Bite

Part II

The next day was as miserable as Ambrose expected.

He was on edge, but he wasn't sure why. The dining hall wasn't particularly loud or quiet this morning and his classmates didn't look anymore tired than they usually were at breakfast. He felt jittery and exhausted, like he'd sprinted a mile.

"Ambrose Quinn?"

Ambrose startled, then looked up from his breakfast. One of the student supervisors stood above him, holding a piece of paper.

"The dean wants to see you."

Ambrose sighed and took the slip of paper. "Thanks."

...

"Mister Quinn, you are aware of the current reconstruction of our older dormitory halls, correct?" The dean was flitting around his desk, filing papers here and typing away on his computer there.

"Yes?" Ambrose's leg was bouncing vigorously. The dean didn't seem to notice.

"I have unfavorable news regarding our boarding agreement and the construction." The dean's continued typing and heavy voice were the only sound in the room.

"It seems as though when the available dorms were estimated, we accounted for your room as a double, and since you room alone, it was counted as an occupancy." He paused to ponder a particularly troubling paper on his desk. Ambrose's leg bounced faster.

The dean looked up to meet Ambrose's eyes. "This means next week a late transfer student will be rooming with you."

Ambrose's leg stopped bouncing.

"I have already spoken with your parents about reconsidering their requests for you to board alone, and they have agreed that a roommate would be a good experience. They feel that you have passed the point of mourning and that it is time to move forward..."

The time after that melted into a blur. Ambrose could recall the dean speaking, but not what he said. He could remember snippets of his walk to his class, and didn't really wake up until gave his late pass to his first period teacher and sat at his desk. He could feel eyes on him as he stared blankly at the board. His teacher was saying something, probably in French, but Ambrose was too preoccupied to care.

He was going to have a roommate.

He rubbed his eyes, suddenly unbearably exhausted. He thought of the return of his recurring nightmares, of how often he woke up gasping for breath, his body shaking with fear.

     He pulled up his sleeve and scribbled a note on his arm for the upcoming weekend: 'go to pharmacy to pick up more meds.'

...

Calculus was as uninteresting as ever, and it was raining. Ambrose's eyelids felt heavier with each passing moment. His head was lolling as class rolled on, and he was just on the verge of sleep when the bell rang, startling him enough to make him jump in his seat.

"You seem jumpy this morning, Ambrose." One of the lacrosse boys he played with — Shane — tapped his shoulder. Ambrose didn't respond, his head too muddy to form a response, probably due to his almost-nap.

      "Leave him, he's probably tired. Who knows what kinda stuff he gets up to in that private room of his." Another one of his teammates came up behind the first, flashing him a lecherous smile. Not so private anymore, Ambrose thought.

Shane ignored him.

     "Not all of us are like you, Martin." Ambrose returned with a yawn. He stood, stretching languidly. "Besides, I'm getting a roommate next week anyway. The dean called me out of breakfast this morning." Rubbing the sleep from his eyes still, Ambrose followed them out of the classroom and out into the hallway.

"Do you know who it is?" Shane asked, as Martin split off from them to accost some of his other friends.

"He's a transfer." Ambrose replied, avoiding Shane's worried gaze and instead focusing on Martin, who had some unfortunate underclassman in a headlock.

"And you're okay with it?" Ambrose saw Shane's dark eyes narrow out of the corner of his eye.

"I'm fine." Ambrose insisted, his voice laced with impatience.

     As they passed a window, Ambrose could see that it had gotten darker. He felt a shiver pass through him, though it wasn't particularly cold.

"So, Quinn, you excited for football season?" Martin bumped Ambrose with his shoulder to get his attention, having inserted himself aggressively back into their conversation. Shane moved to Ambrose's other side, effectively trapping him between them.

     "None of us play football. I'm pretty sure you don't even like football." Ambrose said as he bumped Martin back.

"I like the cheerleaders." Martin winked at him, making Ambrose laugh and Shane roll his eyes.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of lightning. It caught him off guard enough that the following crack of thunder made him nearly jump out of his skin. It sounded strange for thunder, and almost familiar—

"Quinn, are you okay?" Shane stopped, purposefully having moved between Ambrose and the rest of the hallway crowd.

"I get that you don't like storms, man, but you've been acting kinda weird all morning." Martin added, bumping Ambrose with his shoulder again, though gentler.

"It's fine, guys, I'm just tired. Thanks, though, really." Ambrose slung an arm around each of them and gave them both an overly-aggressive side-hug. When he let go, Martin enveloped him in a bear hug, lifted him off the ground, and spun him, which was basically his way of accepting Ambrose's excuse. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Shane's expression soften, though the anxious wrinkles between his eyebrows remained.

As they split off to go to their classes, and another crack of thunder shook the school, Ambrose felt a chill go up his spine. He hadn't been able to put his finger on it earlier, his mind still foggy with exhaustion, but now it was clear what had bothered him earlier.

The thunder had sounded like a growl.