Monday, September 2nd, 1974

“ANOTHER TEN SETS OF PUSH-UPS!” That was the outcry of our 6 AM drill Instructor, as he paced back and forth in the first year’s crowded courtyard. The morning sun this morning was barely visible in the skies, as all the sweaty freshmen from the various blocks did what we were commanded and loudly parrotted: “SIR, YES, SIR!!!”

To say I was struggling to keep up with the rest of my peers would be a little bit of an understatement. Not only was I used to doing “girl” push-ups with a dainty middle-school P. E instructor from the previous year, but the chilly and damp autumn air wasn’t doing me any favours. As a first-generation Canadian, I was used to moving around with chilly air while wearing a plain tee and joggers, but damp air was where my lungs drew the line. 

Meanwhile, boys like Sergio Hernandez seemed to excel in the drill: he barely broke a sweat, despite not being used to chilly weather like this. Then there were the boys like Christopher and Vincenzo, who were somehow performing worse than I. Despite my major discomfort the entire time, I was more than delighted to see that Italian bitch-brat struggling.

Serves him right for being sarcastic over my dead Dad!

Though seeing poor Chris struggle was like seeing a kicked puppy, and it brought most of us pity. Except for our drill sergeant, who glowered at anyone doing badly. “WHOEVER FALLS BEHIND WILL DO AN EXTRA 15 PUSH-UPS TOMORROW MORNING!!!” 

“SIR, YES, SIR!” Holy hell, I’m gonna have to get used to hearing this tucan of a bald man scream at us at the crack of dawn. 

Once training wrapped up at 7 AM, the boys zombishly trekked to the change room, which had that horrible teen-boy stank and shitty cologne combo. I was going to change in the boys' washroom anyway, but Jesus Christ, I never wanna be near that dull, dank room again. Thankfully, ‘cause everyone was tired as hell, I’m pretty sure no one noticed I went to change alone. 

Later, I would find out from James that each student was assigned their own private lockers anyway, so changing for the rest of my time here won’t be an issue. Whoever came up with the idea of students changing separately deserves a trophy made of pure gold and several plates of the cheesiest poutine.

…

At 7 AM, breakfast, Christopher, James and I plopped down at our assigned lunch seats in the cafeteria. Looking around the well-kempt, marble room filled with colourful tables, I realized something interesting. First, I noticed the cafeteria had stairs in the middle and was multi-floored, meaning the older kids wouldn’t eat with us. Thank God, because those older kids seem like the rowdy types of boys that would probably start dumb food fights. Then, I noticed the room was aligned like the World Map. 

We Canadians were assigned to sit at a red table at the very corner of the left side of the cafeteria with a perfect window seat, while we were seated close to the Americans and Mexicans. Both groups seemed to be laughing up a storm, and I wondered: how the hell are these fuckers not tired?

As the cafeteria’s waiters served us our pancakes, I realized the three of us were honestly not at all in the mood to be chatty. James’s leg kept twitching, and he looked cranky as hell. My Quebecois friend focused on devouring his comically large stack of pancakes. Meanwhile, poor Chris was out of breath and looked nervous, wearing his light-coloured blue “Block B” uniform. 

Frankly, I was both crabby and out of breath from a consecutive hour of nonstop exercising. I wasn’t looking forward to our 10 AM P. E. class because it was obviously planned to be nothing but non-stop muscle aches: the sequel. 

…

Once 8 AM rolled around, the Block A students made our way towards our first class of the day: history. James and I Audi 5000’d down the main red hallway with our notebooks, took a few left turns and made it to a dimly lit, freezing history room. Unlike most other classrooms with bright posters or welcoming decorations, this room was the absolute bare minimum. Crusty, grey walls, three World maps, one big poster of Great Britain, and no windows. Our instructor for this class is a tall woman with grey hair and an all-black fur dress. She intensely glared at both James and me with her ominous blue irises. 

Charming.

I took my seat beside James and let out a quiet, long sigh, knowing this class would probably be my least favourite because of this teacher. The rest of the students strolled in and took their seats, remaining silent, in fear of angering our seemingly short-tempered teacher, and frankly, I don’t blame them. She really reminded me of a vulture, dressed in mostly black, had a fucked up neck, and probably ate corpses. 

Speaking of scary creatures, in the corner of my eye, none other than Vincenzo Fiorello sat to my right, and he stared at me with a smug expression. Instead of freaking out like a madman on the spot, I calmly opened my cahier filled with empty sheets of lined paper and kept my head down. At least the smell of fresh pages was lovely, compared to the rest of the dreadful atmosphere. 

