The Bleak Beginning (Altair University #1)

4. Alex

Chapter 4

Alex

“ W hat do you think, Dolores?”

I take a step back from the mirror, my eyes scanning over the dark blazer that fits snugly over my shoulders and waist. The bold black and white stripes of my collared shirt peek out from under the blazer, perfectly matching the solid pleated skirt that falls above my knee.

“It is kind of drab, huh?” I say, speaking for my mute snake plant in the corner.

Dolores’s tall, green leaves stretch toward the ceiling, each one spotted with vibrant yellow markings like a painting. Its thin leaves are slightly twisted, as if reaching out for something.

I love her, and she’s the best thing that’s come with this room.

The numerous books on the desk seem to be taunting me for my bag being stolen last night—thanks again, Legacies. I reach for the lone textbook I need; its leather-covered and looks brand new. Its thick spine stands out amongst the smaller, thinner books lying next to it.

My nose scrunches as I tuck the heavy book under my arm. I glance down at my class schedule, the words Academia Seminar: Exploring the Roots of Altair typed in bold letters next to a building and classroom number.

I silently thank the book gods for making this my only morning class, because this text could seriously benefit from shedding a few extra pages. My arms are going to be jacked if I have to carry this thing around the rest of the semester.

Checking the time, I mentally scold myself and reach for the printed map of the campus. I only have ten minutes to find the building and classroom.

I dash out the door and down the steps to prove Chancellor Maxwell wrong. I can explore campus by running through it.

The scent of freshly cooked breakfast wafts through the air as a group of students exit the dining hall. The delightful smell of pastries and coffee make my stomach growl even louder.

“We have no time,” I inform my belly, upset about it too.

At least I now know with certainty where one building is, so Chancellor Maxwell can suck it. The dining hall is just past the dorms, but not directly in the center of campus.

My feet hit the pavement with urgency, moving faster and faster as I weave through the crowded grounds. Student’s faces blur as I pass them, their expressions ranging from curious to annoyed as they notice me.

Like hidden snakes, comments slither through the crowd, followed by muffled giggles that hang in the air like a lingering memory of the previous night. They trail behind me, whispering and teasing, a constant presence I can’t escape.

“Think she should try out for mud wrestling?”

“The mud was an improvement.”

“Dang, that girl is in a hurry to get back to her pen.”

“She looks better today, not great, but at least not like a swamp monster.”

With each step, the cobblestones beneath my feet feel harder, but I push through the discomfort to reach my destination, double checking the building before I head inside and away from the throng of insults and hushed snickers.

How these people can be in college and still act like middle schoolers is beyond me.

The clock on the wall reads 7:59 am. The hallway is empty, the closed doorways lining the walls standing long and silent.

I cross my fingers, hoping the room number is easy to find…or the professor is late. Bonus, if I could slip in the back without being noticed.

I reach the room easily, and as I sit down in the front row, the legs of my chair scrape against the floor, creating a high-pitched squeak. Awesome. As if everyone wasn’t staring at me before, I had to take the last spot available, dead center in the front of the room.

Altair keeps getting better and better.

This school has at least one thing going for it, they respected their architecture. The classroom’s circular layout is reminiscent of a cathedral, with oversized glass windows allowing a perfect view of the outside world, and long desks that seem to stretch into infinity. Lab equipment and beakers stood at attention in perfect rows, awaiting the next experiment.

I double check my class schedule and confirm I’m in the correct room.

The doors located at the front of the domed glass atrium open as Professor O’Donnelly enters and sets her things down on the podium.

“Thank you for waiting, students. Additionally, I wanted to thank each of you for your willingness to adapt,” O’Donnelly says to the room.

I guess the envelope taped to my door this morning with my updated schedule now made sense. The knock that followed that made me nearly tumble from my bed in surprise, was unnecessary though.

“We will be using the science lab for the next week,” she explains. “The assembly hall is typically used for this class, but it is currently under extensive cleaning.

“It would seem thick layers of grime have stained the carpet from yesterday’s heavy rain .” O’Donnelly’s eyes aim in my direction. “I might suggest an umbrella in the future, students. We receive our fair share of storms and inclement weather here at Altair.”

