“He seems pretty good.”
“Maybe they told him that if he complained, they’d lock him in his room or stop feeding him or something.”
I roll my eyes. “This isn’t a Dickens novel, David.”
“I never said it was.” He strides forward impatiently, so I have to scramble to keep up.
On the front step of the dorm building, which is a couple of stories tall and more blocky than the other buildings we’ve been in, Ethan reaches inside his shirt and pulls out a key card attached to a lanyard around his neck.
“Only the people who live here can go in,” he says as he expertly waves it in front of a sensor. “But it’s okay for you to come in, because you’re with me. You can’t come in without me, though.”
“Got it,” David says.
“Same for my room,” Ethan says, leading us through the hallway. “You can only come in if I take you. It’s the same key.” He heads up a flight of stairs, and we follow. “These are the stairs I usually take. There are other ones, but they’re farther away. And there’s an elevator, but it’s only for people who can’t walk up the stairs. When I’m tired, I think I should get to take the elevator, but Sammy and Joe won’t let me.”
“Why won’t they let you?” David says. “That’s weird.”
“I know,” Ethan says. “Really weird.”
“They probably just think it’s faster and easier to take the stairs,” I say. We reach the top. “Which one’s your room?”
“The second door on the right-hand side, coming from these stairs, and the third door on the left-hand side, coming from the other stairs.”
“Let’s see it.”
“Okay, but it’s weird being here now. Usually we’re not allowed to be in the dorms during school hours.” He pulls out his keycard again.
“What if you’re sick?” David asks.
“Then you go to the infirmary. There’s a nurse and three beds. I met the nurse last week because I got a splinter in my finger. It hurt so much. It hurt as much as getting stabbed with a knife.” He pushes the door open. “This is my room. I share it with Nicholas and Ethan W and Jonathan, but Jonathan went home this weekend because his grandmother died.”
“Oh, poor Jonathan,” I say.
“She was ninety-two years old. She was born in 1925, which was between the two world wars. Jonathan said she was supposed to die last year, but she didn’t, and his parents had to cancel their summer vacation, so his mother was annoyed.”
I laugh.
“That wasn’t a joke. Why are you laughing?”
“I’m just so happy to see you?” I offer guiltily.
David has been circling around the room, checking everything out with a worried frown on his face. “So this is your bed?” He points to the top mattress on one of the bunks.
“Yeah. Don’t you see my blanket from home?”
“That’s how I knew. You like being on the top?”
“No!” Ethan says. “I hate it. If you need to go to the bathroom, you have to climb down in the dark, and it’s hard to find the places to put your feet. I wanted to be on the bottom, but Ethan W already had the bottom and said I couldn’t have it.”
“You’re kidding me,” David says. “That sucks.”
“Someone has to take the top bunk,” I say. “And Ethan’s the new guy, so—”
“That’s exactly why he should have a decent place to sleep. I’ll make them change this before we leave.” David continues to prowl the room. “What about your clothes? Where do you keep those?”
“I get half of the drawers.” Ethan points to one of two plain wooden dressers. “The bottom ones. And Ethan W gets the ones on top.”
“That’s not fair either!” David slams his palm on the top of the dresser. Ethan flinches. “It’s harder to get stuff in and out of the bottom drawers. You have the worst of both worlds. The least they could do is give the people in the top bunks the top drawers.”
“I didn’t think about that,” Ethan says nervously. “I should have. The top should go with the top. No one told me that before.”
“Because it’s not an actual rule,” I say. “Most people don’t care which drawers they get. I know I don’t—?Ivy has the top ones in our room, and I don’t care.”
“It’s a fairness thing,” David says. “They’re treating Ethan like a second-class citizen.” He turns back to his brother. “What happens with your dirty clothes?”
“I have a hamper in the closet. Mine is blue. Ethan W’s is green, and Jonathan’s is red, and Nicholas’s is yellow. Nicholas keeps putting his clothes in mine, though. He says that means I have to wash them for him.”
“You don’t,” I say. “He’s just teasing. Are there laundry machines in the building? Do they help you do it, or are you on your own?”
“I do my laundry on Mondays,” Ethan says. “Sammy helps. I separate the whites from the darker colors. You use hot water for the whites and—”
“Hold on,” David says. “What was that about Nicholas trying to make you do his laundry? Is he bullying you? You shouldn’t have to share a room with a bully.” He grabs Ethan’s arm. “You have to tell me honestly right now, while we’re alone—”
“Chloe’s here.”
“She doesn’t count.”
“Much appreciated,” I say.
He gazes intently at his brother. “Tell me if you hate it here, Ethan. Because if you do, I’ll take you home right now.”
“I could go home?”
“Yes. Right now. If that’s what you want.”
“But Dad said I couldn’t go home. So did Sammy. I cried at the beginning a lot and kept asking, but he said no.”
“Oh, Ethan,” I say. “That sounds really scary.”
“Yes, it was.”
“Is it still as scary?”
He hesitates, glancing sideways at David, whose face is taut with tension. “I’m not sure,” Ethan whispers.