Monday was marvellous so far—that is, to say, it’s not. Jaime had woken up to water drenching his sheet and his clothes. When More poked his head into their shared room to grab his book bag, he had remarked that Jaime looked quite terrifically fashionable with his baggy eyes and dishevelled mop of hair. Jaime was too tired to even think of a retort to that smart bastard. He just wanted to sleep, and his groan was masked by a thunder echoed across the sky.

He had stumbled out of his bed every few hours last night to re-latch and retape his storm-shutter since that ancient thing cannot withstand the force of whiplash rain. The hinges are old and rusty, and the inner glass pane doesn’t shut properly, meaning anything that falls from the sky also falls into their room—or more specifically, onto his bed. It also means that the furnace heat escaped to the outer space, leaving the room at a meat-locker freezing temperature. Jaime was shivering in and out of conscious, wrapped in frayed quilts, feeling a cold fever working into his bones.

More had weaselled his way to another boy’s room—a room that has a good window that does its job properly. Jaime had mused to do the same a lot of times, but in the end, he would always end up back here in this God’s awful room. He knew what sort of method an imbecile like Reed More would use, but judging from the winces he spied from the corner of his eyes when More thought he wasn’t looking, Jaime had decided he had made a smart choice. It seemed foolish to Jaime when he must trade his body and his dignity for only a warm night of sleep. Not that Jaime hadn’t done those things. He just didn’t them with these knaves. He has done it with the adults, with who had a voice. Sometimes, he wondered about the false pride he still clung onto like a liferaft. Wondered, and promptly dismissed, for he knew whatever he did now would surely be a stepping stone to the place where he wanted to be. After all, what’s the difference between dedicating himself to mull over money matters into late nights and being a whore for an old man? Either way, he would still be destroying his body.

His family was not wealthy, and although they had generously donated a good amount of money into the school, it’s not even second to the Passmores. That was his biggest concern, that the Headmaster would overlook Jaime’s good qualities—qualities that he had spent his whole life polished to perfection and displayed it every day with extravagant excellence—to Passmore’s parents’ pocket. Although, as the day the announcement of the chosen Head Boy drawn near, Jaime has learnt to stash away his worry. Yes, Passmore was a gentleman, danced to the Headmaster’s wife and entertained the whole crowd at the Autumn Opening Ceremony with his songs and jokes, but it was Jaime who bore the grunt work, slaving away during the first few weeks of school to allot resources, finance and time, overseeing the Ceremony to success. He was the one presented by Fishburne’s side, given a brief speech at the Ceremony, welcomed the parents and the freshmen and elevated his life at Castleton Private Prep, tried to be humble while he was bursting with pride, yet at the end of the night, while they were hiking up the stairs back to their dorm, that damn Passmore dared to tell him that he should be “more enthusiastic”. What would he know about enthusiasm? Enthusiasm is working like a madman behind the scenes and appearing nonchalant at the show. Enthusiasm is subtly hinting that you would want—constantly desperately derangedly crazedly want—to be a Head Boy, to be the one with power, despite it’s nothing but a title.

“I can be more enthusiastic if I wasn’t so tired,” Jaime has drawled, standing at the top of the stairs and looked down upon Passmore’s bright, rounded eyes, lit by soft moonlight. “Which wouldn’t have happened if someone had shown up at the Committee meetings. Which wouldn’t have happened if someone had done their job instead of out being everybody’s savior.”

A superior sense prickled his tongue, his fingertips, his flesh, as he watched Passmore stiffened. “Are you talking about me?”

“I had never talked about you,” Jaime stepping back, letting shadow obscure his smirk.

“I was helping Olle—” Passmore said defensively.

“Hmm? Help warming his bed. Yes, thank you for your information.”

“No—”

“Are you having a knee-jerk reaction because I stated a truth?”

Passmore spluttered, attempting to clear his case, but Jaime had already retreated to the other side of the hallway, rounding to corner to the Junior Wing.

፨

The raging weather, biting wind and bucketful rain, only worsen by lunch, as the boys made their way to the Auditorium, holding black blazer above their head to shield the pelting raindrops. They hurried across the open yard, flushing toward the Auditorium’s humongous, over-arching mahogany French doors. The rain pours down in heavy sheens, making it impossible to see more than a few feet ahead of you. Some unfortunate boys slipped on the half-hearted paved path, their pale form splayed on the filthy brown ground for a too-long second before they frantically scrambled on their feet and cried for their soiled attire and ego.

