Page 8 of Validus Vale Academy 1
“Then why didn’t you say that?” the man tuts. He presses something else on the tablet and then lets out yet another deep sigh, like all the world is conspiring against him. “Great work, housing team. Just switch people around and expect me to accommodate.” With a groan, he pushes up from the chair.
The man has very short legs, which seem barely able to hold up his rotund body. At his full height, he is only a few inches taller than me, which is saying a lot, considering I am five feet and one inch tall. “I’m Professor Bilderblast, head of Remedial Studies for my folly,” he tells me as he waddles over to a small door next to a wide staircase. “We’re out of official rooms,” he says. “So you’ll have to take the spare.” He grimaces, then looks at me. “You’re not the complaining type, are you?”
Complain about the spare room? Why would I? As long as it has a bed, I’ll be happy as a clam. Thoughts from the baldhead in front of me start to invade my brain. The professor is considering his next move to secure the top potion prize.
POTION = Pit, pin, pot, ion, nip, not, into, point…
“Wilson?”
Whoops. I’d zoned out, hopefully for only a few seconds. I quickly pick up my bags. “Sorry, sir.”
“Come along then, hop to it.” He looks at me expectantly, and I scurry over as Professor Bilderblast opens the narrow door and heads down some steep stairs.
The stairs lead into a basement area. Storage shelves are filled with dusty boxes and various pieces of broken and discarded furniture. Within the space is a room, partitioned off from the rest of the mess. A door stands open in the plasterboard wall. Professor Bilderblast gestures me in, and I get the first look at my new home.
It’s maybe a little disappointing, if I’m honest, and definitely a scholarship girl cliche.
A simple twin bed, a wooden chair, and a tiny dresser (that is missing all but one of its drawer handles), the sum total of furnishings. The false ceiling sags with water stains, and a beige carpet, which has a nineties corporate office vibe, covers most of the floor.
Professor Bilderblast frowns. “Well now, not quite the Ritz, but you’ll manage, will you?”
I nod in agreement, deciding that accommodations are the least of my worries. “Yes, sir, no problem.”
He gives me an approving look, and I’m glad I didn’t make a fuss. “You can get bedding from laundry services,” he tells me. “They are on the back side of this building. And you’ll have to use the shared bathroom on the second floor.”
I have to climb three flights just to pee?
I mustn't complain, I remind myself; I’m here for free, after all. “Thanks,” I say, dropping my backpack on the bed. “The lady in the main building said you'd have an orientation packet for me?”
The professor grumbles again, saying something about an office and making a copy. “And pick up some uniforms from the laundry when you get your bedding. No civvies allowed, unless it’s the weekend,” Professor Bilderblast says with a finger-wag. This time, I think I see a sparkle in his eye. “You may prefer your own get-up,” he continues, eyeing my stained sweater, “but we prefer uniforms over fashion statements. Are all the kids wearing coffee these days?”
That makes me grin, and I think the small Professor can’t be too bad. He turns and waddles back to the staircase. “Ah, and Wilson, we have an all-Academy assembly in two hours. Please don’t be late, Defectivum has enough of a reputation to deal with without adding tardiness.” He puffs his way up the stairs, then disappears, leaving me alone in the basement.
I slump down onto the bed and think positive thoughts. Sure, mi casa is a little rough around the edges, but I can make it cozy, and it’s a room all of my own, with not a single square of quilting fabric, so that’s pretty wonderful.
In general, I don't mind being alone, though making a friend or two while here would be nice.
A potato-bug scurries across the floor, marching up to my foot, then roly-polying into a ball. “Are you volunteering to be my friend, little guy? If so, I promise to be a fun roommate, as long as you do the same.” The bug and I will be like rabbits in their burrow, tucked away and safe. “Can’t rest yet, though,” I tell my new bug-mate. “We've got an assembly coming up.”
I arch my aching back and force myself to stand. Only a few more hours and I’ll be able to crash.
First, though, I’d better head out laundry-ward and find myself some clothes that don’t make it look like I’ve been bathing in fucking Starbucks.
3
Dragging myself outside on sore, weary feet, I follow my nose, led by the scent of bleach and the warmth of tumble dryer air.
Turning a corner, I pass by a stretch of land encircled by high wooden fencing and razor wire. Walking towards me is a security guard, patrolling the perimeter with a vicious-looking dog on a leash. I smile at them, and both the guard and the dog snarl. Yikes. If I were my roommate, I’d be roly-polying right now.
A little further past the compound is the school laundromat. Pushing open the door, a bell rings, and I try another smile, this time at the girl working the counter. “Hi, I’m supposed to be collecting bedding, uniforms, and all that from you. I’m new.”
She’s not interested in either my smile or my attempt at small talk. I wonder what it’s like to work at the academy, surrounded by people your age who have piles of moneyandmagic. It must be dispiriting, so I can’t blame her for having a sour attitude.
Everyone on Earth comes from a magical lineage, but in most families, the spark has died out. The world is 90% fully human; the remaining 10% are witches.
“I’m Theo, by the way,” I say as she bundles a pile into a plastic tote and gets me to sign for it.
—this patronizing rich-bitch-witch being all friendly like I’m not her servant, fuck her—.
