AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“I’ve got it,” Mom said, padding over to us fresh from the shower. “You finish getting ready for your first day.”
Roosevelt College had a dress code for the guys that essentially consisted of wearing collared shirts and no denim. It was similar for girls except that skirts were optional and had to sit at the knee—same as in high school, as if the girls were responsible for how the boys might respond if they saw some thigh. Mom complained that most dress codes were archaic and wouldn’t change without some pushback.
Mom and I had gone thrift store and clearance shopping over the summer and had gotten me some polo shirts and khakis along with some other button-downs. But today I slipped on the sleek black jacket I’d thrown in the mix because it felt more like me. Besides, it was a chilly morning in Jersey, which was unusual for a late August day. But it was another sign that the season was about to change.
“You look handsome,” Mom said as I joined them at the table and tried to tamp down my unruly blond hair that I could rarely tame. “Nervous?”
“A little.” I was nervous as hell but also excited to have been accepted at all—and on a dance scholarship no less. Dance was my absolute first love, and I’d been lucky enough to be involved in dance my entire life in one way or another, outside of the months of cancer treatment when I was a kid.
Money was tight, especially since my stepdad ran off with his secretary and Mom was left with all the bills. He left her the house in the divorce, likely out of guilt, the bastard. But between my medical bills and the mortgage adding up, she’d decided to sell it. Moving into the Lakeview Trailer Park was supposed to be temporary, but it wasn’t so bad. Especially if I still got to dance.
Mom’s friend owned a studio in Trenton and offered us a discount as long as I helped behind the scenes with costumes during recital season, and I certainly didn’t mind gluing rhinestones to add some bling. I was one of only a few older males in the classes—the younger ones normally dropped out by middle school—but the performances brought me one step closer to my dream of being onstage in the big city, and the regular exercise it provided kept me lean and healthy.
“I have no idea what to expect. But anything would be better than high school,” I said around a bite of toast.
“You hold your head high, you hear me?” she said, and I nodded. “You sure you don’t want me to drive you on your first day?”
“No, the bus is fine. It drops me off a block away from the school.”
Besides, her car had seen better days, and she needed to reserve gas for errands and her job.
“Okay, honey.” She tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “Don’t forget to come home directly after.”
Mom worked most nights at Shorty’s Diner, named after the owner and chef, and I was in charge of my sister during her shifts. The schedule worked well for us, especially so she didn’t have the additional cost of daycare. Star attended preschool three mornings a week, and Mom tried to be around on those days.
“I will,” I replied, but my stomach was quivering.
I left the trailer and waved to a couple of elderly neighbors who whistled at me, as if I were headed to a fancy ceremony instead of a college classroom. My friend Pete, who lived three doors down and across the way with his father, caught up to me, also ready for his day. After high school graduation he went to work in his uncle’s junkyard business. We both helped most summers and weekends for cash, but Pete liked it well enough to join him full-time. He hoped to inherit it someday, and for someone like Pete, who’d had a rough childhood after his mother passed away, that was a big deal.
“Look at you! So collegiate,” Pete said, thumping my shoulder. “Before I know it, you’ll leave us behind.”
We’d been inseparable since freshman year when our paths intersected at the trailer park bus stop, and we’d been there for each other ever since. When I was bullied relentlessly in high school for being a queer ballet dancer, he’d stuck up for me, which only solidified our friendship.
“Not a chance. I might decide that place isn’t for me.”
Orientation had definitely been eye-opening. Right away I noticed the class differences, and we fell squarely on the low-income side. Despite Pete thinking I looked the part, I knew I would never measure up to the other students who came from wealthy families. But since the university was known for its fine arts program, I still had hopes I’d find more students like me.
“Nah, you’ll figure it out because you’re brilliant. Plus, it’s everything you dreamed of.”
My chest filled with warmth. “Thanks, man.”
I got to the bus stop just in time, stepping up and scanning my pass so I could ride to the other, less run-down side of Forest Glenn. The bus jostled me as it got rolling, but I was able to hang on and move down the aisle to take a seat beside an older woman with a kind smile. I offered her a Jolly Rancher after I popped a watermelon one in my mouth, but she declined.
Twenty minutes and many stops later, I stood as the bus jerked to a halt and got out, my heart pounding in my throat. I walked a block until the university came into view, stealing my breath.
The campus looked like a postcard with its rolling hills, stately brick facades, and the bell tower that stood like a tall beacon over all of them. I suddenly remembered the student tour guide telling the group that the buildings were a blend of Georgian, Gothic, and Victorian styles and that the bell in the tower was the original from the 1800s and was rung every morning at eight, even on holidays, by the groundskeeper. It was to signal the start of classes, but university life had changed since, and obviously not all students had early classes. Still, I thought it a cool tradition.
I blinked as I came to a stop at the ornate iron gate that bore the Roosevelt College seal, unable to believe I was a student here on my first day of college.
As I made my way down the grand walkway lined with towering pine trees and lush gardens, the students came into view, sprawled over tables, on benches, and on the patch of grass near the main building. There were enough of them to make you wonder if most did, in fact, start their classes early. The student center, if I remembered correctly, led to sheltered walkways that connected to several other buildings. Apparently, it was one of the updates made a decade ago to help students traverse the campus in inclement weather. And there were plenty of those days in Western New Jersey.
Suddenly my legs felt like cement, and I considered turning and running the hell back home. No way did I belong with these other students, who had an air of sophistication about them. But then I thought of my mom’s advice to hold my head high, so I took a deep breath and kept going. I got some curious looks, but luckily, my feet never faltered.
“Who the hell is that?” I heard as I passed by a group of students seated at a table. “And why is his jacket so shiny?”
“Made of vinyl, maybe.”
“What’s with the Band-Aids on his fingers?”
