Lost Paradise (The Savages of the Blue Lagoon)

4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

We’ve all been provided with a chair and watch the dean sitting behind his mahogany desk, his expression stern as he puts all of our student files back down on his desk and eyes each one of us. We sit all in one row facing him, as if we’re facing a firing squad.

I become nervous as I realize the gravity of the situation and the potential consequences I face. Yet, last night’s party was a far cry from the kind of scene I’ve attended in the past. I’ve been going to twenty-one plus bars since I was 16 years old in New York, using my fake ID and attending exclusive underground parties no teenager should have privy to. I’ve seen more lines of coke laid out on mirrored surfaces and pill bottles freely circulated than what Astro had arranged at this party last night. But not once at any of those events I attended was I ever tempted or intrigued to seek euphoria as a user. I haven’t yet found the vice that elevates me to a joyful state of pleasure and escape the monotony of everyday life, but I know drugs aren’t it.

So the irony that I might be expelled before I even get to attend this college and be shipped back to New York to meet whichever godforsaken husband my parents found for me is a bitter twist of fate.

All because I was at the wrong place, at the wrong time.

It’s fucking hysterical.

I mean, this is freaking rock bottom, a stroke of unbelievably lousy luck!

Zane, sitting next to me, shifts uncomfortably in his seat under the fierce gaze of the dean, who’s probably silently scrutinizing all of us. He told me last night about the conditions of the scholarship he has here, and I know there’s a lot of weight on his shoulders right now. Even though Emily knows about his sports grant, she doesn’t know anything about its details, and I omitted from telling her and her little crew about Zane’s financial circumstances. I know how girls like them operate when someone from a lesser affluent status enters the kind of circle she’s naturally a member of. I witnessed it back at prep school with all the Upper West Siders who just didn’t fit with the Upper East Side society of my school. Where one lives in Manhattan can indeed affect one's social status.

“Alright, let’s get straight to the point,” the dean begins, his voice carrying authority. “Last night, campus security discovered an abundance of drugs on the institute’s grounds. You four were present at that party—”

The dean suddenly stops and directs his attention to Jack.

“Mr. Bancroft, I don’t seem to have your file,” he remarks, his tone devoid of confusion or hesitation. With a calm assurance, Jack's presence seems unquestionably warranted. The dean promptly buzzes his assistant and instructs her to add Jack to her list.

I'm on the verge of saying something, but it's clear that whatever has brought Jack here, he has a deliberate desire to be present.

“Getting back to business,” the dean says, focusing his attention back to us. “You five were present at that party last night. You were tested for drugs, and the results came back negative. But make no mistake, this is a serious matter. Someone brought those drugs onto this campus, and I want to know who it was.”

I exchange an uneasy glance with Zane and Byron, sitting next to him, twitching nervously as he adjusts his glasses. Jack, next to me, hasn’t moved, and I’m almost sure he hasn’t breathed in the last few minutes.

Is he even fucking alive?

If he were dead, he’d stink. And I have to admit there’s something phenomenally addictive about his scent. I hardly expected him to smell at all, let alone this complex, almost intoxicating undertones of something I can’t quite grasp what it is. As soon as he took a seat next to me, a wave of warmth washed over me, accompanied by an irresistible allure. I think I’m the only one who must smell it. It’s like this forbidden indulgence, tantalizing and bold. Cloves and cinnamon. Maybe vanilla? I don’t know, but it stirs something primal in me.

Leather. He’s wearing a lot of it. But his scent mixed with it captivated me the most. It's smoky, masculine, and ….

Fuck. I’ve only just glanced at him, and he catches me doing it. Those blue-piercing eyes of his just glimpsed at me, sending shivers down my spine.

Well, at least I know the guy is alive. His eyeballs have moved.

He’s creepy as fuck, and I can’t help but lose myself in the depths of his scent, and the magnet pull he has over me because of it.

“Anyone care to enlighten me?” the dean, prompts, his tone unwavering.

My attention is drawn back to the dean’s question and my current dilemma.

Silence hangs heavily in the room for a moment.

“We … we don’t know, Sir,” I say tentatively. “We were just there to have a good time. We didn’t see who brought the drugs.”

