Page 52 of Not Made to Last

Olivia

Surprisingly, I’m not the first student to be herded into an empty meeting room next to the front office. The middle-aged woman with striking dark hair and pronounced eyebrows ushered me through the threshold with a stern “Sit and wait,” and then disappeared.

There are three other students who’ve already had the same treatment, and they sit, waiting, scattered as far apart as humanly possible. I take the seat in the back corner and do my best to hide in plain sight. No one dares to speak, and I watch, fascinated by how different fears can create such a vast range of reactions.

Some fear has you screaming so loud, the action burns your throat, forces heated tears that come on so quick and so thick that it momentarily blinds you. And then there’s the type of fear that steals your breath, rattles your rib cage, and knocks you into a state of silence.

That’s the type of fear that fills this room right now. The type that creates a thickness in the air made up solely of our mixed exhales.

Two new students enter within the same number of minutes, and they quickly find their own pocket of anxiety to sit in and wait.

Time passes, and the only sound that can be heard isterror.

Thankfully, Principal Brown—whom I met a few days ago when I was doing my final interview—enters the room followed by a handful of students.

What happens next is pure and instant chaos. Everyone who was once seated quickly gets to their feet, standing so straight that I’m surprised there’s no salute and shout of, “Sir!” Yes, sir!”

Still seated, I glance around at my fellow newbies, eyes wide, and then I giggle. Because it’s what I do in painfully awkward situations. Ilaugh. But no one else seems to find it funny. Just me. Well, me and the tall, dark-haired boy standing next to Principal Brown. His honey-colored eyes meet mine, lit up with his smile—not a smirk, but a genuine smile—and it’s as warm as it is welcoming. He lowers his head a moment later, but his shoulders bounce with his withheld laugh, and it takes a moment for the recognition to hit me. I know the boy… though I wish I didn’t.

“Stand down,” Brown says, dismissing the overly ambitious students with a wave of his hand. He doesn’t even wait for everyone to regain their seat before saying, “You’re each going to be paired with someone from student council who’s going to show you around the school, go through your schedule with you, and talk you through some of the more important rules of St. Luke’s Academy. Welcome. Have fun. But not too much. This is a place of education, after all.” He turns swiftly, exiting the room, and I don’t hold back my eye roll.

The dark-haired boy catches that, too, and his smile only widens.

“Jared!” the blonde pixie-cut girl next to him announces, reading off a sheet of paper. I notice the way her hands tremble, causing the paper to shake, and maybe people don’t limit fear to first days around here.

Maybe this place is built on it.

A boy at the front of the room stands, walks over to her, and one by one, people find their pairs and leave the room until there are only two people left. “Olivia?” the familiar boy asks, his smile still in place.

I nod.

He returns the gesture, flicking his inky dark hair away from his eyes, saying, “I’m Oscar.”

I know his name.Just like I know he was the one riding shotgun when Rhys pulled up to my house at three in the morning during regional finals to throw eggs at it.

I stand, about to grab my messenger bag off the floor, but he beats me to it. “Oh no! I got it,” I say, but he’s quick to swing it over his shoulder, gently slapping my hand away.

“Don’t be annoying,” he mumbles, andwhat?He doesn’t even know me. He turns, heading for the door, and I follow behind.

If I wasn’t afraid of breaking the laptop in my bag, I’d be tearing it from his grasp. “I can carry my own things.”

“Olivia,” he says again, more to himself than to me, and we’ve walked out of the room now, and we’re passing the front office. “Do you go by Liv?”

I falter a step. “I prefer Ollie,” I tell him, and it’s a blatant lie, but what am I supposed to say? That there’s only one person in the entire world who calls me Liv, and I’d like to keep it that way?

Oscar stops in his tracks, his smile goofy as hell as he faces me. “Oscar and Ollie!” His eyes dance with amusement, almost childishly so, and it reminds me of the first time Rhys was in my room. “We’re already so fucking cute I can’t even stand it!”

I laugh with him, and I hate that I do.He egged my house, I remind myself. And even if I take that away, he’s clearly close with Rhys, or at least he was. I don’t know what their relationship is like now, and I’m really trying to force myself not to care.

It’s been about a month since I’d seen Rhys last and just over a week since I’d had contact with Not Fridge Guy. Last time I heard from him, he was looking for apartments in Colorado. As far as I know, that’s where he is right now.

Oscar stops in front of a door, his fingers resting loosely on the handle as he turns to me, his tone suddenly serious. “If you forget everything else I show you today, just remember this door right here,” he says, knocking twice.

“Come in!” a woman answers.

“Trust me,” Oscar murmurs. “This room and the person behind it have saved my sanity more than once. And to be honest, you’re going to need her if you want to make it through this hellhole alive.” He ignores my wide-eyed reaction and pushes open the door. I peer into what I’m sure was once a janitor’s closet. It’s unexpected and completely anti-climactic, and I wonder if Oscar’s always this dramatic.

There’s a brunette woman behind the desk who can’t be more than a few years older than me, and, like Oscar, she smiles with her eyes. “Good morning and happy Wednesday, Oscar!” It almost sounds like she’steasinghim.Like how an older sister teases their little brother.

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