ARIELLE

CHAPTER 3

Orientation day arrived, and it went exactly as I had anticipated. It was overwhelming with a sprinkle of chaos.

Scratch that; it was very overwhelming.

It wasn’t too chaotic because after you got through the forced icebreakers and the overly friendly atmosphere, orientation mostly involved walking around campus with other freshmen while listening to administrators explain things already in the welcome packet.

The school administration must have figured out that not many people actually read it, which was understandable.

I, for one, hadn’t even bothered opening it.

On the other hand, it was overwhelming because I often found myself forgetting that I was allowed to be in Halebridge. It felt as though someone might discover an error at any moment, alert the authorities, and I would be led back to my vehicle while everyone watched.

You can’t blame me much, really. I watched an unhealthy number of crime movies. But the feeling hadn’t faded since I arrived. Instead, it got more intense as I engaged in more official activities.

Star and I navigated the administration building together, following the signs that led to the check-in tables. The room was well set up, with long tables and folders organized by last name. The members of staff smiled as they worked to help hundreds of students with their schedules.

My course schedule consisted of a mix of requirements and electives. I was required to take a general education course (Intro to Economics, which, honestly, I looked forward to the least).

But on the bright side, I managed to load up the rest with things I actually wanted to study. Two literature courses, painting, and the one I was most nervous about—Art History with Seminar, which had the description:

“Advanced study of artistic movements with particular attention to provenance, authentication, and historical documentation. Limited enrollment, and instructor’s permission required.”

“How did you get that?” Star asked after glancing at my schedule. She had secured a spot in an advanced creative writing seminar, which was quite impressive for a freshman. No wonder she had been freaking out about what notebooks to buy yesterday.

“Isn’t that supposed to be like, junior/senior level?”

“The website said freshmen with demonstrated interest were encouraged to apply,” I told her, but left out the fact that I had spent two hours creating a statement of intent that probably came off as too earnest and way too lengthy. “The professor must have liked my application essay.”

“Of course they did. You’re the most interesting person I know, and we literally just met.”

I went to the art studios next. They were located in a separate building on the east side of campus, a part of the newer structures. The building had large windows, a high ceiling, and smelled of paint, turpentine, and creativity.

When I walked in, the professor, a woman named Dr. Cho with silver streaking her black hair and paint-stained fingers, was setting up palettes.

“You’re in my afternoon section?” Dr. Cho asked when I introduced myself.

“I am,” I confirmed, a little bit nervous.

“Good. We’d be starting an interesting project where each person would work with materials that make them uncomfortable. I can already see that a large number of you are going to hate it.” She grinned. “It’s going to be messy.”

Yay! Sounds fun.

As I was making my way out, I did a quick survey of the room. There were easels set up in clusters, and the walls were covered with work—some finished, some in progress, some that looked like someone had thrown paint at the canvas in a moment of despair.

It was intriguing.

Once it was noon, I made my way to the dining hall, and Star was already waiting for me. She sat at a corner table holding two sandwiches. The moment she saw me, a look of relief washed her face as though I’d been gone for months instead of three hours.

“I met this girl in my orientation group who talked about her internship the entire time,” Star started once I was within hearing range, without waiting for me to sit down.

“And it was impressive, don’t get me wrong. But like, we don’t even know you yet, girl. You don’t need to establish your credentials in the first thirty minutes. There was also this tall dude who tried to hit on me during a bonding exercise. It was so weird and inappropriate that I would have told him off, but I was also worried about establishing myself as the mean girl in the first week.”

“Survival strategy,” I commented, gesturing for her to pass me the sandwich.

“Touche. But seriously, how do guys gather the confidence to approach someone and say, ‘I find you attractive and would like to know you more.’ What if I do not want to know you more, mister?”

Star shook her head. “Anyway, enough about me…, fill me in on the details of your orientation horror stories.”

I recounted the most amusing encounters, and Star laughed so hard that other people at nearby tables looked over and couldn’t help but smile. Her laughter was that infectious. By the end of lunch, I’d relaxed enough that I forgot to watch my posture or my expression; I was enjoying the moment.

We then decided to explore the library together. There was an archival library, and that was where I completely lost track of time.