Jaime was lucky enough to reach the Auditorium without casualty, physically and metaphorically speaking. However, his slim, dark navy slacks and white dress shirt were muddied as much as his hair, and stuck to his skin like a second layer. He shook his head and ran a hand through his scalp. The Auditorium was a hive of horseplays and laughter. The girls were here earlier than the boys, giggling at the sight of males in distress. Jaime eyed their dry, crisp outfit. The Auditorium was tucked right underneath the Female Dorm, while the Male Dorm was about thirty yards away. Which, Jaime thought mildly to himself as he smiled at a shy brunette's eyes, is plainly sexist.

The air was doused with hormones and what-so. Despite the Prep was a mixed school, the girls and the boys are segregated and rarely be in a joined program. Obviously, the students had found methods to tame their growing lust and curiosity and overcome the barriers the Prep had erected between two Dorms, but still, it was exciting to finally see the other sex and remind himself that there are still girls out there and not just males fighting over petty business.

He wallowed at the back of the Auditorium for a few minutes, scanning for an empty seat, and catching the Headmaster’s gaze from across the room. The man nodded at him. Jaime made a beeline to him.

“How are you doing, son,” The Headmaster greeted.

Jaime opened his mouth, about to reply when a twangy voice behind him beat him to it. “Headmaster,”

Jaime startled, then scowled at himself for startling.

He glared at a crown of dark curls bobbing toward them, then glanced at the Headmaster, startled once more by the look on the Headmaster’s face.

He was smiling. Not the same cursory smile he had given to Jaime seconds earlier. His lips lifted in the same even amount, but the corners of his eyes were crinkling with a fatherly genuity, something that he would rarely reveal to Jaime aside from a few seconds after he came inside Jaime.

A voice inside his head piqued, He didn’t smile at you. He didn’t motion for you to come over, you stupid.

“Oh, hey, Jimmy,” A hand touched his shoulder tenderly. And without meaning to, he spun around and lashed at Passmore. Passmore reeled back at the slap, looking between his reddened hand and Jaime’s twisting features. A few people around halted their conversation to observe them. Jaime felt the eyes crawled up and down his wet clothes, felt a sick pit opened in his stomach and swallowed him whole.

“Don’t touch me with your defiled hand, sodomite,” Jaime hissed in a low whisper.

Passmore gasped as if he had slapped him. Good.

“And I’m either Senior or Kenneth to you. Not Jimmy or Jaime.” Jaime snarled and stalked off.

“What’s wrong with you?” Passmore called after him, attracting more attention to them. Jaime huddled in his blazer and ducked into the seat in the same row as Reed More. He flipped his wrist, checked his watch, breathing in and out in sync with the hand ticking nonchalantly, trying to tame the resentment and disappointment swelling in his chest. Ten minutes before the Announcement.

He had to remind himself to think of positive thoughts only. And to remember that nothing was set in stone yet. Yet.

He dragged himself through the memories again. Memories of praises. Memories of the dirty, shameful stolen nights. He tried to recall the Headmaster’s reassuring palms holding him while praising his hard-working, while telling him he’s invaluable, while murmuring against his nape that he’s the most beautiful thing and the only one who deserved to be the Head Boy.

Nevertheless, instead of sparking hope inside him like usual, the memories suffocated him quickly. Like a rogue wave, pulled up so high and hauled him down so low until it shredded him into ribbons. He gasped, fists clenching at his head. Instead of him, he saw Passmore kneeling between the Headmaster’s legs. Instead of him, he heard Passmore’s breathless moan in response to the Headmaster’s promises. Instead of him, he remembered Passmore’s easy grin when the Headmaster clapped his back and thanked him for keeping the Ceremony’s spirit high and the warm tinkle in the old man’s voice.

His heart squeezed painfully at the possibility.

Positive thought, he pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes until he saw fireworks exploding behind his eyelids, Have to think fucking positive thought so positive thing would come to you.

፨

More nudged his shin with his ridiculous pointed shoe-tip.

“What?” Jaime snapped, while still squirming on his seat. The wet clothes and hard-backed chairs made it impossible to be comfortable. The Auditorium was too oppressive for him, but his belly had an empty, cold feeling that even the swarmed body heat cannot heat.

More didn’t seem to care at Jaime’s visible irritation. Instead, he jerked his chin somewhere at his left. “Hey, that blond? One besides Olle? Isn’t that the Dal Bland?”