A new round of snickers erupts in the room, and it feels like I’ve been in this exact situation before. Oh, wait. Just yesterday, in fact.

Maybe if I act like I’m about to faint, they’ll have to remove me from the room, and I can skip out on the rest of the term…

“Freshman, Freshman.” O’Donnelly’s hands clap together with a stiff, robotic motion. Her expression is stern and unamused, her lips pressed into a straight line as she gets everyone’s attention back.

Wait, Freshman? I’m in my third year; I’m a Junior.

I have to figure out a way to get out of this class. There’s no way I’m going to spend all my time with underclassmen. Something must have gone wrong with my schedule. But hadn’t Maxwell assured me she personally took care of it?

“Students, consider yourselves lucky as we will have a special guest joining us this semester. A Legacy has generously offered to assist us,” Professor O’Donnelly announces.

I’ll need to go back to my room and double check my schedule to make sure that I didn’t accidentally end up in this class. If Maxwell intentionally put me here, we were going to have a serious conversation. What was this seminar even about again? I glance at the chalkboard behind O’Donnelly’s head. Written in white chalk was Exploring the Roots of Altair .

Great, so I was in a class on the history of this school. Wasn’t just being a student here enough?

“Let’s all give a warm welcome to our assistant for this quarter, Mr. Sylvester Oliveri.” The announcement interrupts my thoughts and brings my attention back to the present moment.

My eyes widen in disbelief, and I feel like they might pop out of my head. What did she just say? The noise level in the room increases, but I can hardly hear it over the sound of my own shock. I turn to look at the stage and see Sylvester making his way to the podium with a smug expression on his face.

“Thank you, everyone,” Sylvester says, effortlessly charming the entire room before gesturing for them to quiet down. The girl sitting next to me lets out a dreamy sigh and gazes at him with adoration in her eyes.

I press my lips together tightly, letting out a frustrated huff of air.

“I am eager to help teach the rich history of our esteemed institution. Together, I believe we will all gain valuable knowledge, especially those of you who may need more support.”

I must have made a sound, because Professor O’Donnelly’s voice suddenly calls out to me.

“Do you have something to add, Alexandra?” Her tone is sharp and direct.

“Alex,” I correct, and no, I didn’t.

“Please, enlighten us all on why Mr. Oliveri’s introduction and the start of our lesson took a backseat to your sighs,” O’Donnelly insists, instead of dropping the conversation.

A slow smile creeps across Sylvester’s face, while mine is completely blank.

Fine.

The air in this classroom already tasted stale and old, like chewing on a piece of gum that had lost its flavor, so what did I have to lose anyway?

“I’d rather eat a bowl of nails than endure one of Mr. Oliveri’s boring lectures on this place.”

I can feel the shocked stares of my fellow students, but I refuse to look at them. My focus is solely on the adversary in front of me—this is between us alone.

A dark shadow crosses over his face. His eyes are cold and revealing. He despises me just as much as I do him and the other Legacies.

Sylvester’s lips curl into a smirk. “Well, Alexandra ,” he says, emphasizing my full name just to annoy me. “I’m sorry you find the history of our esteemed institution so…unpalatable. Perhaps we can arrange for that bowl of nails to be delivered to your dorm room?”

A few nervous giggles ripple through the class. I grip the edge of the desk, willing myself not to react.

“That won’t be necessary,” Professor O’Donnelly interjects, her voice strained. “Well, Alexandra—”

“Alex,” I interject again, my eyes still fixed on Sylvester.

“Alex,” O’Donnelly corrects herself. “I suggest you reconsider your attitude. This course is mandatory for all students, regardless of their year or personal preferences. Now, if we may continue without further interruptions…”

I sink lower in my seat, seething with anger, but knowing I’ve already pushed my luck. Sylvester turns back to the class, that infuriating smile plastered across his face once more.

“As I was saying,” he continues smoothly, “the history of Altair University is rich with tradition and legacy. For centuries, some of the most influential families in the country have been allowed to attend here to learn and grow into the leaders of tomorrow.”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Every word drips with self-importance and elitism.

