Page 6 of The Lies We Steal

Whether it was on purpose, or by accident, the architects of the school had made this place feel miles and miles from any real type of civilization. It was like its own world beyond the trees built on somber wetland, that made me queasy. Ya know, like after you eat gas station sushi?

“Your thing is freaking me out again with its beady red eyes.” Thomas says, as he pulls up to the drop off spot for the dorms.

I peep down at the small animal in my hands, her pure white fur soft underneath my fingers and her little nose stuck up in the air smelling her surroundings.

“Her name is Ada and she is not a thing. She is an albino dumbo rat. If you call her a thing again, she’s gonna bite you.” I warn, even though I know and so does Ada, she wouldn’t harm a fly.

When my dad let me pick out a pet when I was young, I chose a rat. Not because I was trying to be different or outside of the box, but because there was just something über cool about rats. I’d had three, each of them living to their expected life span of two-ish years before they died. I waited a few months to mourn, cried every time, and then I started looking for a new companion.

Ada and I have been going strong for about a year now.

“Do you need help gathering your bags to your room? Or do you think you can manage?” He asks from the driver seat.

I look out at the dorm, Iruine District, where all the lowerclassmen stayed. A circular water fountain rested in the center, a large saint I believe doubling as a water spit. The cracked marble made me feel he’d crumble at any second.

Crows squawked from above, their black wings darting through the haze. My eyes trying to count the number of gargoyles that stood guard on the top of the pedestals and pilings.

I wave him off, “I can handle it. Thanks though.” I open the door, tucking Ada into my hoodie pocket where she stays most of the time when she isn’t in her cage.

I automatically wish I had thrown on a pair of jeans instead of these athletic shorts, I’m not used to the cold. Texas didn’t have cold weather, or this much fog.

Walking to the trunk of the car, I lift it up, placing my book bag on my shoulders, grabbing my suitcase.

A cold gust of wind runs across my back, like something had ran across my back. I turned my head slightly, gazing over at the buildings expecting to see someone standing there. Expecting to see someone staring in my direction, but I was only met with students shuffling across school grounds, lugging their suitcases inside.

“You alright?” Thomas asks beside me.

“Yeah,” I shake my head, smiling, “I’m good.”

“This is going to be really great for you. I just have this feeling.” He rubs his hands together, “Here is your dorm key and lunch card. If you need anything you have my number, my apartment is off campus in town, but it’s a short drive so don’t hesitate to ask.” He wraps an arm around my shoulder, giving me the most awkward side hug in history.

“Thank you, Uncle T.”

Affection wasn’t something I was huge on to begin with. You can’t be poor and soft.

I shoulda been nervous walking towards a school that makes Harvard look like a backwoods community college.

But I wasn’t.

It wasn’t in my nature to be nervous or scared. When you live the life I’ve lived. The one where you have to fight for your survival, the meals on your table, the roof above your head? You don’t have time to be afraid of anything.

You do what needs to be done.

Alistair

“Took you two long enough,” I mumble pushing myself off my car with my boot, tossing my cigarette onto the ground, stomping out the dying ember.

“Thatcher had to press his suit.” Silas shoves into Thatch’s body with his shoulder, his body covered with an entirely black hoodie. The moonlight reflecting off his hardened face.

“Versace? To a crime scene? A bit pretentious, even for you.” I eye his outfit, looking like he’s attending some fucking political debate about global warming or health care.

“Good to see you don’t hate mommy and daddy too much, seems you at least learned your brands from them.” His voice levels, “We know you oppose all things wealth, Alistair but there is no need to be jealous of my incredible style.” He straightens his collar.

I step closer to him in warning, but the sound of a high whining engine disrupts my temporary anger towards my best friend.

Rook’s steely colored bike swerves into the morgue’s parking lot. The reeving of the bike ends suddenly as he turns the key. Pulling the matte black helmet of his head, and shaking his hair like he’s some kind of boy band member.

“Glad you could join us, Van Doren.” I remark.