Five

I drift back to my dorm in a dreamy haze, barely aware of the other people on the sidewalk. I picture myself walking this same path with the Magni Viri first-years, a little world unto ourselves, talking about books and films, having inside jokes—no job to hurry off to, no lonely meals in the cafeteria.

When I get to my dorm, the room is mercifully empty. I sit on my bed and stare at the gray concrete walls, the modular furniture. I wonder what my room in Denfeld Hall will look like. Surely more interesting than this. Everything about my new life is going to be more interesting—my environment, the people. But what about me? For the first time, doubt worms through my bright daydream, wriggling unpleasantly beneath my skin. Will I be interesting enough for the rest of them? Will I be smart enough, talented enough, sophisticated enough?

There's still a chance that Dr. O'Connor is wrong about me. That he has made a terrible mistake. That I'll show up at Denfeld and be nothing but a disappointment to him and everyone else. A disappointment to myself. Or that the other students won't like me, that they'll resent me for replacing Meredith.

Is this a mistake? Am I overshooting again? What if this is like when I tried to join the LGBTQ+ club during my first week and everyone was utterly alien to me, a bunch of rich queer kids cracking jokes about the locals they saw on their drive to campus—caricaturing them as trailer trash meth heads with bad teeth. Of course, they didn't know that I used to live in a trailer park. They didn't know that I never show my teeth in photos because they're crooked and chipped. I got up and left the room, and no one noticed me go.

But if the Magni Viri students are like that, I won't be able to just get up and leave. I'll have to sit quiet and bear it or fight back and make enemies.

What if, what if, what if—my thoughts spiral, and soon Magni Viri has transformed in my mind from the answer to all my prayers into a dark menace waiting to devour me. I pull out my phone, wishing I had an adult to call, someone I could talk to and ask for advice. But even if Mom was willing to talk to me, she wouldn't understand. I was the adult in our home. I was the one who gave advice, the one who talked Mom down when she was losing control.

Out of habit, I scroll to Robin's name in my contacts. After she rejected my call the other night, she never tried to reach out again. That dismissive text saying she was busy with Charlie was the last I heard from her. My finger hovers over her name, but I can't bring myself to call her again, not after a brush-off like that.

I'm on my own.

That's the whole point of joining Magni Viri, isn't it? So I won't be on my own? So I'll have someone to call next time I feel this way?

That thought sends me up off the bed and to my feet.

No.I refuse to get in my own head this way. I'm joining Magni Viri on Monday morning, and that's that. I'm taking the rare opportunity that has fallen into my lap, and I'm going to make the most of it. Stuff like this never happens to people like me. I'm sure as hell not going to be the one to waste it.

With that, I launch myself into packing. I yank the oversize suitcase out from beneath my bed and start pulling clothes out of the closet. I could wait and do this over the weekend, but I want to do it now, before I lose my nerve. I want to make it clear to myself that this part of my life is ending and another is beginning.

My closet is halfway empty when Helena bursts into the room, looking harried. She stops in the doorway, her eyes on my suitcase. Her face registers surprise and then some emotion I can't read—relief? Vindication?

"What's going on, Tara?" she asks sweetly, schooling her expression into one of concern. She had been in a hurry, but now she walks slowly to her desk and drops her backpack into the chair.

I don't say anything, keeping my back resolutely turned away from her. I fold the same shirt three times.

"Oh, Tara," she says in a comforting voice, as if I told her I'm failing all my classes. "Well, college isn't for everyone, I guess. Maybe you can try community college and work your way back up. Or, you know, there are lots of decent paying jobs that don't require a degree."

"I'm not leaving Corbin," I say. "I'm just leaving this room."

"Oh," she says, puzzled, trying to work it out. "The dorms are expensive, huh?"

I spin around to face her, fed up with her passive-aggressive bullshit. "I'm moving into Denfeld Hall."

Her face is blank with incomprehension for about three seconds. Then her eyebrows knit together. "How did you get a room in Denfeld? That's only for Magni Viri."

