Gabe - OneA Chapter by emily
I stood in the center of the school square, clutching my luggage and watching as the shadows of the oak tree crept across the courtyard. Apparently I was the only one who was stupid enough to have misread my acceptance letter and had showed up the day before orientation.
I had spent the night in a guest room in the main building above the dining hall, and I was beginning to realize that I wasn’t going to get an orientation so much as I was going to be tossed into the ocean of Wellington’s without a life preserver. Now I had nothing left to do but wait for the other boys, the ones who would be, according to the prefect who had shown me the grounds, my new roommates.
The prospect was a little scary. For reasons that I tried to forget, I knew that sharing a room with three other guys would be tough. As much as I tried to downplay it in my mind, I couldn’t help the knot that had formed in my stomach or the fact that my pulse was out of control.
It was cold for a spring morning and I shivered as I gnawed on my fingernails. I had just given up on my thumbnail and started my index finger when a cab pulled up in front of me. A tall, lanky guy with a mop of sandy brown hair tripped out the door and pulled his luggage heatedly out of the trunk like it had insulted him. There was no one to greet him, so I figured that was my job.
“Hey,” I said, trying to appear friendly, “James Banhart?” I asked, remembering one of the names that had been mentioned to me.
He nodded and offered a hand. Bleeding Christ, that guy had long arms. He was a baby-faced guy with gray eyes and a lip curl that made it look like he was always smiling. From the look of his face, I could tell he did a lot of smiling anyway. “Jim,” he corrected me, “Gabriel?”
His accent made me cringe. “Yeah, Gabe, actually. Gabe Moretti.”
He didn’t exactly smile, but he wasn’t going to bite me, either. “American, huh?” I asked, for lack of anything better to talk about, even though it was obvious he was.
“Yeah,” he nodded, and we proceeded into a short but awkward silence. We both turned when someone, a built, white-blond guy, came up the path to the courtyard.
“Holy s**t,” muttered Jim, nodding towards the huge guy on the road. “Is he the other one we’re waiting for?”
I squinted down the road at the newcomer. “I don’t know.” Unable to contain my curiosity, I took a few steps down the road towards him. The guy was intimidating to say the least. He had to be a few inches taller than me and more than a little stronger. His eyes were a cold, icy blue and he hunched his massive shoulders like he was trying to protect himself from something right behind him. Jim and I took an automatic step back as he got closer.
He stopped in front of us and looked us up and down as we stood there in his shadow, like he was trying to decide which one to kill. Then he said something in German which neither of us understood. The big guy’s face reddened as he must have realized that he hadn’t spoken in English. “You must be the roommates,” he muttered, obviously uncomfortable.
I nodded, not really sure what I could say to him. “Gabe Moretti,” I introduced myself feebly.
His mouth tightened like something I had said had made him even angrier. “Erich Amery,” he said through a locked jaw. He hid his accent well, but he gave himself away again with the harsh pronunciation of his first name.
It was then that I first had that feeling that I would experience many times over the course of our connection, a bewildered mix of fear and awe. It was the first time I ever suspected there was more to Erich Amery than met the eye.
© 2011 emily
Added on August 8, 2011
Last Updated on August 8, 2011
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AboutHello all! My name is Emily, I'm 18, I am definitely not at home in this tiny MN town, and soon I will be the most famous author my generation. I go to Barnes and Noble to see where my book will sit .. more..
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