by Cody Wagner
“Thanks,” my dad said.
We walked back to a row of metal chairs and sat down.
“You really don’t have to stay,” I muttered out the side of my mouth.
“We just want you to get better.” He didn’t make eye contact.
I could tell he was still upset, but I clenched my teeth. That damned phrase again. What did it even mean this time? Did he want to spy on the campus to make sure it was acceptable? That had to be it. Furious, I cranked my music and sat back until a boy, about sixteen, strolled in.
He was about my height, had short blonde hair, and walked with pigeon toes. His name tag read “Matthew.” He stuck out a hand.
“Hi, I’m Matthew.” He pointed to his name tag. “As if you couldn’t tell. Anyway, I’m here to show you around and take you to your room.”
Dad hesitated. After a moment of indecision— he was obviously worried the kid might spread his gay—Dad faked a smile and clasped his hand.
“Nice to meet you, Matthew. This is Blaize.”
Grudgingly, I took his hand. That’s when I realized I was touching my first gay person. My hand started tingling. A breath caught in my throat and, when he went to pull away, I squeezed harder. My hand remained fastened to his. He pulled again and my brain said, Let go, you idiot! Finally, reason kicked in and I freed him. Smooth. Matthew grinned but, luckily, didn’t say anything. Acting as if I wasn’t just the world’s biggest creeper, he walked to the door, holding it open for us.
“Let me just grab Blaize’s suitcase.” Dad jogged to the car, opened the trunk, and lugged my giant suitcase out. I didn’t move to help him, and that guilty feeling crept over me again. I ignored it.
When Dad was ready, Matthew guided us around the rest of the road loop. The air was hot and heavy with humidity. After a few minutes, my arms became sticky, which spurned a new thought: Did I put on deodorant? Once, I forgot to wear some at a basketball tournament, and people walked wide circles around me. It was mortifying, and I swore I’d never forget again. However, with the tension in our hotel room, I couldn’t remember putting any on. Grimacing, I pressed my arms to my sides.
As we neared the east side of the loop, I noticed three guys throwing a Frisbee around. One of them, a dude in cargo shorts and a shirt printed with the school flag, jumped and snatched it out of the air. The activity seemed perfectly normal until he caught me looking. The instant we made eye contact, he threw his hands up and the Frisbee fell. He shouted, “I feel it! I feel the healing!” and fell to his knees.
I stared at him, baffled. The kids around him patted his shoulder. He shook his head like he was coming out of a coma, then continued on as if it were perfectly normal. I turned to Matthew, who grinned proudly.
Are you kidding me?
Fear seeped in to replace my cynicism when I remembered the guy on the basketball court. He had done the same thing. Did they have some miracle technique that made kids act like this? The idea of tin foil hats and serums suddenly didn’t seem so ridiculous. Whatever they were doing apparently worked. I bit my upper lip, looking around for more signs of weirdness. Naturally, Dad helped with that.
“Does the flag mean anything?”
Matthew grinned. “Of course.”
Here it comes, I thought.
Matthew looked at my dad. “Red and white butting against each other symbolize the conflict in many of the students here. The blue surrounding everything represents the peace we can achieve by surrendering to the healing.”
Dad sighed like he’d just eaten an amazing cookie.
I stared at Matthew, mouth open.
Acting as if he hadn’t just said the dumbest thing ever, Matthew gestured toward a set of three white buildings. They sat to our right, just outside the lasso road. He pointed to the closest one, a four-story cube. “That’s the sixteen-to-eighteen year-old dorm. You’ll be in this one.” He nodded to the farthest building. “It’s the twelve-to-fifteen dorm.”
“What’s in between?” my dad asked.
“The cafeteria. It’s the exact same distance from both dorms.”
“Ahhhhh,” Dad said.
Oddly, the thought that hit me was, Mom would have said “equidistant”.
“OK. Let’s check out your room.” Smiling, Matthew led us to the younger dorm and up a set of five stairs lined with metal handrails. I would have been turned on if I were a skateboarder.
He tapped the railing and approached a set of metal doors with glass insets. Yanking a card attached to a keychain on his pocket, Matthew held it against a sensor next to the door. It clicked and he pulled open the door.
