Sunday, September 1st, 1974

With his words still lingering in my head, I turned the other cheek, marched myself to my dorm with the Canadian flag on the door, and slammed the dorm room shut. Christopher and James, who were in the middle of unpacking, jolted at the sound of my sudden entrance. 

Though I was furious at the time, I was also impressed with how nice the room appeared. White and red walls, replicas of the famous ‘Group of Seven’ paintings, and three individual Queen-sized beds to sleep on. No twin-sized mattress or childish bunk beds like how I slept back home, not to mention the room for three was twice as large as my old bedroom.

As I went back to stewing in my anger, I threw myself onto the soft bed and huffed.

“Uh, what’s the matter, Basil?” Christopher, the shy kid from Saskatchewan, politely questioned as he set down his large cup of coffee on the room’s shared desk. 

“Damn, you look about as ticked off as my Dad on a Thursday night.” James, the tall kid from Quebec, raised his thick brows. 

Realizing that I was becoming too caught up with the bad vibes, I let out a long, deep sigh and casually placed my hands behind my head. “Well, let me tell you two what happened after I went to use the “John”, that dumbass Italian space cadet had the nerve to bring up my dead Dad and then be all mysterious about what he knows about him… It’s not even the first day, and -”

“Wait, wait, wait. Italian?” James interrogated me for details with raised brows: “Which one?” 

“I didn’t bother to learn his name, but it was one of the Fiorello twins!” I groused and lifted myself from the empty bed. To make wise usage of my time, I angrily unpacked my belongings. 

“Which twin?” Christopher nervously walked up to my bed with a panic in his pale blue eyes. 

“... The one with the bugged-out look in his olive green irises.”

The Prairie and Québécois boys glanced at each other with concern and then back at me with wide eyes. Christopher nearly tipped over his cup of joe and held his head like the world was ending. “S-so, that’s Vincenzo Fiorello, one of the most influential first-years in this school… Sweet mother of Doris Anderson, you’re so dead and by proxy, we might as well be dead too.”

“Huh?! Why? Is he the Pope’s son or something?” 

“He’s from the Fiorello family,” James warned with a hushed tone.

“What’s so special about them?” I folded my arms in annoyance.

“They’re big shots in Italy because they own the major banks and many big exporting farms…” Christopher nervously gritted his teeth. “Oh, and did I mention Vincenzo and his brother Amadeo are the godsons of our Headmaster?”

Oh shit, they have the power of snitching to the highest authorities here???

“Peace, love, and granola, to ya, Basil. You’re gonna need it.” James sombrely shook his head. 

“H-hey, hey!  I’m not trying to cause any trouble with someone like that! He was the one who approached me and tried to get underneath my skin. I said nothing that’d make him mad!” I waved my hands in defence as I shuffled closer to our shared desk by the window.

“I-I hope so, because he’ll turn you into dust if you do or say something wrong.” The kid from Saskatchewan nervously bantered, fiddling with his thick, round glasses.

“Ah, shit. Alright, I won’t play dumb around that kid or his brother.” Sighing in annoyance, I continued unpacking my belongings. Lots of socks, a very old photo of my Mom and Dad together, rolls of tape, and my fitted uniforms went straight into my assigned drawers. Instead of packing in silence, switching the topic to a brighter one seemed to cure my nerves. “ Hey, since I clearly know next to nothing about anyone here, mind giving a dude like me some advice on who to avoid?”

“Besides those creepy Fiorello twins, I’d say steer away from Hikaru Yamazake. He’s not exactly sunshine and rainbows and has a super strict family who pick who he’s friends with.” James advised with a serious expression. As stern as he looked, the fact that he very lazily folded his laundry threw me off.

“Um, that Leandro Narrajo kid worries me, too. I heard a rumour that he got involved in an unprovoked knife fight with Sergio Hernandez over the summer-” Christopher accidentally slipped on his mini-ladder, and a bunch of blank papers landed on him. James and I rushed to help the light blond kid with thick glasses. “T-thanks, you two.”

“Oh, ya know, just trying to be Canadian.” I quipped as I lifted Christopher back to his feet; he seemed to like the little joke and laughed along. With a boost to my ego for a well-timed quip, I decided to be a little more funny and brighten the vibes of our red and white dorm space, “Since I helped you out, do me a solid and help spread the rumour that all of us Canadians live in igloos and we all say ' aboot '!”

“Tabernak, the entire school might buy that stupid lie.” James shook his head with semi-sarcastic annoyance while Christopher laughed even harder.

“Wouldn’t that be hilarious?! -” Before I could amp up my silliness, a loud knock made its presence known; the three of us froze in place and gasped. We sharply fixed our nervous gazes at the origin of the sound.

“It’s 8 PM! Lights out now!” One of our teachers with a snooty French accent boomed from the other side of our door. 

“A-ah, crap.” James Rioux quickly shut off our main lights and ran to his bed. The Québécois kid’s expression was rattled, which was strange to see. For the short week that I knew him, his two default expressions were typically calm or bored. I flopped onto my mattress, and Christopher Adams clumsily turned on his white night lamp. “So, I guess we’re goin’ to bed now, huh?” 

“We have to get up at 5 in the morning and run around doing drills. Course we gotta sleep, ya dork.” The Québécois half-grinned, half-groaned as he plopped down in his queen-sized bed. “Oh, and turn off those damn yellow lights; I can’t sleep with them on.”

“O-oh, right. Yeah, that makes sense to me...” Christopher placed his brown, rounded glasses on his nightstand and happily pulled his red sheets over his head. “Good night, everyone!” 

“Night, Chris. See you on the flipside.” I hummed as I forced myself to shut my eyes. I wasn’t the slightest bit tired; as a matter of fact, the jitters kept me up. My uneasy mother back home, my little sisters who once heavily depended on me, my crossdressing secret, those Fiorello twins, difficult homework, a new school far away from Toronto, the fact that the stupid brat knew my hero of a father was long dead… 

Every last thought in my head made me too anxious or angry to bother sleeping for a good while. It wasn’t until my muscles completely gave in that I finally fell asleep to the sound of the owls bellowing under the stars at one in the morning. The only comfort I truly had was the hope that being here at this Academy would bring my Mom and my sisters peace back home… 

Who am I kidding? They’re probably worried as hell.