Sylvester suddenly turns his attention back to me. “Do you have something to add, mudslide?” Laughter fills the room, breaking my composure.

“Yeah, I think this place is full of self-important jerks who wouldn’t know real leadership if it bit them on their privileged asses,” I snap, standing abruptly. My chair scrapes loudly against the floor, the sound echoing in the sudden silence that falls over the room.

Sylvester’s smirk widens, his eyes glinting with malicious amusement. “Ah, the eloquence of a common nobody. How…refreshing.”

Professor O’Donnelly stiffens, her face red with fury. “That’s enough!” She points around the room. “Since you seem to have all the answers about our past and don’t see the value in this class, tell me when Altair was first established.”

I had no clue. “1922?”

“Wrong,” she says flatly. “What are Altair University’s official school colors?”

I knew this one. “Black and white.”

“Incorrect,” she says in a monotone voice. “Can you name the founding fundamentals that Altair was built upon?”

My mind scrambles for an answer, but she beats me to it.

“Success, prosperity, pilgrimage, and independence.” She directs her sharp remarks at Sylvester. “These four principles are rooted in what?”

“The Altair Games,” he responds without hesitating. “You need the first three to access the fourth,” he adds, making my jaw clench in frustration.

She nods, looking pleased, while I feel my insides churn with annoyance. A hint of a grin forms, barely perceptible at the corners of Sylvester’s mouth.

I feel my face burning with humiliation as I slump back into my seat. The room seems to spin around me, the faces of my classmates blurring into a sea of judgment.

But Professor O’Donnelly isn’t done. She turns to face the class, her voice dripping with false sincerity. “You see, class, this is why it’s so important to understand our history. Without the knowledge of where we come from, how can we hope to shape our future?”

I bite my tongue, tasting blood. The urge to lash out again is overwhelming, but I force myself to remain silent.

The tone of her voice is just as sharp and definitive as the way her nose points up towards me. “I believe additional assistance outside of regular class time would greatly benefit you, Alex. Maybe Mr. Oliveri could provide some one-on-one tutoring.”

Sylvester’s cocky smile slowly fades, and it’s the only good thing that has happened in this class so far.

“I’d be delighted to help,” Sylvester replies, his voice oozing with insincerity. “Perhaps we could start with the basics, like how to sit still and pay attention.”

“That won’t be necessary,” I grit out through clenched teeth, ignoring the dig. “I’m sure I can manage on my own.”

Professor O’Donnelly raises an eyebrow. “I’m afraid this isn’t optional. If you are not determined to learn about Altair's past, you will need to allocate extra time beyond class until I am convinced of your dedication to this course. How does Thursdays at eight work for both of you?”

I open my mouth to protest, but Sylvester beats me to it. “Thursdays at eight would be perfect, Professor. I look forward to our sessions,” he says, his tone laced with false charm.

The girl next to me mutters, “Lucky bitch.” And just like that, I know humanity’s hope for the future is doomed.

The moon casts its pale light over the campus, my shadow slicing through the darkness. The dock is lit up by soft orange lights that run along its edges, their warm glow reflecting off the peaceful waters below.

The cool night air carries a blend of pine and saltwater scents, invigorating my senses as I inch closer to the edge.

The long pole juts out from the water like a forgotten monument. Its wood is aged and rugged, a sturdy structure built to withstand time. At the top rests an arrow, securely attached to my bag. In the moonlight, its tip shimmers above the surface of the water.

It couldn’t be that bad, right?

I cautiously slip off my shoe and dip a hesitant toe in the water. There’s no way it’s as bad as I’m imagining…

But as soon as the tip of my digit touches the surface, I recoil in shock, letting out a sharp gasp. The calmness of the water is immediately shattered by the intense cold that feels like little needles piercing my skin.

I wrap my jacket tightly around me and direct a mental curse toward each of the Legacy boys for getting me into this situation in the first place. Another wave of panic washes over me.

