Page 53 of Feel Free to Scream

I frown. “That’s me.”

“Your dorm key has been cancelled. You will need to speak to the administration.”

“Oh.” It makes sense, when I think about it. “I had an enrollment issue, but it’s all been fixed this morning.”

“Great. Speak to the front desk at Rose Hall. They’ll be able to reissue your dorm card,” he tells me.

Sighing, I head back towards the other side of the road. Well, it’s a good thing classes start tomorrow. I suppose today’s meant to be all about figuring out the admin side of things.

I can’t lie: being back in this building isn’t fun. Even this morning, when I came to grab my schedule, I was a little stressed out, but now, the quieter atmosphere brings back all my fear and desperation from yesterday. I swallow it down.

There are a few students waiting ahead of me, asking for random things, from lunch schedule to swimming club information. When it’s my turn, I smile at the welcoming receptionist—not the same one I saw yesterday, thank fuck.

“Hi. My enrollment got a bit messed up over the weekend, and reinstated this morning. My dorm card’s not working though.” I place it on the counter, between the two of us.

The pretty brunette adjusts her glasses and smile. “Let me look for you.”

She takes my card, scans it, and starts typing away, then scrolling, and scrolling, and reading.

“Oh, I see.”

It’s taking long, long seconds—or minutes—that don’t help me feel any better. Isn’t it supposed to be an easy fix? Shouldn’t she tell me it’s going to be sorted in a second?

But she says nothing. She types and reads and scroll, for what seems like forever. Then, she leans in, pressing on a button. “Steph, would you mind coming to the front desk? I’m handling something.”

Why am I something to handle? Why does she need help?

A glance behind me shows me there’s a bit of a queue now, all of them listening in, just like I listened to the students getting helped before me.

A perky blonde—the one who handed me my schedule—arrives shortly, and my receptionist stands. “Would you mind stepping in the office for a minute?”

I follow her in silence, my hands tightening on the hem of my shirt.

Part of me is grateful she’s considerate of my privacy, but the other part wonders why it’s needed. What’s wrong?

We enter a lit-up space with a large desk, but she doesn’t make her way to it. Wasting no time in enlightening me, the woman tells me, “Ms. Fairmont, did you read your renewed agreement this morning?”

I blink. “Kinda? I mean, yes; it said my enrollment and scholarships were reinstated. I didn’t…” I flush. “…read every word, this time. I assumed it said the same thing as my first lot of paperwork.”

“Ah, well, not quite.” She moves to the chairs in front of the desk, tapping one before sitting on the one next to it.

I follow, taking the designated seat.

“It’s fairly similar, but, erm—well, while your housing grant is intact, the board does not seem to feel like you’re a good fit for the student dorms here. You see, the specific circumstances of this weekend’s expulsion were about student privacy. And while it’s my understanding that the school council has vouched for you, the board is still concerned about the privacy of its students in their own living spaces.”

I stare at her, speechless.

“In other words, the school will pay you the equivalent of the dorm fees, but you will need to find alternative accommodations.”

Fuck.

My heart sinks. I should have known it was too good to be true.

I liked the dorms. I had the best roommate. We already got along, she introduced me to her friends, and took me under her wing.

I shake myself.

Okay, okay. It’s not that bad, right? They’re still giving me money for a place; just not at the dorms.

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