Chilly air blasted us and I lifted my arms, hoping to cool down. Ironically, the thought of forgetting deodorant made me sweat even more. Walking around this strange campus didn’t help. Dad himself sighed and I noticed his shirt stuck to him with perspiration. It made sense, as he lugged my huge suitcase across campus. Before I changed my mind, I grabbed it away from him and pulled it down a hallway.
“There are twelve rooms on each side.” Matthew gestured down the hall like a flight attendant. I wondered if he’d call out the exit rows or offer me a bag with three peanuts.
Thin, durable carpet lined the floor. It was the kind you put in your garage: tough and cheap. Brown doors with numbers lined the walls. I counted six on each side before the hallway ended at a large foyer.
“I only see six,” I said, combative, like by fighting him, I’d resist whatever power this place had.
Matthew nodded. “The building is divided in half. The front desk and game room are up there.” He gestured in front of us. “The other set of rooms is past that.”
Game room? Before I could stop myself, I craned my neck to the foyer.
“Don’t worry, we’ll see it in a second,” Matthew said. “I want to show you your room first.”
With that, he walked to the fourth door on his left and knocked. “I hope someone’s there.” He grinned. “I don’t have a key.”
These doors had locks? That made me feel better, until it sank in—there might be someone in my room!? Sure enough, after a few seconds, the door was opened by a small, mousy girl who quickly pressed her hands to her sides.
“Hi, are you Cassie Clarke?” Matthew asked.
“Yes.”
“This is Blaize Trales, your new roommate.”
“Ok,” she said, moving out of the way. I peeked at my dad, whose eyes widened in concern, but he didn’t say anything. I dragged my suitcase into the room and looked around.
The dorm room was a small square. A small porcelain sink sat to my left, with a round mirror above it. A bed was just past it. Seeing me eye it, Cassie went and sat down. It must have been hers, so I turned and noticed a bunk bed, with wooden slats leading to the upper bunk. A boy sat on the lower mattress, smiling. He jumped up and banged his head on metal rails holding the upper bed in place.
“Ow!” He rubbed furiously at his head.
I winced. “Are you OK?”
He yanked his hand down and tried smiling. “Oh yeah. I’ve suffered worse. This one time my dad and I went hiking and I rolled down a mountain.”
I smiled politely, waiting for a punchline. When he didn’t offer one, I said, “Oh.”
He stuck out his hand. “Hi, I’m Jimmy Blackwood.”
He was small and tubby, and looked to be a little younger than me. His hair was really greasy, like he hadn’t washed it in weeks. Who was I to judge, though? I was the stinkiest person on the planet, and tried keeping my arms closed as we shook hands. His fingers were sticky. He then went to my father, whose eyes shifted.
“Don’t worry, Mr. Trales,” Matthew said, as if reading his thoughts. “Sanctuary Prep has been here a long time. They know what they’re doing.” He then cleared his throat and recited something as if he’d said it a hundred times:
“All male students receive two roommates: a boy and a girl. Sanctuary Prep Academy has found the effects are far more beneficial than assigning private rooms. The male roommate
is there for encouragement. They work together in the journey of healing. The female roommate is a safeguard. She gives regular reports on the status and progress of the other two. Likewise, the other two give regular reports on their roommates. It’s a checks and balances system. More eyes are better than none.”
Matthew stopped and took a giant breath. Dad didn’t say anything but seemed to relax. I actually became more nervous. I didn’t want to live with people judging my every move. Dad saw my discomfort and smiled.
Ugh.
I turned away and put my suitcase on the ground next to the bunk bed. That’s when I realized I was stuck with the top bunk. The day was getting worse and worse.
Feeling about five years old, I yanked the zipper on my suitcase and threw it open. I shuffled some clothes around, pretending to arrange them. What I really wanted was to put on some deodorant. I was starting to catch a few whiffs of myself and it wasn’t pleasant. Absurdly, I tried reining in the smell with my thoughts.
