by Ali Dean
Monica and her mom ask a few basic questions about me, but they seem to already know I’m a ski racer from Vermont.
“Are your parents here, Roxie? Did you all drive from Vermont or fly?”
“Just me. I flew into Denver and took the shuttle. It’s crazy expensive to fly into Stark Springs.”
Donna nods. “Monica and I like to make a little road trip out of it every year. We’ve been doing it since the eighth grade, right kiddo?”
“Mom, you’ve got to stop calling me that. I’ll be seventeen soon.”
“Anyway, we brought the pickup and packed it full, so if there’s anything you need, I’m sure Monica’s got it. The closest Target is 100 miles away, so if you didn’t pack it, you’ll have to order it on Amazon.”
“Yeah, I’ve got a toaster, mini fridge, space heater, blow dryer, and like, seven thousand bottles of lotion because my skin wilts at this altitude. I’m well-stocked. You sort of lucked out being my roommate.” Monica’s voice remains delicate as she gains confidence around me, but it’s becoming more sing-songy. I could listen to her talk all day.
“Awesome. Since all I’ve got is ski stuff and clothes, I’ll help you unpack. What do you stock in the fridge, anyway? Isn’t there a cafeteria?”
“Yeah, but I like having…” She stops mid-sentence as her eyes zero in on the doorway.
When I follow her gaze, I understand her inability to speak. A male model is standing in our dorm room. A rugged one, at that. And slightly familiar. It’s not the broad shoulders and athletic build that make me unable to stop staring. Though I’ll always give a nod of admiration to a fit dude, with friends like Tyler and Brad, muscles don’t get me all worked up like some girls. It’s the piercing turquoise eyes, a color I’ve only seen in photographs of the Caribbean Sea. Light brown hair curls underneath a ball cap, but the boyish style doesn’t diminish his dominating presence.
“Hello Monica, Mrs. Danvers.” The smooth voice holds a note of intimidation that I don’t like.
Feeling Monica shift beside me, I tear my gaze away to look at her. She’s blinking at the doorway with a strange expression on her face. Is she afraid of this guy like she is of Telly? Or does she have a crush on him? Either way, she’s speechless.
“Hello, Mr. Black. What can we do for you?” Donna asks. I’d almost forgotten she was still in the room.
“I’d like to introduce myself to our new student,” he says.
“Hey, I’m Roxie Slade,” I tell him, taking a step in his direction. I notice two other guys standing in the hallway, watching us.
But instead of staying to help with the introductions, Monica and Donna excuse themselves to get more things from the car, and the two guys in the hallway follow them down, leaving me alone with the male model. When he shuts the door behind them, I’m suddenly very uneasy. Though the Danverses mentioned having more things in the pickup, it seems like it was a coordinated effort to get me alone in a room with this dude.
“How was your trip from Vermont?” he asks, crossing his arms and staring right at me. Okay, so he already knows where I’m from. Noted.
“Not bad. There aren’t a ton of flights out of Vermont so I had to leave crazy early, but no delays or anything so that’s good.” Why is he here and why is he asking about trivial things?
“You flew into Denver?” he asks, as though he already knows the answer.
“Yeah, cheaper,” I respond with a shrug. “There’s a shuttle that was pretty easy. How about you? Where are you from?” I’m pretty sure this must be Ryker Black, but I don’t know where he’s from. Even if Donna hadn’t said his last name, I’ve seen photos of the guy in magazines and on the internet. He’s far more striking in person.
“I’m from Stark. Do you know who I am?” he asks quietly. What a cocky bastard.
“Mr. Black, of course,” I imitate Donna’s formal greeting. I don’t want to feed his ego, but Donna did use his name, and well, given I’m at Stark Springs Academy, I’d be an idiot not to figure out who he was anyway.
“You can call me Ryker,” he offers, as if it’s a privilege to do so. “I’m here to help you get settled at Stark, and to help you learn the ropes about how things run around here.” The explanation feels heavier than the words themselves. I just nod, still uncertain what he wants from me, if anything. Is he some sort of student rep like Telluride?
“Have you had any problems since you arrived?” he asks.
“No, why?”
“If you have any problems, come to me. I’m the one who handles problems at Stark.”
My hands go to my hips. “I can handle my own problems, Black.”
“I go by Ryker or Mr. Black,” he says, ignoring my statement. “It’s important that Stark continues to live up to its legacy, and there are rules here to ensure that happens. I hope that you will follow them.”
