~Ali~
I am grateful that on my first morning at University I wake up with somebody to talk to, even if it is just light, inconsequential chatter as we walk out of the door. It feels like the entire room dynamic has flipped one hundred and eighty degrees and I would be lying if I said I did not enjoy the company.
By midday I am getting to grips with my timetable and when third period rolls around, I take my pick of the hall for seating, sliding into one of the empty middle benches in the Political History lecture theatre. I place my freshly bought coffee on the table space in front of me, sliding the lid half off to let the coils of hot steam escape. I pull out a pad of paper and a pen, slowly preparing myself as I wait for everybody else to show up.
A few other students slowly file in followed by the professor some minutes later. She prepares herself at the front desk, setting up the projector and wiping down the three-panelled whiteboard.
A bag is thrown down beside me, bouncing off of the cushioned seating and rolling onto the floor. I start at the unexpected noise and knock my coffee in surprise causing a small dribble to slosh out of the side. Will slides in next to me, stretching out his long legs into the aisle. Two more familiar faces appear as Amber and Tami slide into the spaces on the other side of me. We chat between the four of us about anything that comes to our minds, talking comfortably like we have known each other for longer than just twenty four hours.
Once the clock reaches a few minutes after one o'clock, the lecturer begins her lesson and Will pulls out a laptop, tapping away at the keys when necessary, his long, tapered fingers dancing across the lit-up board. I remind myself to keep my eyes on the presentation at the front.
I have another small groups session after my lecture and a meeting with my tutor in the afternoon - a person who's role is to support and guide me through my first year. However, after meeting him I would have guessed that a lemon has better social engagement than that man. It is no secret that I do not foresee gaining much academic support or emotional comfort from him over the course of the year.
When my commitments are over for the day, I take no time in retiring to my bunk. I sit cross legged on the mattress, leaning against the uncomfortable bars of the headboard. Jaz emerges from the kitchen with what looks to be a small book in her hand and a coffee in the other, also having finished early today.
"There you are! Hey, I rented out this movie," she announces happily, waving not a book but a film in the air with Scary Movie printed across the top in bold, red letters. "Do you want to watch it with me and make some popcorn? I heard it is really funny but of course you don't have to if it is not your kind of thing." A sense of accomplishment fills me as I feel I achieved the impossible; I made Jaz not hate me! I cannot help my silly smile as I chirp back my eager response.
"Is that microwave popcorn?" I wonder, considering the lack of a microwave in our room.
"Don't worry, I sorted us out!" Jaz does not turn to face me as she wrestles the movie into the player. I go to put my phone on charge, plugging it into the short charging cable on the bedside table and that is when I see it; something very out of place on my inexpensive side of the room - a small black, velvet box carefully arranged under the small side lamp beside my reading book. Maybe it is not a big deal to everyone else but I know I do not own anything fancy enough to warrant a plush box, so it takes me a moment to register its placement there.
I study the box curiously and hold it carefully in my hands, massaging the buttery velvet casing.
"Jaz, I think you left this on my bedside table by accident," I say, holding out the closed box.
"That is not mine. Velvet boxes aren't really my thing." She presses several random buttons on the player until a whirring starts and the video begins to play on the small, pixelated screen. I turn back to my bedside table and a folded note I had not noticed lies tucked under my book, the corner of the white paper peeking out of the bottom.
I suspiciously stare at the creased page with a churning mixture of curiosity and apprehension. Gingerly, I unfold the note to find it simply reads:
I will always guide you in the right direction. -E.
"Jaaaaz!" I screech despite her being less than five paces from me. She jumps at my shrilling voice and rushes to my side. I hand the note over with shaky hands for her to read and her eyes devour each pen stroke written in a fine, curled calligraphy not commonly seen today.
"My first thought it stalker," I say even though I know it is a ridiculous suggestion.
"Unlikely since it is only your second day," she replies and turns the plain paper over in her hands.
"Maybe someone left it in the wrong room?"
"Possible, but again, unlikely. We don't tend to switch rooms all that often."
"Um, so what do we do?"
"I guess we open it."
Although the situation warrants some element of caution, curiosity wins and I snap the lid open after only a moments hesitation. Hooked onto a thin silver chain, a black feather gleams softly in the afternoon light, its body cradled softly in the dark folds of the box. The necklace is beautiful and the feather is carved with such delicacy that I have to touch the cool metal to make sure it was not plucked straight from a raven's wing. I carefully pull the chain from the box and tangle the chain between my fingers so the pendant hangs in front of my face, shining specks of onyx across my hand.
So enamoured with the gift, I do not realise Jaz's incessant shifting on her feet, stealing furtive glances around the corners of the room. She seems to come to a conclusion that only she can understand as her expression - which is fixed eerily on the far corner - shifts from circumspect to faintly understanding in a heartbeat. When she catches me looking, she tries to iron out her visage to resemble something neutral but an unforgiving glint swims in the shadows of her features.
