Page 4 of Tis the Season to be Bullied

He takes another turn. Then another.

So it’s a maze then. I’m trapped in a dark, depressing maze.

Holy crap, it’s cold. Two weeks until summer break, and it could be the middle of winter in here.

I’m wearing a black cardigan, a black tank, and light-wash jeans with the hems turned up so I don’t step on them. The thin wool covering my arms could have been tissue paper. I’m tempted to let down my mass of dark curls I’ve scraped into a pony, if only for some extra warmth around my neck.

What I know about Saint Amos could barely fill a serviette. This all-boys, faith-orientated prep school specializes in training new priests.

I didn’t come here for their theological program.

A remnant of my previous life lives here, the only person who still cares that I’m alive.

Cute but shelteredwould perfectly sum up my dating profile…if I’d ever been allowed to date.

Father Gabriel is the only family I have left. If it weren’t for him, I’d still be a ward of the state.

Transferring to Saint Amos wasn’t my first choice, nor was it my choice at all, but orphans don’t get a say in how their lives are run until they’re eighteen.

Luckily, I’m used to having all my major life decisions made for me.

“So how long have you been enrolled here?”

“Forever,” Jasper whines.

Good God, this is the guy I have to bunk with? I should have packed some razor blades.

I glance at the multitude of doorways we’ve passed in this stretch of hallway alone. It’s impossible that every room in this place is occupied. So why do I have to share with anyone? Especially a boy? You’d think they’d frown upon that sort of thing, here.

Guess I’ll have to make an effort to be friendly.

“I’m sorry if I kept you waiting.”

He lets out a sigh and gives a half-hearted shrug without looking back at me.

We pass a few stained glass windows, none of which look as if they can be opened. Most are random arrangements of colored glass, but the larger ones form kinda pretty artworks.

Doves flying toward rays of heavenly light.

Various saints and angels.

People tilling the soil under a watchful eye. There’s literally an eye in the sky.

“Place used to be a Catholic orphanage,” the kid says.

“Doesn’t look like much has changed.

Jasper glances back to frown at me.

“I mean, it’s still…” I want to say beautiful, but that would be an outright lie. “Impressive.”

We take another set of stairs, putting us on the fourth floor. Wooden doors crowd the walls of the passage. Small cards slipped behind tiny brass frames centered below each doorway’s arch label the room’s number.

Jasper leads me to a door.

113

He opens it and steps inside.

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