I cock my head, raise my eyebrows expectantly, and wait for her to figure it out.

Her confusion turns to disbelief and then to anger. "You're lying."

"I start Monday," I say simply.

"Yeah right." She smirks openly now, completely dropping her faux-sweet persona.

I pick up the manila folder O'Connor handed me earlier. I hold my acceptance letter out so she can see the Magni Viri logo at the top. Her mouth falls open, and she reaches for the letter, a hunger in her eyes. I snatch the page away before she can touch it.

"How? What? Why?" she sputters.

"I met with Dr. O'Connor today. He offered me a place. Apparently, I was in the running with the girl who died. Now her spot is open." Despite my vindication, I still wince, hating that my chance at a new life depended on another girl's death.

Helena shakes her head, stunned into silence. But then her mouth twists into an ugly expression. "Why you?" There's no mistaking what she means.

I laugh, unable to stop my joy at her shock; the way this news upends her solid views of the world. "Who knows, Helena? Maybe they like ‘low caliber' students in Magni Viri." With that, I turn away from her and keep packing, my heart beating hard and fast, my cheeks warm with the pleasure of finally getting the upper hand.

Helena stands still behind me for a moment, silently fuming, then opens and slams a few drawers before storming back out, leaving the textbook she needs for class behind on her desktop.

I let out another stunned little laugh. At least Helena finally showed her true colors, revealing the poison behind her waspish politeness. I know she'll invent a perfect narrative to satisfy her jealousy and dislike of me, but that moment of seeing her realize that I had what she wanted so badly... It's hard not feel a sick little thrill of satisfaction.

I had worried that her reaction might make me doubt my place in Magni Viri, but it didn't. If anything, I feel surer now than I did before. It's the right decision. I deserve a room in Denfeld Hall just as much as Meredith Brown did. I've worked harder for it than Helena ever would. I pack up the rest of my stuff with sure, confident movements.

Only a few more days.

I spend the last of my free hours on Friday night going over the paperwork Dr. O'Connor gave me. Most of it is standard stuff, but when I reach the code of conduct I'm expected to sign, there's plenty to surprise me.

The first rule is that I'm not allowed to hold a job, either on or off campus, during my enrolled terms in order to focus on my studies. I guess that's why they provide a stipend for personal expenses. I sigh. I'd hoped to keep my library job so I could build up a little savings. But it's a small sacrifice to make for everything I'm gaining.

The second is that I am not to invite anyone outside of Magni Viri, whether student or family member or otherwise, into Denfeld Hall or its grounds. The only reason given is "to respect the privacy of Magni Viri members and to maintain an atmosphere conducive to academic and personal excellence."

"Wow," I whisper. So the legend about no one outside of Magni Viri seeing the inside of Denfeld Hall is true. No wonder Magni Viri students are so secretive and insular. It's literally in the code of conduct to keep others out. That rumor about the MV kids being a weird satanic cult passes through my thoughts again, ruffling my sense of certainty. But of course they aren't. What I overheard on Denfeld's grounds on the night Meredith died was a little strange, but it wasn't evil. Magni Viri is just a stuck-up academic society obsessed with its own exclusivity, I remind myself before I keep reading. It's no wonder they've inspired some jealousy-fueled rumors.

The last surprise—aside from the fact that there's nothing in here about abstaining from drugs or alcohol—is that I'm expected to participate weekly in Magni Viri social events, both organized and spontaneous.

Am I contractually obligated to go to parties? That's unexpected, but I guess organizations like Magni Viri are about networking and forming lifelong connections as much as they're about academic achievement. This is what I wanted, isn't it—to be knitted into a group like this? I release a shaky breath, skim the last of the page, and sign my name at the bottom before I can lose my courage.

It's done. At least on paper, I am a member of Magni Viri.

My face breaks into a huge smile, and I'm still smiling as I change into my rattiest clothes and then hurry to the chapel for my last janitorial shift. Even though I'm dressed in a bleach-stained sweatshirt and holey jeans, I walk with a new sureness in my step, my head held high.