“Dude, what is your problem? You’re a student, not the headmaster.” Is this some kind of joke?
“The headmaster follows my rules too.”
Clearly, Ryker Black is deranged. Donna and Monica will be back any minute, so I’ll just have to humor him for the moment. It’s a pity the guy has some mental issues. He’s such a rock star on a snowboard, I wouldn’t have expected it.
“I’ve read the school handbook, Ryker,” I say gently. It’s a lie, mostly. I skimmed some of the policies, but the only rules I remember thinking would be annoying were dorm check-in by 8:00 PM on weekdays, and no opposite genders allowed in dorm rooms without the door open and all four feet on the ground. Chelsea and I laughed pretty hard at that one. Apparently no one cares about the door being open though.
Ryker takes a deliberate step forward until he’s all up in my space. What a weirdo. “The first rule is that the handbook policies mean nothing. You’ll learn the rest as you go. Monica can tell you about what happens if you don’t follow them.” And with that, he spins around and leaves.
What the hell just happened? I’m tempted to call Chelsea and fill her in on the weirdest conversation of my life, but I’ve already called her twice since I landed in Denver, and Monica and Donna will be back in a minute.
I’m about to unpack my bags but I can’t help myself. I climb onto my bed and peek out the window overlooking the dorm entryway. He might be mentally unstable, but I’m intrigued. His two friends are standing outside the dorm while Monica and Donna haul the mini fridge out of the pickup. The guys don’t offer to help. Ryker comes out a moment later, followed by Winter and Aspen.
With her white-blonde hair and pale skin, I almost laughed when Winter introduced herself. But apparently it’s not a nickname, according to her Wikipedia page. She’s the reigning junior national figure skating champion. Now, she’s taking a step toward Ryker, and he’s shaking his head as she reaches to touch his arm. She immediately drops her hand at something he says. And then he ignores her, turning to the guys with a nod. At that, the three of them walk over to the Danverses’ truck and begin unloading. Ryker picks up the mini fridge and nearly runs over Winter and Aspen on his way back inside before they jump out of his way. The girls watch him with dropped jaws and I can’t tell if they’re just gawking at his hotness or find it surprising he’s helping Monica and her mom. I’m guessing the former, since in my opinion, any decent guy would offer a hand. Right, so Ryker’s decency remains questionable.
But this means he’s coming back up, and I can’t decide whether I want to experience another weird conversation. Though apparently he still has girls like Winter Lovett pining for his attention, despite his strangeness.
Ryker doesn’t say another word to me, and neither does anyone else, as we unload the rest of the pickup. Aspen and Winter hold the front door open but otherwise simply stare us down as we pass back and forth. It’s awkward as hell and I’m determined to get some answers from Monica as soon as we’re alone.
“I’m going to let you settle in, kiddo, while I check in at the hotel,” Donna tells Monica. “We’ll get brunch tomorrow,” Donna says before kissi
ng Monica on the cheek and waving goodbye to me. “You’re welcome to join us, Roxie.”
“I have my first team meeting tomorrow morning, but thanks for the invite.”
“So nice to meet you, Roxie.”
As soon as the door closes behind her, I turn to Monica. “Okay, what is the deal with Ryker Black?”
“What did he say to you?” Monica asks.
“Some shit about following rules, and that the rules in the student handbook don’t mean anything. The guy’s a little not right in the head, huh?”
At that, Monica jumps up and takes my arm and then drags me out into the hallway. “You can’t say stuff like that,” she whispers. “He might be listening.”
“Um, what?”
“He might have bugged our room, Roxie,” she whispers, glancing nervously around the hallway.
“Why would he do that?” It sounds to me like Ryker Black could use some mental health counseling.
“Look, let’s get ready to go over to dinner, and I’ll fill you in on the way, when we’re outside. Just don’t talk about Ryker Black in our room.” She spins back inside and unpacks toiletries and a towel. “Are you going to shower? There are three stalls on this floor and you can borrow any of my things.” Monica’s sing-song voice is back, and I’m totally confused.
“Yeah, I guess I’ll get cleaned up.” It’s been a long day of travel and weirdness. Maybe a shower will help clear my head. I can’t shake the feeling that I’m missing something major about Stark Springs Academy. I’m beginning to wonder if this place is more than just a boarding school for winter athletes. What have I gotten myself into?
* * *
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