"What should I do with it? It looks awfully expensive," I observe, tracing the gentle curve of the quill and the minute veins woven through each vane.
"I am sure whoever left this for you wants you to have it. Here, let me help you put it on." Her sudden change of attitude throws me into silence as she unhooks the chain from my hands and closes the small, polished clasp behind my neck. I gather my hair and pull it free from the chain, looking down at the small pendent resting comfortably against my skin.
"Beautiful. Now let's make some popcorn!" She exclaims dismissively, bouncing off to the kitchen as if she does not want to worry herself with the unknown gift. I tuck the necklace under my shirt and follow Jaz into the kitchen area, telling myself I should forget about it, too.
"How did you even get a microwave? I didn't think the school supplies things like that." I lift myself onto the bench space and knock my legs against the cupboards.
"You're right, the school doesn't. I know someone who can get me practically anything, even a microwave," she says with an aloof smirk. I daren't ask more about the matter before I reveal something I do not want to know.
"Since when did microwaves become contraband, anyway?" I tease, looking at the decrepit machine plugged into the wall.
"Since the school deemed its students were too incompetent to use it." She snorts.
"Even dummies can use microwaves!" I muse and turn the microwave setting onto its strongest power, hoping that will coax our snack into popping faster.
Jaz throws in two microwave packets of buttery popcorn onto the rotating glass table and I flick the door shut, listening to the machine whirr and rasp. As the popcorn crackles away, the first kernels exploding into a salty snack, we take turns going to the bathroom before the movie starts. I come out of the bathroom, fanning my damp but fragrant hands in the air when a large bang erupts from the kitchen.
I throw myself towards the kitchen where the creamy microwave is glowing with a small flame from its back engine, charcoal smoke seeping out of the machine. Jaz jumps from the couch, staring in disbelief for a moment, unsure of what to do.
"Smother it! Smother it with a damp tea-towel!" I bark at Jaz. My voice seems to jolt her into action and we turn the drawers inside out, spoons and forks puddling into a glinting mess. Jaz wrestles with a tea-towel that has snagged at the back of the drawer and I rush over to tug on it with her. It frees with a distant rip and as I flick on the tap, the flames multiply, gently curling higher into the air.
The smoke detectors begin a panicked scream, wailing from the ceilings and the sprinkler system is triggered in response, a fine sheet of water spraying across every room in this building. The waterworks slowly win the battle against the smoke and fire as the flames retreat until all that is left is a half melted microwave.
A stampede of feet echo in the hallways, shaking the thin walls as everybody runs past in a hurry. Murmurs, shrieks and gasps flood the hall and I grip Jaz's arm, pulling her out the room.
"No!" She yells, pulling back out of my reach. "We have to get rid of the evidence, I can't be expelled again!" She shouts, throwing the towel over the blackened machine and scooping it off the counter. I lunge forwards and pull the plug out of the wall, wondering where to go from here.
"The window," Jaz grunts, nodding her chin to the half-open window. "Open the window." I throw the window open without hesitation and stumble out of the way as Jaz comes barrelling through with the disfigured microwave in her grasp. She groans and throws the entire machine out of the fourth floor window. We stick our heads outside, the cool breeze chilling my wet skin, and watch it disappear into a tall bush on the ground, the distant cracking audible over the shouting and sirens.
The entire school is funnelled into a courtyard, a prerecorded electronic voice dictating the exits for each building. The sun disappears behind the buildings as we file outside turning the warm afternoon air cool and fresh. Everyone stands wet and shivering on the grass, some barefoot and in pyjamas, others dressed ready for the nightlife with mascara streaking down their cheeks.
Jaz and I stand in the middle of the courtyard surrounded by the disaster we created. I turn to her but her smothered laugh sends me into giggles. Shocked at my outward response I pause, embarrassed, but I only seem to break Jaz's restraints and she barks out in laughter with me. We are thrown questioning side glances from our pale-faced peers, which only spurs our hysteria.
Everybody is kept outside for an excruciating amount of time and it does not take long for the cold to work its way into our damp clothes, sedating our amusement enough to grant us the composure to stand silently with a faux look of concern.
A band of fire-trained staff enter the building, picking their way through each room and I can only pray that there is no smoke scarring or bench damage that would give us away. About an hour later we are told they are unsure about what triggered the fire system and that they will look into any defects that may have occurred. I sigh in response to the announcement yelled across the courtyard and Jaz and I exchange a look of relief.
But I soon realised that the nights sleep I had anticipated would not happen when I kneel onto my bed and the mattress squelches under my hands. Water drips down the bars and onto Jaz's bed below.
We are forced to fish out Jaz's yoga mat and the spare pillows and blankets in the cupboard to form a make-shift sleeping area on the floor. Despite the downgrade in sleeping arrangements, the entire situation is unusually exciting - a great way to wake up on the morning of my birthday.