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I go in, dump everything in the first two washers, add the detergent, and then get it going. Thankfully, I have a spare set of bedding, and when I looked through my closet earlier, I know that they’re still fresh enough for use.
Instead of waiting for the bedding to wash, I head back to my room, making sure I continue to look like I don’t have a care in the world until my bedroom door is safely closed behind me.
Had I not found that newspaper earlier, after everything else that’s happened today, I probably would have returned and started packing my bag.
Even though I’m exhausted, and my mental energy is the lowest it has been for a while, the spark of hope is still burning. Only now, it’s like Syn poured gasoline from a can labeled “fuck you” on top of the flame.
XXXI
Royal
“Fuck’s sake, we’re Gen Z, not Boomers,” I grumble to Gemini. “Why are we still doing this shit?”
We’re in the meeting room in our house. Considering there is a table which is large enough for sixteen people, there are only nine of us currently seated at it. Everyone at this table knows why we are here, this area of the house is used for the more private Elite executive board meetings.
There are ten days left until the end of the initiation period, which also coincides with the end of midterms. Assuming the initiates survive the last week—and all of them, including Declan Salaway made it back following this past weekend’s activity—they’ll be welcomed into the Elite at our Inaugural Ceremony.
Which is a really dumb way of saying debutant ball.
Okay, so maybe the private ceremony in the Crypt is a slight deviation, but having some formal event in the church where we officially introduce the initiates as full members of the Elite to the rest of the student body is boring. Antiquated. A waste of fucking time when everyone already knows who they are.
Can’t we just skip to the good part?
Beside me, Gemini shrugs. He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t need to. It’s tradition.
But watching our Social Chair, a senior named Alice, use the meeting room’s smartboard like she’s my basketball coach showing plays, only the X’s are where the initiates are going to line up in front of the chancel—or whatever stupid name Alice gave the part of the church in front of the altar—is putting me to sleep.
“Once you’ve finished your welcome speech, the DJ is ready to go.” Alice finally concludes.
“All refreshments and canapes?” Syn asks.
AKA alcohol and drugs.
Another member of the committee, Lucas, nods. “Confirmed.”
“Great,” I say, loudly. “Then we can wrap this up now.”
As soon as Syn agrees, I press a button on an app. Seconds later, the door opens, and one of the initiates steps in to hold open the door. It’s after hours, so Seamus has finished for the evening, which leaves the initiates to take the task of serving us.
Back when the house was used by the dean and there were actual servants working here, each room had a bell system: pull a chord, and a bell would ring in the servant’s quarters in the basement.
The servant’s quarters are now the gym and utility room. Instead, when Gemini was a freshman, he created an app specifically for the Elite. No more chords and bells necessary.
If we can bring that into the twenty-first century, why the fuck can’t we do it with the ceremony? The rest of the student body is only there because they know we’re going to give them the best post-midterm party. Everyone on campus already knows who our initiates are.
Once everyone, including the initiate, is dismissed for the night, the three of us head to the living room. I dive onto the closest couch, beating Gemini for the remote, and get Netflix loaded up.
“You ever ask Preston what’s going on with Salaway?” Gemini sits down on the recliner closest to the window and looks over at Syn.
“Change of plans.” Syn shrugs. “I assume the guy’s father complied with whatever the request was.”
When the initiates were taken off campus at midnight on Saturday night, blindfolded, drunk, and only with their underwear, Syn told me Salaway wasn’t coming back.
While the female initiates were dropped off in pairs, in the middle of nowhere Connecticut, pre-placed trench coats and shoes, and their junior mentor close by to keep an eye on them, the guys had been split into two groups and had to work a little harder to find clothing. With the two groups, it had been easier to remove Salaway from the equation.
Aside from the three of us, no one else in the Elite knew he wasn’t coming back. And when Syn gave me the very brief explanation, I didn’t question it.
The decision was made by someone in a very small, very powerful, and very secret group. I may have been a member of that group, but if no one feels the need to tell me the details, I know not to ask.
