Page 3 of Want It All
I exhaled, trying to calm my nerves.
The room was laid out like a studio apartment, with a queen-sized bed to one side and a wide TV on the wall opposite. A large study desk sat beneath the screen, with a fancy-looking ergonomic chair wrapped in plastic waiting to one side. The kitchenette held a sink, a stove top, a small convection oven, and a new kettle, still in its box. Opposite the kitchen was a closed door; I opened it to find a modern-looking bathroom, tiled in white and mint green and boasting a bath-shower combo, a long mirror, and a toilet.
Considering what I’d seen of student accommodation when researching other schools, it was amazing. Everything was spotlessly clean and new. The wallpaper was a neutral cream-and-silver, patterned with branches and birds. The window made the room light and airy, and there was even an armchair against the wall, upholstered in a light grey velvet. I spotted a built-in wardrobe next to the bed and decided to start unpacking.
I loved unpacking, no matter where I was. It felt as if I was claiming a space as my own, even if I would only be there for a short time. I hung and folded my clothes, then placed my favourite tea on the kitchen bench. The mattress was brand new, still wrapped in plastic, so I unwrapped it and covered it with my own sheets and my pastel-pink duvet, taking a moment to catch my breath once I was done. I placed my laptop on the study desk, along with my eReader, a speaker, and my tablet. I climbed up on the bed to string fairy lights along the wall, then folded my favourite throw blanket over the armchair.
By the time I was finished, I was happy with the way it looked. My bed needed more cushions and I wanted extra fairy lights to string over the desk, but I could do some online shopping later. Ideally, I would hang a canopy around the bed, too, but there were no hooks in the ceiling and I wasn’t sure how I’d manage it.
My welcome pack waited on the table. I thumbed through the brochure, then downloaded the student app onto my phone.Banksia Online, its icon proclaimed. I checked my timetable and my academic contacts before a pop-up message let me know that my first week would be full of orientation activities – the discipline mixers sounded great, though I was less keen about kayaking in the nearby river – and that class started in the second week, bright and early on Monday morning.
When my stomach rumbled, I realised the sky was darkening and it was time for dinner. I took a quick shower, reapplying my scent-cancelling lotion afterwards, then pulled on my favourite outfit for luck. I sprayed myself with synthetic perfume, gathered my hair into a loose bun, then stuffed my key and phone into one of my dress pockets. Before I left my room, I swallowed my nightly dose of scent blockers.
According to the Banksia app, the dining hall was on the ground floor, along with the gym, the administration and student support offices, and a small indoor pool. I found the main staircase and followed the corridor east, checking the online map as I went. The ground floor seemed relatively public; it reminded me of an English historical house, open to visitors, with placards detailing which famous person once sat atthisornate writing desk, or thatthisprint once belonged tothatdistinguished artist. I suspected I would be dreaming of wallpaper for years to come; acres of the stuff stretched above the smooth wood panelling, interrupted only by doors with shining bronze handles.
Another corridor opened to the left and I veered down it, drawn by the sounds of chatter and cutlery. I didn’t walk far before I spotted the lettering on the wall, readingDining Hall, with an arrow pointing to an arched walkway.
It wasn’t as big as I’d expected. The hall held four long tables, each able to seat twenty or so, positioned parallel to twocentral food stations which seemed to hold salads and desserts, respectively. Beyond them, a few students queued before a serving station that looked very much like an airport cafe, trays in their hands as they chatted.
I headed towards them, offering a tentative smile to a woman at the back of the queue who caught my eye. She seemed a little older than me, possibly one of the later-year students, or perhaps someone who stayed on to undertake a prestigious Banksia PhD.
She smiled in return. ‘First year?’
‘First year, first day.’ I held out my hand. ‘I’m Rose.’
‘Marina,’ she said, shaking my fingers. ‘Welcome.’
My nose itched, but it wasn’t from her scent; with more students around, the metallic tang of scent cancellers was thick in the air. I inhaled, but caught only the myriad aromas of food, twitching my nose at the sensation. Even though I couldn’t scent Marina’s designation, she had the straight gaze and upright posture of someone used to getting their own way; in other words, she seemed like an alpha. Nevertheless, it was freeing not to know.