I have no idea why I’m speaking on behalf of the group. I should be just saving my own ass, but I feel compelled to take charge.

“Yeah, what she said,” adds Astro, nodding in agreement, and I could just smack the guy. I can almost feel Zane suddenly tense up beside me.

The dean narrows his eyes, observing the subtle exchanges we make between each other. He probably senses the tension in the room and the unspoken knowledge that lingers among us.

“Actually,” Astro adds, and I swerve my head at him, making a face to shut down his brash mouth.

Zane is now gritting his teeth, ready to throw Astro under the bus.

“Miss. Winters was nowhere near the area where the drugs were found. If you look at the security report, you’ll find her and I were in the bathroom,” he coughs, “if you excuse the phrase with no disrespect to Miss. Winters, but we were getting off with each other the whole night. Both of us had no knowledge of any drugs until we were interrupted by security, who informed us about it.

“With regards to Byron, I locked him in the basement because he was being a twat, so he was missing from the party at the beginning of the evening.

“Jack wasn’t even at the house because he was at a midnight poetry reading and I know this because I had plans to meet him there with Zane. Except when Zane arrived to pick me up, the party had already started, and I saw Miss Winters, with her friends, enter the front door, and I grabbed her upstairs to…well, you already know the details. ”

I’m a little taken aback by Astro’s unusual behavior. There is a specific characteristic about him, and he’s the kind of guy who holds no qualms about throwing others under the bus to save himself.

But he didn’t. In fact, Astro did the exact opposite of what I expected of him.

“Is that so?” the dean gazes at Astro intensely. “Astraios Doukas, the party was at your house. Are you saying you weren’t the one who organized this?”

“No, Sir, I didn’t. Six others also reside in my house. I got caught using my bathroom. We all happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. Despite what you’d like to think, I was using the bathroom with a girl in the house where I am currently renting a bedroom. The fact that someone threw a party there had nothing to do with me.”

“If you weren’t at the party, why did you lock Mr. Harding in the basement?”

“Who is Mr. Harding?” Astro asks innocently, but he knows exactly who that is.

“I am,” Byron sneers at him.

“Oh, well, that’s pretty obvious,” Astro chimes. “Mr. Harding’s got a secret crush on my bird, Miss. Winters.”

What the actual fuck?

I hear Byron hiss and feel Zane stiffen. There are so many things I could say right now to this dipshit, grade-A thug, but now is not the time.

The dean’s gaze sweeps over us, but his eyes linger on Astro for a moment longer, a faint sneer curling on his lips.

“Mr. Doukas,” he says, his tone dripping with disdain. “We don’t tolerate the kind of behavior you might be accustomed to.”

The dean then turns abruptly to me. “Miss Winters, you should know better than anyone the consequences of associating with the wrong crowd.”

Astro’s jaw tightens, and a flicker of defiance flashes in his eyes before he quickly schools his expression into one of neutrality. I can only imagine the disdainful glances and whispered rumors he gets that follow him around because of who he is and his background.

Was he really in prison for almost two years, or was Emily bullshitting me?

Despite Astro’s abrasive, cocky, and annoying exterior, I can see the vulnerability hidden behind his stoic fa?ade and can’t help but feel a pang of sympathy for him. I’ve faced my own battles against stereotypes and preconceived notions. Maybe not like him, but sometimes I would have preferred to sit alone under the shade of a tree rather than have to fight for the top tier of the social ladder because that is what is expected of me.

The dean continues to lecture Astro, his words laced with thinly veiled contempt. I wish I could reach out to him and offer him some semblance of comfort in the face of such harsh judgment. But I know that the stigma surrounding Astro's family name isn’t something that can be easily overcome. We come from different worlds, and there’s no way I can change the way the dean or anyone else sees him.

The dean fixes his stare on Astro for a moment longer before sweeping over the rest of us.

"Well, I find it hard to believe that none of you saw anything. But let me make this clear, I've been the dean of this institution for many years, and during orientation, I've never had to expel anyone within the first two weeks. However, that doesn't mean I won't hesitate to do so if necessary."