Today, our dictator of a teacher essentially threatened us with the importance of answering on time, performing well in our tests, and never second-guessing her extensive knowledge of European history. 

I boldly raised my hand and asked: “What about other continents’ history?”

“... Do not challenge my expertise on your nations.” She hissed in a shrill tone and fixed her gaze on the classroom’s front chalkboard. 

Observing my classmates, I recognized the torn, angered expressions of the non-European students. Oh boy, were they pissed as hell and rightfully so. This future retirement-home candidate relayed that she knew our own homelands better than we did! 

My grey eyes focused on Sergio, who was visibly glaring at our instructor, and I felt myself instantly and silently allying with him. And no, that’s not because I find him pretty.

…

The rest of the day was far less tense, with friendlier teachers but more work to be completed. By 5 PM, every first-year student looked absolutely swamped, like we had run a marathon. Wait, we essentially did. Despite our tiredness, all the first-years rushed to our designated tables with little flags of our nations and waited for our prepared food to arrive. Despite the dread I felt being here, I have to admit, this academy was fancy as hell! 

On today’s dinner menu, we were served smoked pork collar with steamed broad beans. The dish was flavourful, and the Canadians and I were surprised by how well it tasted. James especially appreciated the meal and ate as if it were his last meal. Chris and I briskly looked at each other with mischievous smiles, trying not to laugh at our unintentionally funny friend.

…

Once 6 PM’s study time rolled in, I decided to do my homework alone. As much as Christopher prided himself on being the homework expert of our group, my social battery was completely dead, and I desperately needed some space. 

I scampered to our academy’s multi-levelled library in hopes of finding silence; after all, I had heard multiple teachers say the room was perfect for it. When I pushed the dark oak doors aside, the enticing scent of vanilla extract greeted my nose. Warm, attractive candle lights danced across the cerulean and seafoam-painted walls. Texts of learning galore were carefully stored upon cedar shelves, and the many comfortable-looking, bright red sofas and colourful tables brought a sense of wonder to my eyes.

Wait a damn minute.

Quickly realizing everyone was studying here, including the older students, I decided to turn the other way and look for a room with no people inside. I trekked around for a good 15 minutes down our red and white hallways until I stumbled upon our school’s quiet Chapel on the ground floor. It was completely silent, brightly lit enough to read my textbooks, and best of all, no people around! 

I carefully closed the wooden doors behind me, sat at the left-front pew, and began scribbling down my homework answers. Thankfully, besides trying to understand my Engineering class study sheet, I had an easy time understanding other classroom material and finished writing within 45 minutes. 

Sighing in relief, I put away my Language textbook and stood up to stretch my aching muscles. The candlelight beside my seat momentarily flickered, and I caught sight of a person’s shadow.

“So, you’ve been here all along?” 

Alarm bells rang through my head when I turned my head to see Vincenzo Fiorello standing by the Chapel doors with his signature cold smile and glare of disapproval. 

‘Hell, no, bitch! Go away! Go away!’ … Was what I wanted to say, but my instincts had other plans.

“Uh huh, sure have been.” I nonchalantly shrugged with a chummy grin. 

Of course, that rich brat had to invite himself to sit beside me and fold his arms like he owned the place. 

“Well, Basil, I wonder why you are on your lonesome studying in a place like this? Do your Canadian friends hate you, or are you hiding from the older students?” 

“No way, I just needed to study in absolute silence… Can’t let anyone mess with my head, y’know?” I comically pointed to my noggin’ and tapped it. 

“Hmph.” Vincenzo failed to hold back a chuckle and scoffed. “You’re a character, alright, I like that.”

“Thanks! You’re one yourself!” The Italiano’s expression grew even colder as I awkwardly smiled. His expression remained unimpressed as he held out his right hand. “Say, Basil, let’s be friends, you and I.” 

“F-for serious?” I tried hiding my nervousness with an amused grin. 

“I don’t see why not. It is beneficial to have companions across the globe, after all…” Ooh, never in my life did I see such a bogus smile. Yet, here Vincenzo was, beaming with the venom of a rattlesnake. It was like pricking myself with thorns when I complied and shook his cold hand. “Hah, your hands are very sweaty, Basil…” 

“So was yours.” I fibbed with a mischievous smile as he continued to glare at me with a cold smile. It was taking every fibre of my being not to headbutt this flimsy snob, and I had a horrible feeling this fiery sensation wasn’t just gonna wash away in a single day. 

Or a week. 

Definitely not a month from now.

This absolute chump was my day-one nemesis for a lifetime.