The only thing I truly care about retrieving is my logbook for recording information on my plants; everything else can be replaced. Plus, since Chancellor Maxwell took my phone, I have no need for anything else inside it.

Standing on the dock, the water below appears to beckon me toward it. I clench my shaking hands and blink away the tears that threaten to fall. I refuse to give those Legacies any more power over me, so I push back against their influence in this one small way. They don’t deserve any of my tears.

My breath is heavy and hot as I trudge back down the dock. I can’t bring myself to do it, not tonight. Every muscle in my body feels tense and constricted, weighed down by the weight of disappointment. A knot forms in my stomach, a physical manifestation of my failure.

My shoulders slump as I trudge away from my goal, my head hanging low. Defeat leaves a heavy and sour taste in my mouth. If I want to have any chance of retrieving my bag, I need to learn how to swim. But where can I do that? A pool seems like the most logical option. There has to be one somewhere in this place, with all this water around. I could sneak in and teach myself the basics. At the very least, I need to learn how to stay afloat.

The sound of a twig snapping breaks through my thoughts. I quickly scan my surroundings.

“Alex!” Sutton says, letting out a sigh of relief, spotting me. “Can you give me a hand?” Her arms are filled with large sheets of paper, covered in bright red paint. Her curly hair is messy under her headband. She looks at me with pleading eyes as I stand there, unmoving.

I could swear I’d caught a whiff of cigarette smoke moments ago.

“Uhhh… a…little help…” she pleads, shuffling her stance. Her arms continue to strain under the weight, threatening to spill the colorful contents onto the ground.

“I got it,” I say. The papers rustle and crinkle as Sutton shifts her grip, handing over an armful.

“Thanks.” She sighs. “You have no idea how far I would’ve had to carry these if I hadn’t spotted you. Why are you out so late anyway?” she asks as I follow in step beside her.

“Oh, you know, just out for a late-night stroll,” I say with a forced smile, adjusting my grip on the papers. “Needed to clear my head.”

Sutton raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “At midnight? In what your wearing?”

I glance down at my black hoodie and shorts, realizing how ridiculous I must look. Admittedly, it wasn’t the best option for swimming. But on a deeper level, I knew I had no intention of entering the water tonight.

Sighing, I decide to give Sutton at least part of the truth. “Okay, fine. The Legacies took my bag and hung it from a pole over the water. I was trying to get it back, but…”

I trail off, embarrassed to admit my inability to swim.

Sutton’s eyes widen. “Those boys must really have it out for you, huh?”

“You could say that,” I agree.

“It’s probably because of the Altair Games,” she admits with a glance. “The Legacies don’t want you on their team.”

“Well, they don’t have to worry about that,” I say immediately. “I’d rather eat dirt than join them.”

Sutton chuckles, her papers rustling together against her chest. “I don’t blame you. Sometimes this place can be a lot.”

We round the corner outside of the art building, the smell of turpentine and oil paints wafting through the air.

“So what exactly are the Altair Games?” I ask, curiosity getting the better of me. “Some kind of secret society thing?”

Sutton hesitates, glancing around as if checking for eavesdroppers. “It’s…complicated. Let’s just say it’s a competition that’s been going on for generations. The stakes are high, and the Legacies take it very seriously.”

My mouth twists in disapproval. “Well, count me out. I have zero interest in joining whatever it is.”

Sutton chuckles, shaking her head as we continue to walk. “It’s not about whether you want to join or not. It’s about what you represent.”

My brow furrows, struggling to balance the papers under my arm. “What I represent? I’m just trying to get through the school year without drowning in homework.” Or, you know, actual water. But that part didn’t seem relevant.

“Exactly,” Sutton said, her voice taking on a conspiratorial tone. “You’re new here, and you’re different. The Legacies, they’re used to things being done a certain way. They’re used to being on top. But you? You’re an unknown factor.”

“Unknown how?” I ask hesitantly as she lets us inside the building.

“Do you really not know what you are?” she questions. “Did you not hear how Chancellor Maxwell praised you the other night at the assembly?”

I had been a little preoccupied to give her my attention at the time.