The gravity of his words hangs heavily in the air, and I feel Zane twitch once more. Jack, on my other side, seems to remain dead but still smells lovely, and Byron looks straight at the dean.

Or through him.

I’m not sure why Byron was at this party. He doesn’t seem to be the kind of guy who attends such social events.

We all know Astro is responsible for this mess, but we’re also not going to be a snitch either. Betrayal is a big no-no in student life, and if it were to get out, you did such a thing. It doesn’t matter whether the dean expels you or not because your life on campus is pretty much over.

"But," the dean continues, his tone softening slightly, "I believe in second chances. Therefore, instead of sending you all home, I'm going to give you one more opportunity to prove yourselves. Consider this a warning. If anything like this happens again, there will be severe consequences. Understood?"

What does this mean, though?

"Good," the dean says, leaning back in his chair, not waiting for our reply. “Instead, I’m suspending all five of you for two weeks. You will miss the joys of orientation week and will spend your suspension making amends by contributing positively to society.”

I’m puzzled by this and have no idea what he’s talking about .

“You will fly to Mozambique,” the dean clarifies, "a small village in need of assistance.”

Africa? My eyes widen with shock. What the heck?

“Our college has partnered with a sponsor there, and you will assist in building a much-needed water sewage system for the community. Mr. Coldwell will accompany you on this trip and report back to me on your progress."

Our attention is drawn to the tall man who literally walks out from the shadows of the giant bookcase next to the drawn curtains that line the tall old windows.

My surprise isn’t by where the fuck he came from but the fact that he has to be one of the most attractive guys I have ever laid my eyes on. Sure, there’s something very preppy casual about him with the way he wears his tweed blazer and the sleeves pushed up. His white shirt is messily tucked into his pants. But it’s the way he wears his shirt unbuttoned at the top and the little peak of his tanned chest. There’s no doubt that he’s athletically built by the way his tailored jacket hugs his rounded shoulders and trim waist. He may not be built like Zane and Astro, but there’s no doubt about how fit he looks.

He shoves his hands in the pockets of his gray pants, drawing my attention to the seriously impressive?.

Nope! Not going there with him either.

Dick hungry or not, I’m not getting involved with men.

I tear my eyes away from his crotch. Why the fuck am I looking at this man’s package at a time like this?

“Zane Jones,” the dean diverts our focus from the new guy. “You are already acquainted with Mr.Coldwell, but for the rest of you, allow me to introduce you to the institute’s latest faculty member. Mr. Coldwell has joined us this term and will assist with the preparation of the Martial Arts and Fencing teams for the next Olympic trials and qualifications. He already holds several achievements under his belt, including the numerous gold medals he won for Britain, and he is currently writing his master's thesis for his studies at Cambridge.”

My heart nearly plummets into the pit of my stomach.

A teacher?

He looks way too young. But then again, he’s still doing his master's degree, so maybe he’s a little older than us. I find myself unable to tear my gaze away from those piercing, clear green eyes as he blinks at each of us.

“I wish our initial meeting would be under better circumstances,” Mr. Coldwell says. His voice is so smooth and sexy, with a hint of warmth that sends a heated vibe through me. “So I’ll cut to the chase as I imagine most of you are puzzled by the bomb Dean Carmichael has dropped.”

Even his voice is golden and I can't remember ever feeling so drawn to a teacher in my life. His messy brown hair is styled purposely in such a wistful way, framing a jawline so sharp it could cut glass.

What the heck is in the water in Scotland and England? Byron, Jack, this guy, and, cringing with admittance, but even Astro is freakishly attractive.

“This opportunity is no mere slap on the wrist,” he continues. “It’s a chance for redemption. A prospect to use your time and energy for a greater good.” He gazes over to the dean.

"Upon your return," the dean takes over, "you will each be required to write a 5000-word essay detailing your experiences in Mozambique and how it has impacted your lives. Consider it a reflection on the lessons learned and the growth achieved during your time there."

The five of us listen in silence, the weight of our suspension settling over us like a heavy blanket. I don’t want to go to Africa. I need to be here, networking my way into college society, not building sewage systems.

