Wednesday, September 18th, 1974

Now that two weeks have passed since the start of this prison - I mean, the academy - it’s safe to say my sleeping schedule and muscles have adjusted to this bogus lifestyle. I’ve already noticed my arms being toned, which honestly feels pretty satisfying! I could pick up a large crate of oranges with little struggle now!

Seeing myself in the mirror when I woke up made me wonder if I would have an easier time helping my Mama carry the furniture back home. Probably!

As James and Chris groggily woke up after me, we all stretched in our rooms to get ready for our strict 6 AM drill routine. Our Québécois friend went to use the bathroom, and I had the fun idea of piggybacking Christopher around our dorm to test my newfound strength.

“Hah! I’ve gotten so muscled, I think I can carry two of you, Chris!” I laughed while maneuvering in circles around our red carpet, just because I felt like it. 

“You really think so?” Christopher questioned with an absolutely delightful smile, clearly enjoying himself. 

“Right on, I could!” I tossed the boy from Saskatchewan into a pile of James’s bright red pillows, and the two of us started laughing.

“Hey! HEY!” The Québécois called out from the bathroom, a can of shaving cream in one hand and a shaving razor in the other. “We gotta get ready for drills, so don’t be stupid and get yourselves ready!” 

Christopher and I quickly complied, as our Québécois friend was clearly in the right. A moment too late to class, and our asses would be kicked by our quick-tempered drill instructor. As I finished washing my face two minutes later, the Canadian boys and I bolted towards our Physical Training class outside. 

…

Nothing too special happened for a while, though something odd did transpire at our 12 PM lunch hour. While Chris and James debated which of their home Provinces was superior, I finished munching on my deli sandwich early. Just as I walked toward the nearest trash bin, I overheard Sergio talking with his usual friends, Marco Delores and Osvaldo Garcia.

Now, my understanding of Spanish is a little weird, as my knowledge is basically in bits and pieces. But I deciphered they were talking about other students, so I shuffled with my leftover trash as I carefully listened in to the best of my ability.

Mama taught me to be aware of “chisme”.

“He oído que Tiburón está enojado con su hermano gemelo mayor por una discusión que tuvieron sobre su papá”. Sergio, the handsome boy from my block, grumbled in his native tongue as he leered at the snobby Italian of the hour, Vincenzo.

“No me digas! He oído que el gemelo mayor de Tiburón está empezando a sentir celos de él porque podría ser el próximo heredero de sus empresas en lugar de su hermano”. Marco Delores rolled his eyes while Osvaldo subtly nodded in agreement with his friend.

“Bueno, espero que se destrocen entre ellos y nos dejen respirar por una vez. ¡He oído que esos gemelos son peligrosos cuando están juntos…” Sergio grumbled and turned away from the Italian’s lunch table.

I didn’t stick around much after that because it’d be obvious I was trying to listen in. But I did learn something new about Amadeo Fiorello, despite my broken understanding of Spanish. So there’s a little bit of potential rivalry between the brothers, and something about their father? Interesting…

As I walked out of the bustling cafeteria, I nearly tripped on a large, slippery piece of candy wrapper, but a tall boy from my block, Klaudius, helped me out.

“Woah! Nearly died right there. Thanks, dude!” I gave off an earnest grin to the tall German. 

“No problem… dude!” Klaudius’s stern demeanour melted for just a moment, which was fun to see. Despite the others sometimes calling him a robot, he was very relaxed and was usually helpful in small ways. In fact, I’d call him one of the least problematic freshmen at our academy.

…

Once I finished my hourly study period at 6 PM with Christopher and James, I snuck into the quiet Chapel on the first floor. None of the students bothered showing up there on weekdays, so I lazily lay down on the front-left pew and let the power of memorizing late-night comedy specials take me away for about an hour: It was my special ritual to get through this overwhelming school.

I could imagine it now, being back home, making sure Mama and my little sisters were in a deep sleep. Wrapped up in our woolly wolf blanket, eating ketchup Lays chips around midnight, while silently listening to the likes of Robin Williams. One night, I recalled desperately holding in my laughter at the voice quirks of the comedian and hoped my Mama didn’t wake up… 

As I was relaxing mid-daydream, I felt a pair of olive green eyes stare into my soul. In an instant, I pushed myself to sit up on the wooden chair and grinned at the boy who ruined my pleasant time alone. 

“Ah, you’re just wasting time and staring at the Chapel’s ceiling?” 

