Chapter Seven If there were a sympathy in choice #2
Kasem had said this too, back at Gus’s store. But students dying? That was something deeper and twisted, and with my powers unraveling, it made me question if I’d made the right decision coming here instead of leaving Virginia with Louisa.
A sharp pain cut through my forehead. I winced, stopping for a moment so I could collect myself.
Having to keep my powers at bay while holding on to my secondhand luggage and climbing up five flights of stairs wasn’t easy. It meant that half the time I was watching my footsteps, and the other half I was seeing flashbacks in my mind of Louisa digging the suitcase out of her attic.
When we reached a door at the end of a secluded hallway on the fifth floor, I eagerly dropped the suitcase.
Along the ivory-painted walls, old landscape paintings were mounted in gold frames.
The hallway was lit by a chandelier made of crystal droplets that shimmered with a soft gold light.
A single window took up the end of the hallway.
Streaks of sunlight peeked between the falling leaves of a nearby willow tree, beaming into the corridors.
“This is me,” I said. “Dorm 505.”
“Lucky number,” Vivian said quietly. “Listen, if you want some advice for doing well here, keep your head down. Mind your business. And don’t get yourself involved in any of the politics.
Okay? I can’t promise that’ll help you graduate, but it’ll at least get you through your first year. Not that it says much, coming from me.”
I pressed my student ID against the key card scanner beneath the doorknob. When I did, a light flashed green, then blue, then white. The door beeped and I pushed it open.
“That should be easy. I hate politics.”
“Oh, you say that now, but talk to me again in a week, after you rush a sorority.”
The two of us stood awkwardly in front of my door. Because my room was at the end of the hallway, all of the footsteps and other voices in the hall were farther away, almost out of reach.
“Fine,” I said, “I won’t rush.” I hadn’t been planning to anyway.
“Oh, don’t get me wrong,” Vivian said. “I’m not saying you shouldn’t join.
I’m in a sisterhood myself, you know. And do you know what our motto is?
” A small, nearly imperceptible smile formed on her lips.
She pressed her thumb against the center of her mouth, and when she spoke, she kept her hand there, unwavering as her lips parted, speaking in another language I didn’t understand.
“Hye wo nhye.”
Her words were barely a whisper, so soft that the voices in the hallway should have drowned them out.
And yet, I heard her as clearly as if her lips were mere inches from my ear, as if her voice was projecting from inside my thoughts and echoing from her mouth.
I flinched back, and as I tried to collect myself, I realized the language that she’d spoken wasn’t English or Latin.
“Akan?” I asked.
There’d been a familiarity in the tone, a heavy, poetic drawl that brought back childhood memories.
Instinctively, I yanked at the cowrie shell bracelet on my wrist, touching it briefly enough that I was able to keep from being pulled into a vision of its past. In the time since I’d had it, the visions I’d seen had been scattered: incessant memories of that night in the alleyway, flashes of figures and shadows that brought migraines and nosebleeds so painful, I’d be anchored in bed for days on end.
So, the bracelet stayed on my wrist, a danger close enough to reach, yet at bay from my powers.
“Just a phrase,” she said. “Most of the Greek life here have their mottos in Latin. But my sisterhood speaks of our mother tongue. Are you interested in joining?”
I thought of Honey, and how she’d joked about training to be part of a coven. Vivian had called her sorority a “sisterhood.” There was already a hierarchy here among the houses. Greek life was another part of Westfield’s incongruity.
“I’m good, actually,” I decided.
“A shame,” Vivian said. “But just so you know, there are more reasons to join a sorority than community or friendships.”
“Such as?” I asked, waiting.
She smiled, softly, sadly, like she wasn’t speaking to me at all but recalling something from memory. Slowly, she moved her thumb from her mouth, licking the tip of it and touching both of her ears. “Protection,” she said finally.
I suddenly wished that it wasn’t just the two of us in the hall. Below, I could hear the first-years settling into their rooms on the other floors. But it was just me and Vivian in the empty hallway, and the door to my room behind us both.
“If you change your mind about rushing,” she said, “let me know. We’re always looking for new sisters.”
Before I could refuse again, Vivian was already far enough down the hallway that she wouldn’t hear me.
It was strange. There was something about her that was comforting and made me uneasy all at once.
But she’d been right about one thing: Westfield was huge and its buildings were old.
Even the silence in the hallway was steeped in memories—memories of the students who’d lived here before me, the staff who’d cleaned up after them, and the faculty who monitored us.
There was a heaviness to everything, a cloak of history and buried secrets that seeped from every floorboard, every wall, and every surface of Poppy House.
I could feel it even as I entered my room.
Inside, there was a set of beds and two desks, each with a small lamp on the table.
Someone had already claimed one bed, and their bags covered it and the desk near the only window in the room.
Whoever my roommate was, they’d either come and placed their things there to claim their territory or paid for the unpacking services so that they could attend the tour.
With a sigh, I put my things down on the other desk in the room.
I’d only brought a few clothes, one set of sheets, and travel-size bathroom supplies.
I’d simplified everything I owned to this suitcase and book bag.
It was easier to uproot my life from one place to another that way.
It also meant I’d never feel like I was missing anything if I had to move on or leave something behind.
A recent addition to my “always bring with me” emergency item stash was gloves.
I searched through my suitcase for them.
The money was there, right where I’d stashed it at the bottom of my suitcase, but my heart sank when I realized that I hadn’t packed my gloves with it.
I’d forgotten them entirely. Heat built against my eyes, the burn of my desperation to escape these perpetual migraines and visions clawing at the back of my mind now whenever I touched things.
I pressed my eyes shut, gathering my breath and trying to calm myself.
I just needed practice. In the coming days, I could stop by the campus store and buy new gloves.
In the meantime, I’d train myself to keep from channeling the past and to hold the visions at bay.
And then, eventually, I wouldn’t need gloves at all.
I forced myself to pick up my phone and flip through my notifications.
There were six missed spam calls, one call from a clinic I’d visited to seek treatment for my migraines, one from Louisa asking me if I’d arrived okay, and an email from Westfield welcoming me for the school year.
But none of the messages were from Jojo.
He’d kept his word. Not once had he tried to reach out to me since his text. He was probably here somewhere, locked in one of the classrooms or libraries, writing papers and reading articles for the new research role. The thought of running into him made it hard to breathe.
I had so many questions about that night, and I couldn’t help the wave of unease that always settled in me when I thought of him arguing with Kasem’s bodyguard or how the bracelet had somehow ended up with him.
But I calmed myself. I was here for Kasem, to see if he had answers to fix my powers.
And if Jojo and I ran into each other, then we’d be strangers.
Just like he’d wanted. I’d find my answers from that night without him.
I slipped my phone back in my pocket and looked out the window. Half of me expected Westfield to have security scanners or locks on the window too. But it was just a regular window, easy enough to open and close without some system tracking your movement.
The tree outside it was close enough that I figured I’d be able to climb down it pretty safely. Better that than go past security and have to explain that I was exploring campus to try and find the victim of the stabbing from months ago.
Quickly, I unlocked the window and removed the mesh screen. I hid it behind my desk, hoping it wouldn’t be too noticeable. Then I grabbed the Westfield blazer from my roommate’s chair, stuck my head out of the window, and began my descent.