“When do we leave?” Byron asks curiously.

“Tomorrow morning,” Mr. Coldwell replies. “Provided all of your passports and vaccinations are up to date.”

My eyes nearly pop out of my head.

“That’s really last minute,” I say, thinking out loud.

“Miss Winters,” the dean addresses me directly. “Sometimes life takes an unexpected turn, taking us on the journey of a lifetime. We may not end up where we dreamed, but we’ll always end up where we belong.”

He has no idea what he’s talking about.

“For some of us, at least,” he adds, directing his comment to Astro. By this point, I can see the guy about to lose his shit on the dean, so I drag my chair back, creating a loud distraction, and get up.

“Ah, before you all leave, I’d ask you to please visit the infirmary and Sister Walker, who will have all your medical files,” Mr. Coldwell injects. “She will ensure you’re all updated with vaccines you will need to travel and a set of malaria pills you are required to take with you on this mission.”

“Malaria?” I ask, a little stunned and worried. Where the fuck are we going, and why are we being subjected to this?

The sexy teacher looks at me sympathetically, and I can’t help but wonder why he isn’t competing in the Olympics and chooses a life of coaching instead.

He doesn’t look that old to have retired from sport.

“It’s just for prevention and highly recommended,” he replies, casting me a small, assuring smile.

“There’s a 4.1 percent of malaria cases and 3.8 percent of malaria deaths globally,” Byron blurts out. “It’s more than highly recommended to start the pills before you depart from the UK.”

“How do you know the exact figures?” Astro utters sarcastically.

“Mr. Harding is a two-time winner of the British Physics Olympiad AS Challenge and most recently won the BAAO Astrophysics competition and British Biology Olympiad,” the dean rushes to reply. “I would take the advice he has to offer earnestly.”

“He’s a right smartie, innit! I bet you won a Nobel prize at five. Am I right?” Astro grins amusingly at Byron, who’s now gone a shade of dark red.

As much as I sympathized with Astro and how he was chastised for his background by the dean, right now, I’d like to smack him for making fun of Byron.

“I believe his intelligence will next time take precedence over the type of person he chooses to associate with. Someone you can only aspire to be, Mr. Doukas.”

Before Astro loses his cool, Jack makes an abrupt, distracting move, and something goes flying out of his hand. We all draw our attention to the silver zippo on the floor by the door.

“Mr. Bancroft,” the dean is probably one step from exploding on us, “smoking is banned on campus!”

I think he’s already regretting not expelling us.

“It’s ahhh….” Jack stares at the zippo and then back at the dean. He reaches out to the back of his head and remains silent as if he had no intention of elaborating on anything.

For someone who smells really good, he is awfully weird.

“Perhaps we should all visit the sister now,” Mr. Coldwell interrupts the silence that has filled the room. He quickly dashes to the door and opens it, urging us to leave the office and probably hoping no one else opens their mouth.

This isn’t exactly the new kind of start I was hoping for in my life when I traveled thousands of miles to get here yesterday. I could have attended an Ivy League school and stayed home, and I would have remained the most influential person in Manhattan’s elite society for those under 21.

But no… I had to choose the furthest place from home, and now I might actually die from some mosquito disease.

“Malaria is from mosquitos, right?” I lean into Byron as we follow Mr. Coldwell to the nurse’s office. It’s either staring at the teaching assistant’s alluring ass ahead of us or thinking about something drastically awful.

“Malaria is caused by the plasmodium parasite. It’s spread to humans through the bites of infected mosquitoes. Five different types of plasmodium parasite cause malaria in humans.”

“Five?” Zane asks, his eyes widening in disbelief, mirroring the shock that hits me like a wave of worry.

“Yes, but the mosquito season in Mozambique is from December to April, so I wouldn’t worry much. But take the recommended dosage the sister tells you to take, and you will be fine.” Byron looks at me and smiles, knowing he’s only added that last bit for my benefit.

I think Byron will become my best friend on this trip. He might be the least athletically bound guy among everyone in this group, but having brains on your side only stipulates that in this journey we’re heading, it’s not about the fittest that will survive it, but the most intelligent ones will know exactly how to do so.