Chapter 5
The days passed, then weeks, months, years, until finally it seemed to Colin that the only home he had ever known was his narrow room in the Outer Banks Academy.
The original structure had been built in the fifties, in a style that befitted an institution with lofty ambitions.
Carolina brick was buttressed with Appalachian granite, and more of that precious stone framed the tall windows and formed an archway over the entrance.
Sojourn House, the residential hall for all the academy’s scholarship students, was a throwback to that very same era.
The interior had been remodeled so as to quadruple the number of bedrooms, sixteen over the upper two floors.
They were all single, all slightly larger than the small chamber he had known in Celeste’s home all those many nights ago.
Every four rooms shared one bath. The downstairs held a computer room and television lounge and dining room and kitchen and office and Mrs. Fitzgerald’s apartment.
Edwina Fitzgerald was British and lived by the clock.
And because she held the power to dismiss any student who did not live up to her expectations, the children who resided in Sojourn House did likewise.
They rose at seven, ate breakfast at seven-thirty, spent twenty minutes on morning chores, followed by studies, class, afternoon chores, study hall, then precisely ninety minutes of what Mrs. Fitzgerald called “downtime.” Dinner was followed by chores and a half hour of television, then study until lights out precisely at nine.
She was a fearsome lady, given to precise diction and commands she would only utter once.
The year Colin turned twelve, fourteen students lived in Sojourn House.
He had never known a student to be kicked out.
Just the same, they all lived in fear of it happening.
Though he actively despised the rules that encased and defined his daily life, he understood the reason.
Most of the kids were from families too poor to ever consider granting their child a chance to study here.
Many arrived with no sense of discipline whatsoever.
The very concept of obeying rules astonished them.
Then there were the others.
They drifted through their days in a fog of their own making.
And some had come from situations far worse than his own.
Their nightmares and their screams woke Colin at least once a week.
There was a night counselor who dozed in the office.
His name was Grant, and he wore a pristine white shirt and trousers.
He always took the stairs three at a time, reaching the frightened child in seconds.
Colin would lie in his bed staring at the dark ceiling, listening to the man’s deep rumble as he calmed away the shadows.
The next morning, no mention was ever made of nightmares or stained bedsheets or a child with deep purple bruises under their eyes. Mrs. Fitzgerald did not allow it.
That morning Colin was scheduled to miss his first class so as to meet his adviser. As usual he left the house by way of the kitchen door. Camila, the cook, was a small woman with knotted strength and a knowing gaze. She silently watched him cross the kitchen and depart.
Colin stopped at the edge of the house, where the building melded with trees separating the campus from US Highway 17. The rumbling of traffic had been part of his life for so long, he no longer even heard it. When no one was passing along the sidewalk, he stepped forward.
Outer Banks Academy resembled a small college campus. Behind the older buildings fronting Sir Tyler Drive was an oval green space, beyond which stood a trio of ultra-modern structures bearing the names of wealthy patrons.
He entered the middle building and climbed to the top floor.
His adviser’s office was the third down on the left, facing back over the central gardens.
Dr. Arnold Weinbrandt was a full-time faculty member now, handling tutorials and counseling.
He shared a narrow antechamber with one of the teachers, but that door was closed, which meant Colin could sit and prepare himself for the meeting.
Normally he let Arnold guide them through whatever process the school required.
Their meetings had become almost perfunctory in that regard.
Arnold reviewed the series of positive checks from his teachers, then offered a few words about where Colin was going next.
Then they chatted about news events Colin didn’t understand.
Sometimes they just played chess. But Arnold had specifically requested this meeting and indicated there were issues that needed to be resolved.
And then there was the other matter.
Over the past four months, Colin had been making secret plans. Elements that had nothing to do with the academy and everything to do with his own personal future. He wanted something that would mean breaking a lot of rules. He needed this. And he could not tell anyone why.
For the first time in years, he was frightened of what this meeting might hold.
The wall dividing the antechamber from Arnold’s office was paper thin, and the voices inside were very loud. Colin heard Arnold say, “This is the third time in a month you’ve left campus—”
“This isn’t a campus! It’s a prison!”
