Page 24 of The Initiation

When I don’t say anything, Doris sighs. “When the others arrive, I’ll go over the protocol.”

“It’s just me.”

Jutting her leg as she puts her hands on her lips, Doris sucks her teeth. In that moment, I get the feeling this woman is creating a mental list and preparing herself for war.

And it’s in this moment that I also realize I’ll need to keep my distance from her.

The nicest thing Syn could do is have her fired, and I refuse to let this woman—or any of the staff—lose their jobs, or worse, because of me.

I flick my head so that the hair from my long blue ponytail whips over my shoulder, and I embody the sass and entitlement of a Karen. “At least, when this is over, I won’t be serving anyone again.”

Saying those twelve words was the worst thing I’ve been forced to do because of Syn, and I want to take them back the moment I see the hurt flash through Doris’s eyes.

Mine have been wide open since my family lost everything, especially to the entitlement I one had without even realizing it. I’d taken my status for granted, assuming my future would be vastly different from my current reality. But even the fourteen-year-old brat I’d once been would never have said that.

Doris and I never had the opportunity to get close, and maybe I was misreading the extent of her kindness, because it was lacking in my life. Either way, I just ensured that will never happen.

At least she won’t be a target, and hopefully now, not even collateral damage.

Doris’s demeanor changes almost immediately. The frosty yet polite manner I’ve seen her use when serving the rest of the student body is suddenly directed at me. With no words, she starts walking towards the far end of the dining hall.

Trying to fight through my regret and disappointment, I hurry after her.

“The president and the vice presidents only ever sit at one table, which I’m sure you’re familiar with by now,” Doris says as we walk past it.

I’m sure the whole campus is aware of exactly which table Syn sits at.

For the last few weeks, I’d been eating my meals—if you could even call the fist-sized lump of plain rice a meal—in front of it. Syn had somehow gotten a small, metal table installed in the room, despite the fact it didn’t match any of the furnishings.

The table was just too small for my legs to fit under it and sit comfortably, and because it’s directly beneath an air vent, it was always cold.

However, the table is gone.

Given the money Syn has, I’m not surprised he’s been able to orchestrate anything so far—even if he is still just a college kid. But the lack of table does add a new knot of worry to my stomach.

Hopefully, he meant what he said when he told me I could eat after they had. I’d happily eat my meals in the kitchen loading bays as long as I don’t have to go back to the small portions of lukewarm, unseasoned rice.

The door Doris leads me to is to a small closet. Inside are immaculate white tablecloths, a pile of clean table runners, pressed napkins, and silver napkin rings with the university crest engraved in them.

After weeks of eating in front of the table, I’m sure that I know how it needs to be set up, but I listen to Doris as she lists off each requirement in a clipped tone.

Most colleges have a Greek system, and whether they’re supposed to or not, most pledges must go through some kind of hazing ritual. Being a servant is one of the least humiliating or painful tasks I would be doing.

I’m prepared for Syn turning up at the last minute so I have to rush through my meals or else be late to classes. I’m also ready for him to claim that I’ve brought the wrong food and will be doing laps between his table and the kitchen in the stupid high heels I’m wearing. If anything, I really had been expecting to do it in a thong.

Although I’ve set the table up, including the two fresh flower arrangements which are delivered daily just for this table, before the dining hall opens, neither Syn, Royal, nor Gemini arrive with the first wave of students.

Ignoring the sneers, stares of confusion, and looks of utter disbelief sent in my direction, I take my place against the wall, behind the table, and wait.

Breakfast is served between seven and nine. Thankfully, even if Syn keeps me waiting until 8:55, my first class isn’t until ten.

Penny walks in at 7:30; her eyes instantly meet mine. Her first class is the same as mine, so I’m surprised to see her in so early. Today, her long pink hair is braided into two braids, and she’s already wearing her uniform. She pauses just to the side of the door and arches an eyebrow, tilting her head.

Subtly, I shake my head.

Penny purses her lips, then heads over to the food.

For both the breakfast and lunch service, JKU has a self-service system. Although their meals are exceptionally high quality, they have several tables and appliances fully stocked so students can grab as much as they want.

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