2. Chapter Two - Strange Escort #3
Then, a few months before the move, she brought it up again.
This time, though, there was something different in her tone.
Her voice carried the quiet excitement she only had when something truly mattered.
She explained how her employers had arranged for me to attend a university here, one of those elite places where the name alone carried weight, the sort tied to old money and long-standing influence.
The sort of place where opportunities came easily to people who never had to fight for them.
I didn’t say yes right away. I let it sit with me, heavy and uncertain, turning over what it would mean to leave behind everything I had built back home.
Staying felt safe and recognizable. This felt like stepping into something I didn’t fully understand.
Still, she reassured me, explaining that it wouldn’t overwhelm me and that the workload would leave space for the dancing that kept me grounded and the online presence that felt tied so closely to who I was.
It wasn’t about forcing me into something new. It was about giving me room to grow what already felt right without asking me to become someone else entirely.
Now, standing in the pristine office with its white walls, quiet ventilation, and faint scent of fresh paper, I wasn’t so sure anymore.
The place wrapped around me as though it had been designed for a completely different sort of life, one layered with privilege and history I’d never known.
It made me feel like an outsider peering into a world built for heirs and legacies stamped in gold.
And yet, here I was.
Not because I believed I belonged, but because other people, people like Ma and the family she worked for, believed I should. I still felt suspended somewhere in the middle, testing the waters and wondering whether this path might open doors I hadn’t even known existed back home.
I drew in a slow breath and pushed the thought aside. Right or wrong, I was here now. The only thing left was to see it through.
I walked up to the long counter, which stretched across the room like a boundary between students and whatever system ran behind their screens. I leaned lightly against it, trying not to seem impatient while I waited for the woman directly in front of me to acknowledge me.
She didn’t.
Her fingers moved briskly across the keyboard, eyes fixed on her monitor. For someone sitting comfortably in a controlled office, she typed as though the fate of the free world depended on it. Minutes slipped by, and my already thin patience started wearing down even further.
Eventually, she looked up. Her expression was flat and worn, as though she’d just remembered she had to deal with another person and wasn’t particularly pleased about it.
Still, I tried to soften things. “Hey there,” I said lightly. “My name’s Ira Loshe. I was wondering if y’all had a class schedule for me yet?”
She let out a long, heavy sigh, the sort that made it clear you were an inconvenience simply by existing. I kept my expression neutral, resisting the urge to mirror it. If she stayed like this, I already knew we weren’t going to get along.
Just as I braced myself for whatever cold response was coming, something shifted.
Her eyes flicked past me for a brief second, as though she’d noticed something that changed the entire situation. When she looked back, she smiled. It wasn’t warm, but it was polished and rehearsed, as though she suddenly remembered she was being watched.
The realization sent a faint prickle along the back of my neck because I wasn’t sure I wanted to know who might be watching.
With a few quick keystrokes, she turned back to me.
“Yes, here’s your schedule,” she said, sliding freshly printed pages across the counter.
Her accent was crisp and unmistakably British, the sort that sounded like it belonged on formal calls or polished recordings.
“The room numbers are listed beside each course. Your first class is just outside this door, off to the right, down the hall, then through the door on the left. If you’ve any questions, don’t hesitate to ask. ”
I took the papers, nodding even though my thoughts were still catching up to the sudden shift in her attitude.
“There’s also an application you’ll need to sign into as a student here,” she continued smoothly, completely composed. “It will show your full timetable, room assignments, contact details for lecturers, and messaging with other students if needed. The others can help you get it sorted.”
I looked down at the pages, trying to piece together the room numbers, course titles, and times that didn’t mean much to me yet. I nodded again, slower this time. “Thank y’all,” I said, doing my best to keep the confusion out of my voice.
I wasn’t sure what unsettled me more: the difference in her temperament or the growing feeling that everyone around me understood something I didn’t.
Still, I stood there holding the schedule, the one thing that made it all real.
And just beyond the glass, the strangest man I had ever met was still waiting.