She chews on her lip a moment before she tugs it from her teeth. “You live in Prescott dormitory, right?”

“Yeah, so?”

“Sooo…do you think that’s a coincidence since you have the same name?”

“I mean, I thought it was a little strange, but nothing to make a fuss over,” I admit.

“Alex.” She tugs me to a stop and our papers crumple together. “You’re a Legacy too. That’s why they don’t like you and want you gone. Each founding family has a building named after them.”

My entire body goes numb. “What are you talking about?” I question, unable to believe what I’m hearing. The idea of being one of them feels completely foreign to me.

She leans in closer, her eyes darting around nervously. “It means your family has a history here. A powerful one. And not everyone is happy about that. Mostly them.” She gives me a sympathetic look. “And the rest of the students don’t want to get on their bad sides, so they follow along.”

A shiver races up my back as I remember the odd looks I’ve been given all day, the whispered conversations that stop when I enter a room. The not-so-hushed insults.

I shake my head, trying to process this information. “But my parents never mentioned anything about—”

“Not even your dad? After what he did?” she interrupts. “Maybe he was trying to protect you,” she decides finally.

We took a left down the hallway, the art building dimly lit this late at night. “So, what, they’re threatened by me because I’m not part of their little club?”

Sutton nods. “That could be part of it…but mostly it’s because you already are.” She tilts her head back in forth, as if in debate. “I mean, technically.”

Technically?

“You are a Prescott by birth. A Legacy, the same as the Ashbournes, Oliveris, and Whitlocks.”

This was all so ridiculous. I wasn’t a Legacy. I didn’t want the title.

“Look, Alex, Altair isn’t just about getting good grades or fitting in. There are forces at work here that go back generations.”

This has my steps halting. Forces at work?

“What do you mean?”

“I mean your family name, as well as the other Legacies, carries weight. Carries power. People outside this university are afraid of them. And with good reason.”

My mind races, trying to process this information. The weight of generations, the power of names—it all sounds so ominous.

“Who’s afraid? And why?” I ask, throat bobbing.

Suttons eyes go wide. “Corporations. Governments. Anyone with something to hide or protect. Altair’s network is vast and influential. Your classmates? In a decade or two, they’ll be running Fortune 500 companies, heading up intelligence agencies, shaping global policy.”

I shake my head in disbelief. “But we’re just students. How can anyone’s family have that kind of reach?”

She chuckles darkly. “Do you not understand how desperate parents are to get their children enrolled here? Altair basically sets them up for life, if they can get in.”

I toss down the papers I carried in the supply closet. Red paint had somehow stained my fingers while I was carrying the rolls, but I managed to wipe a good portion of it off onto my hoodie.

“And you, Alex,” she says, finishing her thought from earlier. “Whether you choose to believe it or not, you are a Legacy too. You carry weight. Power. Students here would literally kill to be in your position right now.”

My mouth presses into a thin line. “I’m pretty sure no one wants to be me right now.”

Sutton heaves a dramatic sigh. “Okay maybe not, right, right now. But you know what I mean.”

No, actually I didn’t. How could I possibly understand any of this? It was all so overwhelming, so far removed from the life I thought I knew.

“Look,” she says, her voice softening. “I know this is a lot to take in. But you need to be smart. The other Legacies, they see you as a threat. You’re an outsider with insider status. That makes you dangerous in their eyes.”

I lean against the wall, suddenly feeling dizzy. “But I don’t want any of this. I just want to get through school and—”

“It doesn’t matter what you want,” Sutton interrupts. “You’re part of this now, whether you like it or not. The sooner you accept that, the better equipped you’ll be to handle what’s coming.”

“What’s coming?” I ask, confused. Hadn’t I already been put through enough?

Sutton’s eyes dart up to my face before quickly looking away. “The games, of course.”

Questions swirl in my head. Was I truly a Legacy? And why had my father never mentioned it before? Sutton had made it seem as though we held great importance and influence in the world. Money. Power. It was hard to believe, considering I grew up in a modest home that was clean, but nothing special. It certainly wasn’t the grand estate my last name seemed to imply. But then again, maybe that’s why my dorm room here felt like a palace when I arrived. There were so many questions without answers, and thinking about them too much made my head throb.