When I enter the chapel, I'm relieved to see that Meredith's picture is gone, along with the smell of her funeral flowers. I wonder if someone from Magni Viri took the picture, if I'll find her staring at me the second I walk into Denfeld. God, I hope not. I already feel weird enough about taking her place.

Empty of people, the chapel is solemn and echoing but deeply peaceful. The stained glass windows are shadowed and strange in the electric lights, their blues deep indigo, their reds like spilled blood. The religious scenes they depict seem more imbued with meaning at night without the sun shining upon them. Jesus and his disciples. Mary and her little Christ. Lifted cups, lifted faces, lifted hands. I pass the marble memorials set into the walls, each inscribed with the names of the dead: Smith, Bauer, George, Sanders, Snow. I trace the grooves of their names and wonder who they were.

Probably all rich men who paid to be remembered in this way, whose money ensured their names would live on long after their bodies rotted in the earth. When I die, will anyone run their fingers over the grooves of my carved name? Will anyone wonder who I was?

I find Mr. Hanks in a room behind the altar, wheeling out cleaning supplies. He gives me a few quiet instructions and then we get to work. Once we finish the floors, Mr. Hanks climbs up on a ladder to wash the windows while I wipe down the pews with furniture polish. He is his usual gruff self, though I sense a softer edge to him now. He hums quietly while he works, a Johnny Cash song my grandpa used to sing all the time. I find myself humming along, enjoying the easy partnership we somehow developed without my noticing. I don't know how I ever thought he was mean.

But maybe I'm feeling nostalgic because this is the last time I'll be cleaning up behind the students of Corbin College. I won't miss the gum under the desks, the urine on the toilet lids, the mud ground into the entryway mats.

But I might miss this—this sense of quiet, when the buildings of Corbin College lie in wait, and—

Nope. Not going to get romantic about cleaning. Not even a little bit.

When Mr. Hanks climbs down from the ladder, I can't put it off any longer. I approach him, nervously wringing my hands. He takes one look at me and laughs.

"You're quitting, then?"

"How did you know?"

"I've been here a long time."

"I was offered a place in Magni Viri," I say.

He frowns, and I hurry to explain. "One of the rules is that I'm not allowed to have a job, so I can focus solely on my studies. I'm sorry to—"

He shakes his head. "Don't be sorry."

"Okay," I say. "I won't, then." I laugh.

He almost smiles, though there's an unreadable expression on his weathered brow. "Old Magni Viri, huh? That's a strange bunch."

"So I hear. You have any stories about them?" I ask, hoping he says no. I don't want to be talked out of joining, or to walk into Denfeld more nervous than I already am.

He pauses, chewing the inside of his cheek, but then he shakes his head and shrugs. "They clean their own damn house, so they're all right by me." He squints at me. "What, you afraid they got vampires up there?"

"More afraid I won't fit in," I admit.

He snorts. "Don't worry about whether they're going to like you. Worry about whether or not you like yourself. That's the secret."

"Well, you don't like anybody," I say.

He lets out a short, surprised laugh. "Solitude has its virtues," he says, lifting a dusty finger in mock admonishment.

"I'll try to remember that."

He surveys the chapel. "I think we're done here. All ship and shiny. You did good work."

"Thanks," I say, touched. That's the first compliment he's ever given me. I look around at the equipment we've used. "Do you want help getting anything back?" I find myself strangely hesitant to part from this surly, taciturn man. He's been the most solid presence in my life at Corbin, and I didn't even realize it until now.

"Nah, go write your papers," he says. "Good luck, girl." Then he turns and walks back up the aisle before I can say anything.

"Good night," I say, and head out of the chapel, promising myself I'll go back to visit him sometime.

Campus is dark, fog rolling along the ground, but the sky is clear, a million stars glinting overhead. I look to the north side of campus, where Denfeld Hall and the cemetery lie swathed in the shadow of the hills. Only a few more sleeps and that will be my new home.

I peer into the dark distance, as if I could see across all that space and blackness and into the new life I want so badly. I just hope it wants me too.