer a meeting, if you think he's intentiaonlly, to use common vernacular 'ghosted' you."
"Can I ask really fast how come you board when your parents seem to like you?" I ask.
"Oh. My fathers thought it was important for me to have real and normal interactions with my peers so as to lead a fulfilling life and not be ostracized due to my penchant for academics can you tell?" He asks, worriedly.
"A little. My parents don't really like me is all. Busy," I say.
"I see," he nods sympathetically.
"Okay, I needed to know that. How can we find out if Lucas is enrolled that shit's private?" I ask.
"Well. Just this once, I can call in a favor from the smartest person I know," he says, taking out a sleek iPhone, "My girlfriend's mother works in the registration, she can certainly clear up if Lucas is enrolled or not. No personal information mind. But I think it's only fair if you know he's here."
"She'd do that? Cool, thanks," I say, eagerly.
"She'll meet us out by the fountain," he says, looking at his phone.
"Thank you," I say, gratefully. That will at least tell me if he's here or not and I can stop trying to hunt the campus for him.
"Did you know who his parents were at all?" Garth asks.
"No," I sigh, "I don't know anybody's parents, mostly."
"I was only thinking, if we did know his parents we could probably google to ensure he's all right," Garth points out.
"No, you know we don't talk about that stuff. The only reason I know who your parents are is I saw them dropping you off."
"Oh right. I'm so glad they introduced themselves they're usually very laconic—,"
"They didn't, they're just on TV so I recognized them."
"That would do it. You watch CNN?"
"In the hospital I did. Like a nerd."
"CNN was supposed to make you get better?"
"Good point," I laugh, as we descend the stairs, "Do you know who my family is?"
"No, nor would I if you told me their names I'm afraid I simply don't follow the media," he says.
"Two of my brothers go here, but it's probably gonna be weird so if you see me having deeply personal disputes with apparent strangers, that's what's happening," I say.
"I see," Garth says, sympathetically, "Beyond the fencing team I don't really know many people here. I spend most of my time in my dorm doing extra lessons online and moderating one or two history forums."
"I thought the point of you boarding is you meet people?" I ask.
"It is," really quietly.
"Huh point of me here is I stay out of the way and don't bother anyone instead I get air lifted out of here last year and nearly cause my parents divorce," I say.
"Oh that was—,"
"That was me."
Garth's girlfriend turns out to be a pretty girl in a sparkly pink sweater, hair in space buns, typing away on a bejeweled mac book. She has pink glittery lip gloss and sparkles all over her face.
"Hello, Jaden this is Elliot, Elliot my girlfriend, before mentioned cleverest person I know," Garth beams sweetly.
"Hi, what's so important that I'm stealing my mom's password on our first day back?" Jaden asks, studying me quickly. I'm sure she recognizes me from last year, but to her credit she's polite enough not to say anything.
"Elliot's wondering if a friend is back this year, hadn't seen him. And after those deaths last term, reason to be concerned," Garth says, nicely.
"Those guys were idiots, I wouldn't be surprised if they all did just walk off a cliff," Jaden scoffs.
"You knew them too?" I ask.
"They were jerks to everyone, well, everyone not cool," Jaden shrugs.
"Yeah I'm actually worried my friend confronted them or something—Lucas Yarrow? He was in your year I think," I say.
"Hm, name doesn't ring a bell but," she shrugs, typing on the computer, "Yeah, no, no enrollment records this year."
"So he's not coming back," I say, quietly.
"Is that the only name you have?" Jaden asks.
Garth and I look at her with concern.
"What? A lot of people do fake names here, fake last name, plus your middle name? When your surname is printed across the back of half the cars in America you don't use that for roll call," Jaden points out.
"I mean it could be," damn it I should have used a fake name. "I don't know that's the name he gave me."
"Try last year," Garth says.
I frown.
"Well if it is fake, then if we get no hits last year it's clearly false isn't it?" He asks.
"Ah—nothing. Looks like your friend was using a pseudonym," Jaden says.
"Shit," I sigh.
"But that means he could be here," Garth points out, helpfully, "I mean if that wasn't his legal name then he very well could be reenrolled and we'd not know it."
"Do you have a picture?" Jaden asks.
I hold out my phone to her, "Just this."
"Is this the original?" She asks.
"I mean yeah—it's not edited, why?" I ask.
"I don't know, looked like a filter? I think he looks familiar, yeah, but just from school not from tabloids," Jaden says.
"Most of us who aren't me aren't even on the cover of National Enquirer," I say.
"Reports of your death were greatly overstated. Also at least they didn't use your student ID photo," she says.
"Small victories," I smile, they're being nice about it. I'm sure Garth doesn't know, but she's read the news. "Anyway, obviously I was going through some shit so if he isn't talking to me I don't blame him but I'd at least like to apologize based on how psycho I was."
"Well, hopefully that could be arranged," Jaden says, sympathetically, "I'll keep an eye out. It's not that big of a school."
"Elliot last heard from Lucas, the day that those unfortunate boys died," Garth says, clasping his hands.
"He's like this, they were bitches," Jaden says to me.
"Thank you, I wasn't fond of them, but—like I told Garth I'm afraid that Lucas possibly confronted them, I'd gone off more than a bit about how much I blamed them for everything that had happened to me—which while they were bullies I was venting," I sigh.