And even more freeing not to tell.
My instincts didn’t like it – human scent was the way we made sense of the world, the way we knew which people were for us, and which weren’t – but I loved it. Everybody here was on equal footing – in one way, at least; it would be the height of ignorance to pretend other power imbalances didn’t exist. But not having to be ruled by designations – not living every day braced for the possibility of scents that made my skin crawl or my stomach churn, orworse, the rare scents that were complementary and sent my instincts into a spin – was something I’d been dreaming about foryears. The scent-blocking tablets and cancelling sprays and lotions we used were medical grade, supplied by Banksia, and they were much better than anything you could buyover the counter. They were free, too, for me at least; no doubt the fees from paying students covered the cost many times over. If I’d had to use the same blockers and cancellers outside, I’d bankrupt myself – and my parents – in a matter of weeks.
It wasn’t just scent that was controlled here. The terms of our enrolment dictated the use of hormone stabilisers which minimised the frequency of ruts for alphas, and of heat suppressants for omegas. Banksia’s rules were strict, but they reflected the government’s laws about mandatory scent blockers in all educational institutions. With the stabilisers, suppressants, blockers, and cancellers, it was as if the Unveiling – the time when designations first began to appear a few hundred years previously, stalling our technological development and causing massive social upheaval – never happened.
‘How are you settling in so far?’
‘I’m not sure I’ve been here long enough to know,’ I admitted, then asked Marina which discipline she studied.
The Banksia House curriculum was different to other Masters programs at Australian universities. It was three years long, for a start, and all students began with a general knowledge and research skills stream before they chose their specialisation. The second year was all coursework, and the third gave students a choice between more coursework or research, the latter which was subsumable into a PhD if you were good enough to secure a place. Banksia cohorts were tiny, capped at thirty students per year, which meant that once you chose your specialisation, you were guaranteed one-on-one tutoring from experts in your field for the rest of your degree.
My suspicions about Marina turned out to be correct; she was a PhD student in the ancient history stream, the same discipline as my undergraduate degree. I tried to block out thenoise around me as she talked about her research, determined to remember every word falling from her lips.
The noise increased as more students filed into the dining hall; my stomach growled at the smell of cooking meat and roasting vegetables wafting from the kitchen. I’d signed up for the vegetarian option with some trepidation, but I needn’t have worried. A woman at the serving station gave me a healthy portion of delicious-looking zucchini pie with a huge pile of roast vegetables as a side, then pointed me towards the salads, most of which seemed to be meat-free.
Once we had our food, Marina smiled at me. ‘Would you like to sit with me? Or have you seen someone else you know?’
I wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity to make a friend, especially one who knew her way around and who was a fellow history dork. Between mouthfuls of roasted chicken, Marina told me about living at the manor – she complained about her apartment, which told me she was definitelynota scholarship student – and gushed about the gardens, recommending them for walks but advising me to stay away at nighttime, unless I wanted to see students fucking in the bushes.
I mean, I wasn’t averse to the idea, but it wasn’t what I’d come here for.
No pretty face or complementary scent is worth your future, Rosie,Chloe had said. Get your degree and get out. No distractions.
‘You seem like a beta to me,’ Marina said, studying me. I met her eyes, but didn’t answer; my designation was my secret to keep. ‘Be prepared. Some students come here for the degree; others come to find a pack. It’s simpler here: a lot of the groundwork is already done. You know you’re getting someone smart, someone driven, someone who has the potential to succeed. Some alphas here will be …’ She searched for the rightword.‘Tenacious. It’s good we don’t see too many omegas here,’ she went on. ‘They’d be bitten and bonded before census date.’
I pushed a potato around my plate, my appetite suddenly gone. I’d read the student statistics before I’d applied: ten in every hundred students were betas, and one in every hundred an omega.
‘Oh, don’t worry,’ Marina said breezily, mistaking my silence for concern. ‘Just be clear on your boundaries. And probably keep your door locked at night.’