Matthew walked to a set of desks past the bunk bed. Two computers sat next to each other and a third faced the other direction. A chair sat in front of each computer. One had a sticker with my name on it.
“Do these have Internet?” I asked.
“Of course. You’ll need it for homework.” Matthew said.
Dad frowned. “Is that safe?”
Matthew held up a hand. “Don’t worry, Mr. Trales.”
He grabbed a large envelope from the desk and held it up. It had my name on it. He tore it open and dumped out the contents. Holding up a key card—similar to the one he’d used to enter the building—Matthew said, “This is Blaize’s access key. It will let him in the buildings on campus, like the dorms, the cafeteria, and so on. It’s also his computer access key. Any time he wants to use one, he has to hold it up like so.” Matthew rubbed the key against a sensor next to my computer. The CPU dinged and whirred to life.
Matthew smiled. “It won’t work without this. That way, Sanctuary can track everything he does.”
I pictured government agents smashing into the room if I mistyped a URL. All shreds of privacy were being ripped away. Did we really deserve this?
I grimaced but didn’t move; I could definitely smell body odor now. It was awful and I backed into the corner. How could I forget something so crucial? I wanted to hate the place but couldn’t think over the growing smell. Matthew cocked his head and wrinkled his nose. I could feel myself turning bright red. Dad looked at me and raised an eyebrow.
“What’s outside?” I asked.
It was the most random question, but I had this stupid hope that they’d all go peek outside. That might give me enough time to open my toiletry bag and throw on some deodorant. Of course, that only worked in the movies. Only Matthew approached the windows situated opposite the door. Everyone else stayed where they were.
“It’s just empty space,” Matthew said. “In case they want to build anything later.”
“OK.”
“Are there spiders out there?” Jimmy asked.
Matthew shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
Jimmy smiled. “One time, a bunch of jumping spiders surrounded me. One leapt at my face, and my dad came out and shot them all!”
We all froze and stared at him. What was that about? Before anyone could ask, Jimmy caught my horrible body odor. He squinted, made a face, and looked around. Matthew shook his head as if trying to deny the smell.
“Do you wanna see the game room?” He rushed to the door.
No, I didn’t want to see the game room. Normally, it would have been the only bright spot at this nasty place. Right now, with my stench filling the room, I just wanted everyone to leave so I could throw on some Right Guard. It would only take a few seconds.
Pulling my arms tighter, I groaned, “Sure.”
Matthew left the room. Dad and I followed him. After we made it a few steps I heard my name called out. It was Cassie. My dad looked at me. I shrugged and ran back to the room. Cassie stood over my suitcase holding my toiletry bag. She tossed it to me.
“Put some deodorant on,” she said. It wasn’t mean or condescending. She said it as if she were telling me to tie my shoelace. I hesitated, giving her a look that said, I don’t know what you’re talking about. She shook her head and the tiniest smile appeared.
“It happens to all of us,” she said.
Jimmy giggled.
Cassie turned to him. “And you need to wash your hair.”
He shut up as I gaped at her. She gestured at me to hurry. Tearing open the bag, I grabbed the deodorant, went to roll some on, and realized I’d lifted my shirt right in front her. Blushing, I spun around, smashed the deodorant against my pits, dropped it into the suitcase, and ran back out into the hallway, almost crashing into my dad, who had made his way back to the room.
“Is everything OK?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said. “Let’s check out the game room.”
He studied me for a moment, then turned around. I looked at Cassie, nodded a quick thanks, then followed Matthew, who had stopped near the end of the hall.
The foyer wasn’t as big as I thought. Slightly wider than the hallway, it held two grungy couches arranged around a dull coffee table. Another couple of couches and a large TV sat in the left corner. I ignored all that because video games were shoved against the right wall. Praise jeebus! Street Fighting, Lethal Combat, and a machine with plastic guns. Sure they were years old, but I didn’t care. I’d never lived in a place with actual arcade games.
Taking a closer look, my one chance at happiness at Sanctuary Prep Academy crumbled. The name plate to Lethal Combat had been covered by a piece of poster board that read Healing Fire. Squinting, I approached the machine. It looked like the normal game, except the monsters had been replaced with rainbow flags. They had thick legs and walked around the screen dodging bombs and bullets. One got hit and exploded into shards of color.