"Why don't we take a walk out to the cliff tomorrow?" Garth offers.
"You know where it is?" I ask.
"Yeah—it's a hook up spot," Jaden says.
"We went there to observe the local flora and fauna and saw a bald eagle," Garth says, happily.
"That we did," Jaden says, with the absolute disappointment of someone who met their boyfriend out there with the expectation of meeting at a hook up spot for its intended purpose.
"Well I obviously have no friends so," I shrug.
"You do now," Garth beams.
"You do now," Jaden says, but it's in support of him.
"If you guys would show me, it's about our only lead," I say.
"Cool. See you at dinner," Jaden says, kissing Garth's cheek. He hugs her gently. I have to protect him don't I?
We head off to get changed for dinner, meals and classes dress code is no sweat pants, which is what I'm wearing.
There's a dining hall, we can eat in our dorms in the common area, but this early in the semester no one has food in. Our house parents will usually put on a meal or two a week as well, but for now most everyone congregates in the dining hall.
Classes don't start officially for another couple of days, as everyone trickles in. Unofficially, we still have to abide by our class schedules and the classes will all have little group sessions, mostly informal, but we're expected to go not hang out at our dorms. Sports, which for some reason I'm involved in, will meet and exercise as normal. I consider memorizing my class schedule then decide to have a symbiotic relationship with my roommate. Because if, I show this golden retriever of a human my schedule, he will surely memorize it and remind me where I need to be.
"Oh yes we share several classes, first it's work out for fencing that's fun our team captain runs that, the coaches are very lax, you'll enjoy it," Garth encourages.
"Cool I'll follow you to that," I say, stopping another kid from whacking the dinner tray out of Garth's hand.
"Yes definitely. I'm glad; my last roommate quit fencing partway through the year," Garth says, aimably, as we find a corner table. Jaden comes to join us.
"My roommates not moving in till tomorrow," she says, "It's Agnes so if Elliot likes girls we're going to set them up."
"What?" I ask.
"Isn't that interfering in their personal lives?" Garth asks.
"No. It's fun," Jaden says, "Seriously Agnes is cool. She's might be down with going out with us tomorrow if that's good with you guys?"
"My school wide embarrassment ended one medi-vac ago, whatever," I say.
"I really don't remember that happening," Garth assures me.
"Oh my god I hit you and said 'I think that's a helicopter'," Jaden says.
"What was I doing?"
"Reading. Probably Shakespeare."
"I'm sorry I didn't respond."
"You said 'that's nice', anyway. Elliot, can I see that photo again?" Jaden asks.
"Yeah, put your number in my phone actually," I say, watching as Garth gently folds his napkin into a an origami duck or something.
"Yeah actually good idea," she says, also watching him do that.
I unlock my phone and hand it to her, "Here."
"Cool, I'm putting myself in as 'Garth Emergency Contact'," she says.
"You know do the same with me," I say.
"Here, for you," Garth hands me one of the folded napkins.
"I always wanted a duck," I say.
"It's a swan."
"How would I know that in napkin effigy?"
"Like, you don't fold origami ducks," he says.
"Can it be a duck?" I ask.
"If you want it to be."
"Thank you," I say, balancing it on my tray.
"Oh you're getting a call," Jaden says.
"Who is it?" I ask.
"You have them programmed in as 'manwhore'."
"Oh that's my dad, shit, I do have to take that," I say, holding out my hand.
"Here, I put me in," she says.
At the same time Garth raises his hand, "Why do you—,"
"He may have two dads and need to distinguish," Jaden says, "Like you."
"But—not—like that—,"
"I do have two dads now technically but he is a whore, don't wait," I say, getting up. I put in a headphone and answer the call. There's immedaite noise in the background. Sounds like he just got off his flight.
"Hey sorry were you at dinner there?" My dad asks.
"Yeah um it's good, I'm still alive I will confirm that by text," I say.
"No, I know."
"Look what are we supposed to talk about here?" I sigh.
"I don't know. I don't know either but let's try all right? I'm setting a timer. Two minutes. Tell me anything."
"Two minutes then we get to hang up?"
"Yeah. So did you see your friend yet? How's your room?"
"Ah it's fine, my roommates' fine. No, Lucas isn't here yet. Ah I may have cussed out Jason it's a blur teach that man what organized sports are!"
"El, what makes you think I know what organized sports are?"
"Same reason I do. You produce a video game about them."
"Oh. You make a good point. What did he sign you up for?"
"Fencing."
"You don't have to do that," he says, quickly.
"Concern for my well being or concern for my classmates when I'm armed with a somewhat pointy object?"
"Two things can be true."
"We at two minutes?" I ask, "This is painful."
"Just. All right, I'll call you again tomorrow."
"Okay," I hang up. That was awful. I feel worse now. But what am I supposed to say to feel normal?
I don't rejoin dinner, just getting my evening meds from the nurses' office and then heading back to my dorm. Garth meets me after a moment, then leaves to take a call from his dad. Then leaves again to take another call from the other dad. I lie on the bed listening to Metallica and consider if I should ask him what families call to say goodnight about. Then I remember I shouldn't strain my anti-depressants further.
I just roll up in my blankets and try to sleep. things won't feel better in the morning. But I can definitely pretend that they will.