I raised my brow in confusion at the boy’s tone. This sucker definitely looked like that bastard Vincenzo; same slickback haircut, same skin tone, hell, even his eye colour was identical. But something in his tone seemed very off, and I felt myself smirk. “Oh, Amadeo? Is that you?” 

The boy jolted at my remark, and his expression went from smug to nervous in an instant. 

“I, uh, do not know what you’re talking about, Basil.” Amadeo attempted to play it chill like his younger twin, but that obvious voice crack easily gave it away. That brat Vincenzo always carries himself with an air of superiority over everyone else and speaks slowly, while this chump was obviously trying to copy him. 

“Yeah, it’s definitely you, Amadeo. What’s crackin’? ” I grinned and folded my arms behind my head for a stretch. 

“How the hell did you know it was me? No one can tell us apart at first glance!” Amadeo snobbishly gasped and then proceeded to stick out his tongue at me. 

For a moment, I glanced towards the Chapels’ marble statue of the Virgin Mary and then back at Amadeo. A little piece of my mind remembered what Sergio mentioned about the older twin boy earlier, and my next move was just to be honest.

“I could tell the difference by the way you speak.” I pointed out with a nonchalant shrug, trying to appear more “masculine”.

Amadeo clearly wasn’t comfortable in the moment, though he didn’t bother bantering back like I thought he would. Something in his mysterious eyes had shifted, as if I saw a glint of relaxation. Though as I tried to get in another word, he rolled his eyes at me and stormed out of the Chapel. 

Talk about prideful.

…

The hands on the Chapel’s clock pointed at 7:36 PM, which was a little early, but I decided to leave before our 8 PM “lights out” protocol. As I silently closed the door behind me, I took notice of Sergio. He was leaning against the main hallway’s bright red wall, talking with a fairly large group of first-year students from other Latin American countries. The boys were clearly laughing at a joke one of them had just told. 

Something about their Mom and the typical ‘chancla’ joke, though I held in my laugh to keep to myself. I knew that at the end of the day, I was basically a gringo to them, and my knowledge of Spanish in general made me look like a complete airhead. So laughing along with them would only create an awkward tension, or at least that’s how I saw it. Maybe if the circumstances were different, I would’ve inserted myself into the conversation. But with the stakes of keeping my gender and my status as a “full Canadian” a secret, I wasn’t willing to risk it all. 

Emotions aside, I walked back to my designated dorm and found myself playing crazy eights with Christopher and James. They were huddled in a pillow fort, and I couldn’t help but immediately join in on the cozy fun. After our third round of cards, James suddenly brought the conversation back to which province was superior for the sake of jivin’ banter.

“Ontario literally has Ottawa and Toronto, the damn capital and the most populated Canadian city! What more could you guys want?” I grinned as I set down a four of diamonds on our stack of cards. 

“Well, you Ontarians always think the whole country belongs to you, when in reality, you’re almost a carbon copy of the United States and have nothing unique to show,” James smirked as he laid down his eight of diamonds. “... Change your cards to clubs.”

“Aw, Sam Steele-darnit! I don’t have any clubs…” Christopher groaned in annoyance and picked up from the pile of our cards. “Pass…”

“Nothing unique to show? Toronto’s one of the most diverse hubs in the country! You could literally have Jamaican oxtail patties, Korean BBQ, Canadian pancakes, and real Italian pastries in a day!” I countered, thinking of all the unique hubs from the Downtown area. I set down a queen of clubs and smirked. “Pick up five, James.”

“Shit… Well, Ontario’s borrowing culture from other countries… so does that really count?” James smugly raised a brow and set down a hefty two of clubs, leaving me to pick up seven cards. “At least in Quebec, we have our own maple syrup industry-”

“So what? Sure, maple syrup’s great, but what about other stuff like hydro or lumber?” I grinned and set down a two of hearts. “Oh, and by the way, most of the country’s money apparently comes from Ontario, so I win -”

“LIGHTS OUT!!!” Our homeroom history teacher loudly knocked on our door.

James, Christopher, and I jolted and scrambled to our beds, shutting off our lamp light in the process. I shut my eyes and pulled my warm covers near my neck. 

“...Quebec’s better…” James playfully whispered as Christopher held back a laugh.

“... Shut up… Ontario’s better…” I faintly whispered back with a grin, refusing to open my eyes. 

“... Have you both considered Saskatchewan’s better?” Christopher hummed.

The three of us silently snickered with childish delight and fell asleep to the sounds of rain outdoors. Despite feeling a little sad that I didn’t have the balls to joke with Sergio, I found satisfaction in joking around with my dormmates.