Page 2 of Zodiac Hybrids

I dragged my bag up the stairs, one step at a time, while two men who looked something akin to palace guards opened the doors for me.

One of them found my name on the roster, then nodded to the east. “The women’s dorm is to your left. Please change into your uniform and report to the auditorium for orientation immediately,” the man said in a toneless voice. He acted like an animated manikin more than an actual person. He kind of looked like one too. But I wasn’t going to be the one to say that.

Instead, I did as I was told, turning towards what I assumed were the women’s dorms. This was a college, not a boarding school, and yet no part of it felt open or flexible. It was nothing like the community college campus I’d come from, with its plain bungalows and cement sidewalks, with students dressed in a total free-for-all of style and fashion. It came off more like a retreat or a sanctuary for some kind of cult.

I followed the hall painted in deep magenta, which felt ordinary enough in comparison to the over-designed, ornate medieval church vibes, and I located my room. I was relieved when I opened the door to a single twin-sized bed and my own full bathroom, with no sign that I might have to have a roommate. I smiled at this newfound independence. While I’d been working and going to school and slowly trying to figure out what it meant to make my own choices, being in my early twenties yet still going home to my childhood bedroom in my parent’s house every night hadn’t left me feeling terribly grown up.

My own space would make it way easier if I ever wanted to actually date and have some privacy and not feel like a child. It wasn’t much, but it would be a perfect little bachelor pad.

My cheeks warmed at the thought, however unrealistic that hope of having people over one day may have been. I’d never had a boyfriend through all of high school, and everyone seemed too busy to make friends while I was getting my Associates. The observatory wasn’t exactly a breeding ground for fun, young shenanigans, like a retail job might have been, either. The old man that ran the place was the closest thing to someone having interest in me that I’d ever experienced, and the more I thought on it, the more pathetic I felt.

I’d been a lifelong loner, and I didn’t know the first thing about dating or relationships. I was no one, and might never be any one worth noticing at all. To be old enough to drink, but still so inexperienced that I’d never even intimately held hands with a boy meant I was probably the biggest loser here. That school romance experience I always read about was a fantasy for girls who were nothing like me. Girls who weren’t invisible and didn’t spend all of her lunches reading in the library. I probably wouldn’t be noticed here either.

That’s fine, I thought. I was here to study, not for hookups. It wasn’t like I wanted a relationship. I was supposed to “wait until I found the right person” or something anyway, and that person simply hadn’t found me yet.

Yeah. That’s it.

I had a lot to learn if I wanted to be work in the sciences one day anyway. A future of research and engineering required dedication, and there wasn’t any mental energy left to waste on something so trivial.

Things lonely people tell themselves.

I ignored the sinking feeling in my gut that wanted that badly to be wanted, then released a sigh in hopes of expelling those intrusive thoughts. I distracted myself by unpacking, organizing my clothing in a simple dresser made of stained wood and no-nonsense shapes. The whole room was quite basic. The furniture was completely void of design or personality, the walls were white, the bed had an old iron frame, and the only color in the whole place was in the magenta carpet that matched the rest of the dorm, and the uniforms that had been neatly pre-arranged in my closet.

The skirt was a pleated black and red plaid and uncomfortably short, barely reaching mid-thigh. The blouse was dressy with a slight puff to the sleeves and a tiny red ribbon around the collar.

It was cute enough for the right body type. I wouldn’t say that body type was mine though, since my wide hips and thick lower body made the skirt even shorter than it otherwise would be. Though the high waist and flare made it relatively flattering on my figure. It mostly hid my tummy rolls at the very least, though I was glad I’d packed some shapewear to go underneath. It was short enough that I would have had to wear shorts beneath the skirt otherwise. Heaven forbid there ever be a light breeze.

Uniforms weren’t require at all times on campus, but the dress code was fairly strict while in class or at organized events. I’d have to settle for the provided clothing until I could afford to get something of my own that met the standards.

After giving my straight, dark hair a quick finger comb, I grabbed a red pullover sweatshirt to counteract the light chill outside, then headed out to find my seat in the packed auditorium.

A man in a hooded red robe took center stage. His face was obscured by shadows, and his whole mannerism had me questioning what kind of organization I’d just walked into. “I would like to welcome you all to Graves Academy,” he began, without so much as a hint of enthusiasm.

He went about a song and dance of listing accomplishments and accolades of the school and its staff, then he carried on to some vague, generic rhetoric about the exciting new opportunities ahead. It was dull, but I listened intently to every word, dead set on excelling during my time in college.

I felt good about it, up until he added…

“Per graduation requirements, all alumni will be expected to enroll in a social club to promote further learning, explore new passions, and build a network. Graves has long harbored the talents of some of the most powerful creatures in our sphere, and I hope you all will be no different.”

Creatures? Tell me you hate teenagers without telling me.

“At the conclusion of your first day of classes, you’ll be expected to attend the club faire, in which you will choose your next adventure. I look forward to seeing what all of you will become.” The cloaked man swept his hands towards the exit, where a number of those expressionless guards stood in waiting. “Happy hunting, little birds.”

That was… odd. I stood from my seat, where all of the students were ushered towards the door. I only had one class on the schedule for Monday—though I had a fairly packed schedule the rest of the week—and I was much more excited to dig into science than I was some silly extracurriculars. I tried not to let my anxiety hone in on the social obligations, as I left orientation to start my first class.

Physics was a long walk from the auditorium down a series of unexpectedly ordinary hallways. Graves was a strange place. Some portions of the school felt like being in a castle, others felt like an underfunded public high school. None of it felt like I imagined a college would from what I’d seen of my campus tours or in movies.

I continued down the hall, glancing at the different doors dispersed in between rows and rows of red lockers. The classrooms were numbered but there was no indication as to what subject was being taught there.

Around the bend, I at last found the number I was looking for. I was about thirty minutes early, and no one else was around yet, so in hopes of getting acquainted with my first teacher, I knocked softly on the door and waited for an answer.

I heard the words “it’s open” through the door, and a small jolt of excitement struck me. Often times, teachers were the only people I clicked with. I’d been seen as a teacher’s pet by most my classmates in the past, mostly because the teacher was the only one who talked to me. I like that they had stories to share. I tended to stay more engaged listening to those with more experiences than I had, versus those who were at the same place in life that I was yet were tremendously more successful at it. Teachers offered a life I could aspire to. My classmates showed me a life I wasn’t currently good enough for. It was no wonder I was so bad at friendship.

I could barely contain myself as I reached for the doorknob. It turned easily, and I stepped into the classroom.

It was as old fashioned as the rest of the hallway with its simple tiled floor and single person seat/desk combos. Fifteen rows of seats drew the eye to the front of the room, where a whiteboard covered the wall behind a mahogany desk. Most prominent of all, however, was the man leaning against that desk with his arms crossed, staring vaguely out the window.

He lifted his chin in time with the bang of the heavy door closing behind me, and I found myself on the other side of the tether of his stare.