Faith Heights

Chapter 2

Mum forced us to pull over for every tourist attraction we passed, from a house-sized coffee statue– or a shrine, in my mother's eyes - to a tiny bakery apparently renowned for its cronuts. She forced me to pose before each sight while she snapped up photos, gradually claiming that it was the camera's flashes causing her eyes to well as we neared the academy.

I'd perused the brochures, but the pictures had done little to capture the school's boasted grandeur. I drove us down the stretched gravel driveway, nearly veering off the road as my jaw slung open.

The academy was spread out over two campuses for the primary and high schoolers. The younger campus was a charming, eloquent red brick structure, with a multi-coloured fence bordering the grounds. The crimson buildings were scattered around the emerald lawn, and a large, wooden 'Welcome' sign hovered above an elaborate tangle of playground equipment. It was a well-ordered chaos of bright paints and expensive charm.

The high school campus was another five minutes down the driveway. Mum was practically squirming in her seat as we edged closer, her ginger curls bouncing. When the institute finally came into sight, shrouded by a cluster of overhanging trees, my parents whooped in unison.

Unlike the primary school's scattered arrangement, the school I would be attending was comprised of a single, monumental structure. Its walls were a hued combination of white and grey, like a faded marble, and the roof seemed to tower above the clouds. Mossy vines weaved between the vast windows on the west wall, and a perfectly clipped, sprawling lawn lay between us and the monstrous entrance. To the east of the building – the most castle-like construct I'd seen in my seventeen years - lay the first line of trees in a shadowed forest that ran all the way to the nearest beach. My own accommodation was to be hosted in a small wing off to the right of the building, only connected to the main structure by a bridge on the second floor, entangled with matted greenery that almost appeared more supportive than the bricks themselves. 

I'd expected the parking lot to be packed with Lamborghinis and immunity flags, but it was filled with everything from polished Porsches to muddy, dented Jeeps. The three of us managed to unpack the car's contents in a single trip, but the load didn't slow Mum's near-skip across the lawn. 

I hadn't packed much- mostly books, a few photo frames of family and friends, and a painting of Mum's she'd bestowed to me for my last birthday. As we drew towards my housing wing, it looked as if students were provided with private rooms. It was a pleasant surprise- I'd spent more time than I cared to admit wondering if I'd be bunking with a stickler for neatness that criticised the soon-to-be nest of books by my pillow, or a slob that wouldn't stick to their half of the room. My room was easy enough to locate; I was on the third floor amongst the other scholarship students. Most of the rooms surrounding mine already appeared occupied, with half-emptied suitcases strewn in doorways.
I threw my bags in a heap on the unexpectedly large bed, leaning Mum's painting on the adjacent wooden desk. Most of her artwork was created in a frenzy of abstract impulse, and this was no exception. The long, rectangle canvas was lit with a splash of colours, thrown on in an accidental passion. The paint had been flung from right to left, each colour racing to catch something just beyond the unframed edge. The space around the wild colours was a blended white, perhaps a blanket of clouds or a soft fog. The pearly surroundings made it appear as if the paint was flying above the earth, in an endless rush of frenzied intensity. 

There were plenty of hooks along the off-yellow walls, and a large mahogany bookshelf covered the space above the desk. Other than the desk, bed, nightstand and a set of oak draws, the room was bare, leaving plenty of room for personal touches. My uniform - black, navy and white - lay folded in the middle of the desk, under the shadow of a dark lamp.