It was just me and Mini from now on. My father—or at least his body—remained back home where he could easily be forgotten. That is, after all, the first step to overcoming grief: forgetting.
Part of forgetting was moving. After dad died I decided to sell the house and leave Seraphina behind me for good. My father had left me a substantial amount of money—money that I would've never had if he hadn't died—and in his last letter to me he requested that I go to the same boarding school he had gone to when he was my age. He wrote that he couldn't stand to part with me and that was why he had never sent me to the boarding school when he was alive. Now that he was gone, he wanted me to experience that life. I never thought that I would ever go, but the loneliness of a big house gets to a person.
I slammed the car door shut and began to heave a box of old clothes up the steps to my new home, Sagacious River Estate. It was an overwhelming building that was decorated with gargoyles and mossy statues of naked Roman Goddesses (seemingly) wandering the overgrown gardens of the estate. Sagacious Estate was not the same school my father went to. It was dilapidated. I took a deep breath. It smelled strange in the Town of Sagacious River. I guessed that the water would taste strange too, because new places always have weird smells and tastes. Weird customs, weird people, weird places.
"Want some help?"
I glanced down the side of the stairs to see a man my age glancing back up at me. He had black eyes and black hair. His skin was pale and his hair was styled into a messy Mohawk. "No." I grunted—surprised. I opened the doors and made my way inside, letting the door slam behind me. Once inside, I felt lost. The halls were barren. Each step I took echoed. But before I could get very far, I realized that I had slammed the door of my new home in the face of a potential friend. I felt queasy with the fear that I might end up becoming known as the "stuck-up girl" to everyone at school.
A moment later I exited the building to search for the man I had been rude to earlier. I scanned the yard from the top of the stairs, but he had vanished.
Probably scared him off
I thought.
All he did was offer to help
.
Before I could punish myself a little more, the stranger moved into view carrying one of my boxes.
"I'm Marlowe." He called from the bottom of the stairs. He had an odd sort of accent. "Where'd you move from?" he asked.
"Seraphina." I replied, my cheeks hot.
"You got a name, Love?" He made his way up the stone steps. I opened the door for him and followed him inside, dumbfounded.
"Well...yes." I said.
He stared back at me and set the box down. He took out a long, skinny cigarette and popped it between his lips. He flicked at his lighter until a flame leapt up and licked at the tip of his cig. He inhaled slowly. Then, exhaled. Large billows of smoke spiralled to the high ceiling.
"Are you allowed to smoke in here?" I asked.
He raised an eyebrow and smirked in reply. He took another drag of his cig and then held it between his fingers. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, a scratch came at the door and I remembered that Mini was waiting outside. I gave him an apologetic look—I wasn't sure why—and rushed to the door to let Mini in. She scrambled in as if I was really planning to leave her out in the cold to starve. She licked my knees and then took a seat, her little tail wagging back and forth against the stone tiles.
"Mini." I said dumbly and pointed to my dog. He nodded. I expected him to rush to pet her or say something like 'aw, how cute.' The boys back in Seraphina did it. Everyone flocked to Mini. She had a look about her that was irresistible.
"Ah, Mini. At least I know
her
name."
I smiled, though I felt embarrassed. It wasn't that I didn't want to give him my name, I was just distracted by my new surroundings. "Berlin" I blurted.
"Hm." He took another puff of his smoke and put it out against the wall. The cigarette sizzled in brief protest and died. There was an ugly dark spot on the wall in its place. "Welcome to Sagacious River, Berly. What room number are you in?" He asked. I fumbled in my pocket and found the paper I was looking for. The paper was abused. It had been folded and refolded several million times, mostly because I had a self-diagnosed nervous disorder where I had to repeatedly confirm details. I knew that my room number was 19, but I had to see it (again) to believe it. "19." He said. He was leaning over me, casually peering at my schedule. I felt violated and instinctively held the schedule closer to my breasts.
Suddenly suspicious, I asked, "Where's everyone else? How come you're not in class?"