This older man and a guy who looks about my age, or maybe just a bit older, show up. The older man has gray hair, is lean but still kinda buff, and wears a white shirt with "Staff" written on it in big red letters. He has green eyes and a neatly trimmed beard. He definitely looks like a Daddy of sorts, but I control my dick.
The other dude, though, is totally, absolutely, God-tier level hot. Way taller than me, with broad shoulders and muscles that make his black tee look a size too small, clinging to his arms and abs. He has short, brown hair, bright green eyes, anda JAWLINE. Not ajawline, a JAWLINE. Plus, a bunch of cute freckles on his nose and cheeks.
MAN, if we weren’t here, I’d totally hit on him and see if he'd be up for some fun.
But he probably wouldn't go for a screw-up like me. He looks like one of those straight-A students who tops every class and probably aces athletics, too. But then again, he’s here too, so maybe he isn’t as perfect as he looks. He’s wearing khaki pants with a belt, looking all neat and put-together compared to my sweats.
Anyway, I figure I’ll see if I can get something going with him later. Make a mental note of it. I mean, I might be a thief, gay, and a stoner, but I’m also pretty damn hot, if I do say so myself.
“Liam Marsal?” the older man asks, reaching out to shake my hand, which throws me off since I’m not expecting him to be nice. I’m half expecting people to scream at me, maybe spit in my face, kick me to the ground, and step on my nose. ButmaybeI'm dramatic.
“That's me,” I say, flashing a grin. The man smiles back, but Mr. Hot-and-Serious doesn’t change his stoic expression.
“My name’s Chris Griff. Pleasure to meet you,” he says. “I'll be your counselor while you’re here. So, anything you need, you come to me first, classes, routine, therapy. Whatever you need, son,” he says in this really kind tone. He looks around forty or fifty years old. And if we were somewhere else, maybe I'd totally try to hit on him too.
“Oh, why, thanks,” I reply.
“Thank you, sir,” Mr. Hot-and-Serious corrects me, all stern. I look at him, kind of amused and in disbelief that he’s being serious, and raise an eyebrow.
Not gonna lie, I immediately find that hot, as I'm clearly sick in the head.
“Don’t worry, Ethan. He’ll pick up on how things work around here soon,” Griff tells the hot guy, who apparently is named Ethan. “Here we address authority with 'sir' and 'ma’am.' Alright, Liam?”
I nod. What else am I gonna do?
"Ethan's your student leader while you're here. He's basically like me, just the student version. Hit him up for anything, and he'll help you get settled and stick to the rules. Quick heads-up, though, if you get in trouble, he's in hot water too, 'cause it's his job to keep you in line. So, be good, for you and for him. Your leader has full authority over you, he's responsible for everything you do."
“What a sucky job,” I say, but neither of them laughs. I’m starting to think my sense of humor might not exactly fit in here. Ethan keeps giving me this super serious look, as if he'd rather be scrubbing a bathroom with a toothbrush than standing there, and Griff gives a professional smile.
"Let’s check out the place," Griff says and starts leading us down the hallway. I follow him. Welcome to my new life.
¦
Leaving the admin area behind and stepping into the inner courtyard, Griff begins to explain the layout. "In front of us is the academic block where classes happen. We just came from the admin block, there’s the dorm block, and another academic block. This here is the recreational courtyard, and that’s the sports court," he explains, pointing at stuff while we walk. "Inside, we have a basketball gym and a rec room. We’re hopingto put together a football field, but funding’s tight," he adds. I just nod along, trying to make a mental map. I fail. Too dyslexic for that. "You’ll need to pick a sport; participating in daily physical activity is mandatory. I teach MMA, and Ethan here is on the team, too. It’s a great way to stay fit and keep your head straight."
I shrug. "I’m down for some exercise, sure," I say. “MMA sounds cool.”
He smiles warmly. "Great. Ethan will take you to your first class then." Ethan nods, still looking like a robot. A very fucking sexy robot. "We build our ethics around discipline and respect," he says. I’m not usually a fan of either of those words. “Sports help to kill this restless energy, and MMA is a good way to channel violent impulses into something productive.”
I'm about to make some stupid comment about my violent impulses, but Ethan’s eyes snag mine and hold them. His stare is the kind of look that tells you all the jokes in the world just bounce off him. And that stare, for some reason, is enough for me to shut up. That's not something common for me. Especially not how nervous he seems to make me, only by locking eyes with me. I know I'm young, but that's some fourteen-year-old-boy-with-his-first-boy-crush type of shit that I thought I was over after the first time me and a guy fucked.
We start crossing the inner courtyard towards the dorm building, and Griff keeps talking.
“So, listen up. Everybody here is eighteen or older, and you could be sitting in county right now instead of here. But you get a second chance. This place’s about getting your diploma and learning to get your shit together. That's the deal. Like I said, discipline isn't optional here. Show up to class, walk the line, you'll earn privileges. Fast. But you step out of said line, and you'll lose those merits quick. And yeah, we get creative with consequences. We don't do physical punishments here,obviously, but I have no problem with some good old-fashioned discomfort. You'll run laps till your legs give out, take ice-cold showers at 5 AM, or write the same damn sentence five hundred times. Fair warning."
I flash a smile. "Got it, sir. Looking forward to all that good old-fashioned discomfort." I answer, clearly the wrong thing to say, as I can feel Ethan's eyes trying to sear right through me. And, damn… I’m not gonna say it again, but…hot. Griff himself doesn't seem to care very much. So, we press on with the grand tour.
Chapter 2. Ethan
The buzzer hits at 6 AM, same as every day. I'm already awake. Been awake since five, maybe earlier. It just happens. If I hear any noise at all, I wake up. If I know it’s almost time for the alarm, I wake up. My body doesn’t like to relax.
I swing my legs off the bed, feet on cold floor, and start making my bed before the overhead lights flicker on. Hospital corners, blanket pulled tight, the way they expect us to do every day. It's muscle memory now. Three years of the same routine, and I can do it in the dark. I like doing it in the dark. It means I'm ahead of everyone else before the day even starts.
When the buzzer goes off and the lights automatically go on, Jack groans from his bunk. He always groans. He buries his face in his pillow, his blond hair smashed flat on one side, that ugly Batman tattoo under his ear half-hidden by the pillowcase. I know he'll stay there until the last possible second.
"Get up," I say. Not loud. I don't need to be loud.
"Five more minutes," he mumbles.