“So what were you doing tonight?” I ask Sutton as we walk back across campus, hoping to take my thoughts away from the chaos in my mind. “A late-night art session?”

“We were working on an art project,” she replies. “We got so caught up in it that we lost track of time completely.”

We?

A pang of envy washes over me. It must be wonderful to have friends who share the same passions. The closest thing I had was my sister Clara, but even she would start to lose interest whenever I talked about my love of plants for too long.

I kick a loose pebble. “Can you tell me about it?”

Sutton wraps her arms around herself, whether from the chill or discomfort, it’s hard to tell. “It’s just a project.”

“Are you one of those artists that doesn’t allow anyone to see their work before it’s finished?” My grin is playful.

She gives a noncommittal shrug and avoids making eye contact with me. “You know how it is. Sometimes ideas come to us at the most unexpected moments.”

Sutton’s evasiveness only piques my curiosity further. I’m about to press her for more details when she abruptly changes the subject.

“I’m going to head to the dining hall for a late-night snack. Want to come?” she asks, her tone suddenly brisk.

I shake my head. “Nah, I promised my roommate We’d have a girl’s night in.”

The lines around her mouth tug, not sure what I mean but going along with it anyway. “Alright. I’ll catch you later then.”

As we begin to go our separate ways, her toward the dining hall and me toward my dorm building, she suddenly calls out my name. I turn back to face her.

“Make sure you stay alert when you’re near the Legacies.”

“Why? Are they dangerous?”

Sutton lets out a humorless laugh. “Dangerous? Not most days. But they’re not your friends, Alex. Remember that.”

I nod slowly, trying to process her warning. As I watch her disappear into the darkness, her words echo in my mind. The Legacies aren’t my friends. But then again, who is? I was all alone here at Altair.

Back in my dorm room, I find my roommate Dolores sprawled out by the window, content in her pot.

I sigh, shaking my head. “I think we’ve gotten ourselves into something way over our heads,” I mutter down at her, grabbing the curtain to close it.

The warm light from a nearby window spills into my room, casting an eerie glow. I freeze as my eyes focus on a figure in the window of the dorm next to mine. A sudden realization about the source of the light hits me like a gust of wind, leaving me clinging to the curtains.

Bishop is completely shirtless across from me in his room.

My gaze drops, unable to resist the temptation of taking in his half-naked physique. Every inch of him is sculpted and chiseled, from his defined arms that flex with each movement to his taut abs that peek out from beneath the waistband of his sweatpants. The sight is like a masterpiece, a work of art crafted by the gods themselves.

A defiant warmth crawls across my skin, causing me to almost jump out of my own flesh. Suddenly, he tilts his head down and to the left, his jaw flexing with strength and determination. I can't tear my eyes away from him, even as a tingling sensation spreads through my body like tiny electric shocks across my skin.

All I want to do is look away, close the curtains and block out his piercing stare and enticing body, but I feel frozen in place. His too-handsome face breaks into a slow, deliberate smirk and I'm unable to move. His chiseled features twist into a calculated grin and I know he’s caught me checking him out, yet I still can't look away.

It's as though I'm trapped in a trance, only breaking free when he suddenly pulls the curtain closed, blocking me from his cruel expression that guarantees a never-ending cycle of torment and agony.

My heart thumps as I stumble back from the window, nearly knocking over Dolores in my haste. I catch her pot just in time, steadying her. My hands shake as I draw my own curtains closed, blocking out Bishop’s building.

I collapse onto my bed, my face hot and my thoughts spinning around in my head. Between Sutton’s cryptic warnings and my unsettling reaction to Bishop just now, I feel like I’ve stepped into some kind of twisted game. And apparently, I’m a player whether I want to be or not.

“What am I going to do, Dolores?” I whisper to my leafy roommate. As expected, she offers no advice, just stays quietly nestled in her corner.

I really wish Altair would stop with the unexpected surprises. But something deep down tells me that this is only the beginning.