Evette wakes up to the shrill sound of her alarm, groaning as she reaches for her phone to turn it off. The dim morning light filters through her curtains, casting a soft glow across her room. She sits up, rubbing her eyes before swinging her legs over the edge of the bed.
Dragging herself to the bathroom, she splashes cold water on her face, instantly feeling more awake. She brushes her teeth, the minty freshness clearing away the last traces of sleep. After a quick shower, she wraps herself in one of the fluffy robes hanging on the wall, letting the warmth sink in before stepping out.
She walks to her cupboard and pulls out the burgundy sweater and plaid skirt she picked the night before. After slipping them on, she brushes her hair, making sure it falls neatly over her shoulders. A touch of mascara and lip gloss finish her look.
Grabbing her bag, she double-checks that she has everything—laptop, books, notebooks, and pens before slinging it over her shoulder. With one last glance in the mirror, she takes a deep breath.
"First day of college. Here we go." She says to herself.
Evette steps out of her dorm, the cool morning air waking her up even more as she heads down the hallway. She grips the strap of her bag and takes the stairs down, her footsteps echoing lightly. The halls are already buzzing with students, some rushing, some casually chatting.
She takes a left turn, following the directions she memorized last night. As she walks, her heart beats a little faster, first class, first impression. She finally reaches the room, pausing for a second before stepping inside.
The classroom is huge, much bigger than she expected. The high ceiling makes it feel open, and large windows let in bright natural light, making the polished wooden desks shine. Rows of seats are arranged in a semi-circle, all facing the front where a massive whiteboard stretches across the wall. A sleek podium stands nearby, and a projector hangs from the ceiling, ready for use.
The walls are painted a calming beige, and the chairs actually look comfortable, unlike the stiff plastic ones she was used to. There's even a faint scent of coffee in the air, probably from the students who already have their morning fix.
She scans the room, spotting a few students already seated, flipping through notebooks or scrolling on their phones. Taking a deep breath, she steps forward, ready to start her first class.
Evette catches the scent of vanilla and roses, a mix so familiar it makes her pause. She turns around just in time, catching Evan before he can scare her. He stands there, smirking, dressed in a plain white button-up shirt and black jeans, his backpack slung over one shoulder.
He rolls his eyes playfully, shifting his weight to one side. "Go ahead," he says, a teasing glint in his green eyes. "What are you waiting for?"
Evette rolls her eyes and steps into the classroom, scanning the rows of seats before settling in next to Lydia. Evan finds a seat nearby, next to a tall Black guy with short curls, who introduces himself as Noah.
A few moments later, the teacher walks in. He is bald, with a wispy mustache, and wears a brown jacket over a neatly pressed polo shirt. He clears his throat, adjusting his glasses as he looks around the room.
"Good morning, everyone," he says, his voice deep but calm. "I'm Mr. Hutchinson, your College Etiquette instructor. Welcome to Westgate. Over the next few weeks, we'll be covering everything you need to know to navigate life here, professionally, academically, and socially."
Evette leans back in her chair, listening as he begins explaining the expectations of the school, the importance of first impressions, and how this class will help them in the real world.
After College Etiquette, Evette makes her way to her next class—French. The room smells like coffee and fresh paper, and Miss Charlotte , a short woman with curly blonde hair and glasses, stands at the front. She greets everyone with a warm "Bonjour, classe!" before launching into the basics of pronunciation and simple phrases. Evette scribbles notes as Miss Guiana writes on the board, her handwriting neat and precise.
Next is Plain Basic Law. The classroom is more formal, with wooden desks and shelves filled with thick textbooks. Their teacher, Miss Abagail Rockforma, stands tall at the front, her well-built frame making her presence commanding. She wears a navy blazer and speaks with confidence, introducing the foundations of law with a sharp, no-nonsense tone. "Understanding the law is understanding power," she says, pacing slightly. "This class will teach you the basics, but don't think that makes them any less important."
Finally, Evette heads to math. The moment she steps in, she realizes this class might be a challenge. Their teacher, a thin man with graying hair and round glasses, writes his name on the board, and Evette stares at it, trying to figure out how to pronounce it. The letters seem jumbled together, and when he introduces himself out loud, the pronunciation sounds nothing like how it looks. She quickly decides she'll just call him "Professor" and hopes she never has to say his name out loud.
The lesson is fast-paced, with numbers and formulas flying across the board. By the time the class ends, Evette sighs in relief, gathering her things as she heads out, her brain already feeling overloaded.
Evette heads to her dorm and texts Evan, "I'll meet you at 5 so we can go to a café and group study."
Evan responds almost immediately, "There's no reason to study yet."
Evette rolls her eyes, she can almost visualize him smirking at her, She shoves her phone into her purse and steps into her dorm, kicking off her shoes as she glances at the time on her phone. "4 PM," she mutters to herself. She still has an hour before she has to meet Evan.
Evette changes into a casual hoodie and picks up her phone, about to message Evan, when a sudden knock at the door makes her pause. She sighs, rolling her eyes. "There are 45 minutes left, Evan," she calls out, stepping toward the door.
Just as she reaches for the handle, a sickly sweet scent fills the air. Her head spins. Chloroform.
Panic surges through her as she stumbles back, trying to hold her breath, trying to fight it—but her limbs feel heavy, her vision blurs. She drops to her knees, a groan escaping her lips before everything fades into darkness.