Page 9 of Grave Matter

“Also, Munawar has really good hearing,” Lauren whispers, leaning in close.

I can’t help but laugh at that before I turn my attention back to the teacher. Nick goes on about how the system here runs, how our garbage is thrown into an incinerator every morning by their handyman, Keith, who must be addressed only as Handyman Keith, and that we’ll have weekends to ourselves within designated areas.

“Does this mean we can party on the weekends?” Munawar asks. His voice is solemn, but his eyes are twinkling.

“It means you’re free to do what you want within reason,” Nick says. “You’re all adults here, but this is still private property. We don’t want you straying too far, not only because it’s dangerous without an official chaperone but because the local tribe borders our land. It’s unlawful to step onto their property, and we don’t want to be disrespectful, now do we?”

Lauren puts up her hand. “Isn’t this all of their property, technically?”

Another point for Lauren.

“We lease the land from the Quatsino Nation,” Nick says. “But yes, you’re right, Lauren. We reside on their traditional territory.”

“I want to know why it’s dangerous without an official chaperone,” a dude at the table in front of me says, his voice growing deeper as he talks, as if he’s trying to be intimidating, while he leans back casually in his chair. “You just said we’ll be spending a lot of time out in the bush, foraging and camping.”

“Do you have experience with bears? Wolves? The Roosevelt elk that become so territorial they’ll spear your guts out?” Nick asks, the first time I’ve ever seen him look remotely stern.

Lauren’s been writing on a piece of paper and passes it to me:That’s Clayton. He’s a dick. That’s all you need to know.

“Sure do,” Clayton says, leaning back even further in his chair. “I’m from Montana. I probably killed a dozen bears before you were even born.”

I exchange a dry look with Lauren. Dick is right.

Nick frowns. He’s at least ten years older than Clayton. “That doesn’t even make sense.”

“What about drinking?” Clayton goes on. “I didn’t see a bar in the mess hall.”

Nick sighs. “Once a week, we go by boat to Port Alice for extra provisions. You give us the money, we’ll pick up whatever you want. Cigarettes, alcohol, Archie Comics, you name it.”

I exhale internally. At least alcohol won’t be so easy to come by here.

And at that, class is dismissed. Nick tells us that dinner is at six every day, which is in an hour, and that there will be a few speeches at dinner, so we shouldn’t miss out. I wouldn’t anyway;my stomach is already growling. I’d only grabbed a bite to eat before my flight. Feels like a lifetime ago.

Everyone gets up and starts chatting with each other, albeit a little awkwardly, which I guess is normal when you have a bunch of science students in forced cohabitation.

But that Clayton dick comes straight for me.

“Soyou’reSydney,” he says. He reminds me of my jock boyfriend I had in high school, who also had curly brown hair and a permanently smug smile (and was also an asshole), though he wouldn’t have been caught dead studying anything remotely scientific (or really anything at all…why did I go out with him again?).

“That I am,” I say, conscious of how the rest of the students are watching us, as if they expect a fight to break out.

“You think you’re special, huh?” he says.

“Clayton,” a short Asian guy warns as he puts his hand on his shoulder. “Don’t.”

I shake my head, so confused. “I never said I was special.”

Clayton squints at me. “Nah. You’re right. I can see you’re not.”

Then he turns and walks away, the Asian guy following him as they exit the building.

“He isnota fungi,” Munawar says, using air quotes around “fun-guy.”

I glance at Lauren. “What was that about?”

She rolls her eyes. “Who cares? Don’t pay him any attention.”

Guess we found the bad apple, I think. I wonder if Everly knew about Clayton ahead of time. I’d hoped they only accepted students who aren’t bad news.

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