Jaime sighed, obligatedly scanned for the blonde More was talking about. It wasn’t too hard, given that blonds and blondes were so rare on the Campus. Although at this angle, they could only see the back of her undercut head, Jaime already knew that she was gorgeous. His memories were often fuzzy, but he found himself able to recall Dal Bland’s striking beauty with great clarity. Bland was as opposite as her name suggests. With a cutting grace of diamond shards, she spoke with an intensity and determination of a forest fire. Linger at the shadow yet shine the brightest. She was the richest kid in the whole school, and the fact made it harder for him not forgetting Passmore’s rivalling wealth. Bland and Passmore, Passmore and Bland. The two families’ bank vault that Castleton Prep relied on. The school’s Godfathers.

Of course, it wasn’t even a week into school and people already acknowledge that Dal Bland would end up being the Head Girl one way or another. Some even wagered the Headmaster would forfeit the rule and let a freshman be the Head Girl for once. Jaime quickly defused the tiny skeptical voice at the back of his head, yet the words looped around his head, People probably think the same thing to Passmore, too.

“Yeah, that’s Dal Bland. They had been hooking up since the beginning of the semester,” Jaime lifted an eyebrow. “Why the sudden interest?”

“I don’t believe this. You, the great wise know-it-all Jaime Kenneth doesn’t know about that rumour?” More feigned an exaggerated shocked expression. “Shouldn’t Olle be the one who educates you about this?

Jaime scowled. “I don’t pry since we’re close, but not that close. Moreover, if it’s a unwanted rumour, high chance Dal wouldn’t have say anything to Olle, anyway.”

“Shut it. You won’t pry, unless necessary, huh?” More echoed, amused. Then continued. “Rumour had it that Bland and Passmore were so close that it’s a tradition for their children to marry into each other’s house without question.”

“Oh.” Jaime breathed. Something in his head clicked. That meant Dal Bland and Cassidy Passmore were supposed to marry each other, or perhaps become something like an item. Which begs the question, what’s she doing in Olle’s arms? After much consideration, he finally cautiously voiced his inquiry.

“Well, Dal isn’t Cass’s only option,” More said, suddenly straightened up and twisting his neck, looking for something. Then, he jumped back on his seat and pointed over his shoulder. Jaime followed his finger direction to a chubby, flabby girl with dark complex, skin littered with too much freckles and faint spots to consider pretty. Her curly, unruly hair flared in an almost-comical triangle. Her breasts were spilling from her blouse, and Jaime gagged when his mind automatically supplied with an image of watermelons bursting. She sat at the far back, mindlessly fidgeting with the hem of her blazer, and sometimes lifted her head to glance around in a daze like she was lost. “There’s also Em. Dal’s cousin.” More said with a thinly-veiled snicker. “Since Dal ends up with Olle, I say Cass’s taste is at the exotic end of the spectrum,”

“Oh Jesus Christ, get away from me,” Jaime rubs his face, covering the grin splitting his lower face.

More laughed, but his laughter was cut short when the Headmaster’s, Fishburne’s and Meryam Collin’s combined footsteps clicked sharply against the wooden platform. The Auditorium immediately stifling into silence, all eyes locked onto the three figures on the stage. The limelight shined on their damp skin.

The Headmaster waved and nodded at the student body, and unconsciously Jaime drew tighter, higher, straighter, his muscles cramped from the strain to stay at attention. He didn’t even dare to blink, didn’t dare to breath, scared that this moment would shatter. His heart beat wildly in his ears, his pulse sends a spike through his chest.

“Good afternoon, Castleton,” The Headmaster said into the mic. “Now, before we proceed with the usual updates and reminders, I’m sure you’re all dying to know who’ll be the Heads for next semester, when the Seniors graduated.” He had been waiting for this for too long. It’s finally here. He gritted his teeth, desperately narrowed his focus onto one single sentence: I’m the Head Boy. “I’ve made my decision, with the insights of the Heads, and I believe my choice is right. The two selected individuals have proved themselves worthy to the values of Castleton pupils: they are excel in both social and academic aspects, courageous, quick-wit, dependable and have a strong drive to guide Castleton to success.” The Headmaster paused, and Jaime’s breath hitched when their eyes locked. The Headmaster was looking directly at him as he uttered the next fateful sentence. “I’m proud to present you:—”