Colin instantly recognized the student’s voice.
She was one of the school’s unofficial elite, the daughter of a local business tycoon and the glamorous former second wife.
She was now being raised by mom number four.
The man’s name adorned the wall above this building’s entryway. The girl was beautiful, spoiled, and …
Colin heard another woman’s voice say, “If this behavior continues, we will have no choice but—”
“But what? Expel me?” Her laugh held a distinctly musical tone. Everything about her was both confident and unpredictable. She had most of the older guys and some of the teachers watching her every move. She was fifteen years old. “Do that and see what happens to your building fund!”
The woman said, “We have no choice but to send you to detention—”
“No! I’m not staying a second longer in this awful place than I have to!”
“Kimberly, this situation is critical to your future—”
“The name is Kimmie! And this meeting is over!”
The door slammed back and out she came. Blond hair and big-city bling and a too-short skirt and eyes that flashed on him with cold fury. “Hi there, Superfreak. Enjoy the show?”
When Colin entered the office, the woman seated beside Arnold said, “From the ridiculous to the sublime.”
“Hi, Colin.” Arnold Weinbrandt did his best to smile. “Come sit down. You know Sandrine, of course.”
Dr. Sandrine Powers, the new head of Outer Banks Academy, was a very attractive woman in her midthirties. Her own smile did not diminish the anger in her gaze. “How are you, Colin?”
“Fine.” But having her here was not good. So bad, in fact, he had to say, “I need to speak with Dr. Weinbrandt alone.”
She pretended to laugh. “I seem to be everybody’s favorite person today.”
Arnold said, “We have matters to discuss that require Sandrine’s presence.”
Colin remained standing by the doorway. “This is supposed to be our private time.”
Sandrine said, “Perhaps I should go.”
“No.” Arnold’s voice hardened. “Dr. Powers has guided your education and your life here for almost a year. She is taking time from an extremely busy day to help me with an important issue related to your future. Now close the door and come sit down.”
Resigned, Colin walked over and seated himself across from them.
Arnold’s office was shaped for conferences like this.
His desk was actually pushed over against the side wall.
The center of the room was dominated by a small oval table, just large enough for five chairs to fit around it: Arnold’s office chair and four others.
Two of these chairs were now pressed against the wall by the door.
The chair where Colin sat still felt warm from the girl.
Sandrine asked, “The word that Kimmie used when she saw you …”
“Superfreak,” Arnold said. He appeared to share Colin’s surprise that the school director did not know. “They use that a lot.”
“Who is ‘they’?”
Colin replied, “Almost everybody.”
Arnold said, “It’s how the other students refer to those living in Sojourn House.”
Sandrine’s cheeks flamed red. “Why am I only hearing about this now?”
“There’s nothing anyone can do about it.” Arnold’s irritation was evaporating. He looked more weary than anything. Almost resigned. “Anything we say would only make matters worse.”
Sandrine drew a file from her purse and slapped it down on the table. “They’d better not use that in my presence.”
Colin remembered other times when a sudden shift in his world’s axis had come because strangers had declared themselves to be on his side. He found himself relaxing as Sandrine opened the file and said, “I’ve been speaking with Dr. Braxos about you.”
Braxos was head of the math department. He wore rimless reading glasses, grey wool ties and jackets that looked scratchy. “He doesn’t like me.”
Sandrine actually smiled. “Dr. Braxos doesn’t like a lot of people.”
Arnold said, “Braxos probably feels threatened.”
“There is no ‘probably’ about it.” Sandrine turned the page. “An eleven-year-old who knows more about math than he does? The man would be happy to see a knife sticking out of Colin’s back.”
“That might be taking things a bit far.”
Colin watched the two adults, talking back and forth about his own personal nemesis on the faculty. Like he was one of them. “Braxos came here to teach gifted kids.”
“There are gifted, and then there are gifted.” Sandrine lifted her purse and fished around. “Where are my glasses?”
“Jacket pocket.” When Arnold reached over and retrieved them, Colin had the sudden impression that these two were more than simply colleagues. There was a casual intimacy to the gesture. “Here.”