My shoulders drooped as I retreated. Dad looked pleased. As did Matthew.
The rest of the tour was just as depressing. Hateful posters plastered walls and random kids yelled, “I’m healing.” Even the cafeteria fit the homophobic jello mold.
The large, carpeted room—crammed with long tables—seemed normal enough when Dad and I walked in for dinner. Buffet stations with rails in front for trays sat to our left. Sneeze guards served as protection. It reminded me of my grandmother’s favorite cafeteria.
My nostalgia vanished when I noticed the names of the food. The dishes were labeled “Cleansing Chicken Enchiladas”, “Healing Hamburgers”, and so forth. Yuck.
Dad was wary of the food, poking at it with the oversize plastic spoons. Apparently, he didn’t need the healing power of “Purifying Peas”. To be polite, he took a few small scoops of “Mending Macaroni” and “Be Gone Brisket”. Despite his aversion, he certainly encouraged me to eat as much as possible (“Don’t forget the ‘Fight it Fish’”).
By the time dinner was over and we walked to his car, Dad was satisfied with Sanctuary Prep Academy. As he looked around, nodding, I reeled under my own realization: this would be the last time I’d see my dad for months. Memories filtered in but quickly fled when, instead of hugging me goodbye, Dad stuck out a hand like we were finishing an interview. It stung, but I reached out and grabbed it. He kept his grip firm and said, “Just get better.” I jerked my hand away.
“I don’t need to get better.”
Dad stared at me for a good thirty seconds. Then, turning his gaze to the ground, he whispered, “I love you.” Without another word he turned, got in the car, drove around the lasso, and vanished from sight. I stood there watching him, even after he was gone.
* * * * *
When I got back to my room, I felt dirty. It wasn’t just my rancid armpits; everything—inside and out—felt gross. I hated leaving things unresolved with my dad. And Sanctuary Prep Academy plain creeped me out. It was just so over-the-top. And there was something—a weird energy maybe—that was unsettling.
/> Desperate to rinse off the ick, I grabbed a towel hanging next to the mirror and headed to the shower room. Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that. I noticed the door marked “mens’ showers” on the way back to my room (the womens’ was right across the hall). Turns out, we all had to bathe together. I wasn’t sure what Dad would think of that. Hell, I wasn’t sure what I thought of it. I didn’t want to walk around naked in front of strangers. Puberty was making me look really odd, with hairs sprouting everywhere like weeds.
Hesitant, I inched open the door, praying no one was inside. Luckily, I didn’t hear anything as I stepped inside. I heaved a huge sigh of relief as I looked around. The place wasn’t fancy—with plain ceramic tiles lining everything—but floor-to-ceiling doors covered each stall. Without pressing my face to the ground, I couldn’t see more than a person’s ankles. Although it was an attempt at modesty or healing (“Even a boy’s shoulders are evil!”), I was grateful as I stepped into a stall and pulled the door shut.
A laminated poster with the stereotypical gay kid hung on the back wall, just below the showerhead. I groaned, picturing him watching me, willing me to heal. It was childish, but I reached out and tore the poster off the wall.
There was another one behind it, old and gross from years of moisture.
Three women were standing on a rock near the ocean. They had scaly legs and wings, like birds. One of them held a harp and sang to a wooden ship crashing into rocks. The words Kill the Seeker had been scribbled in over their heads.
Thinking back to seventh grade mythology, I figured they were Greek Sirens, women who lured men to their deaths with their voices. Weird. It was more uncomfortable than weird, what with three ladies staring at me naked. And I had no idea what the words meant.
At the time, I thought someone must have put it there as a joke. I had no reason to question it. How was I supposed to know a Siren really existed? That realization wouldn’t hit for months.
* * * * *
Back in my room twenty minutes later, I felt better. Not much, but a little. Dressed and stench-free, I threw some clothes into a small dresser in front of my bunk bed. I didn’t stash everything in there; I held out a little hope I might be leaving early for some reason, and left my suitcase mostly full.
