The Dorm Guard 19 Chapter Nineteen: Week Eight Of Term One

E.Q Emotional Quota: Low-EQ individuals have difficulty in reacting to others' emotions. They may have difficulty or an inability to project appropriate or read/understand feelings in themselves or others.

*

I steered clear of Amia for the next few days until she sought me out, apologising to me for kicking the soccer ball at my chest. "I just don't like people talking about Amada," she had said, "People are mean."

We hugged and made up, and I was sure not to bring it up again.

I sat on the side of a small park just outside the town. On a handful of street corners, the council had placed small playground equipment for the kids in the area. This one had a roundabout, a yellow metal swing set and a bright blue slippery dip on a large bed of woodchips. I was with Mia and Bonnie; we intended to fulfil one of Bonnie's bucket list items. Use a swing set.

Mia was pus.h.i.+ng herself around the roundabout, sometimes sprinting to gain momentum before throwing herself on the metal bars. Bonnie watched Mia go around and around, resting her hands on her lap as she leaned back in her chair. "Whenever you're ready, Landon," she called over her shoulder, her eyes staying on her little sister.

I pushed myself to my feet and started for the wheelchair. I was in a similar state to Bonnie, watching Mia spin around gleefully, occasionally having to kick off the ground to maintain her momentum. Mia had a very bubbly laugh, one I didn't hear too often.

"It's nice hearing her laugh," Bonnie commented as if she had read my mind.

I agreed with her as Mia slipped one of her kicks and sent a small pile of woodchips in the air. "She doesn't do that very often," Bonnie informed crossing her arms.

I started rolling Bonnie to the swing set and parked it by the seat. "How come?" I asked adjusting the wheelchair so that it wouldn't roll away.

"Mia's special," Bonnie explained, "eidetic memory, low EQ, brilliant motor and special awareness skills, at the age of twelve." She smirked, "Her EQ levels make her emotionally vague, but when she laughs it's honestly contagious."

I walked in front of her and crossed my arms. "So how am I doing this?" I wondered, the sudden awkward weighing down the conversation, "Am I just picking you up or is there a special way to move you?"

"Lift with your knees, not your back," she offered as she smiled, "Just help me up, and I can put myself in the swing."

I bent down and placed my hands on under her arms. She braced herself against my shoulders, and I lifted her, like the day we first met at Windmill Lake and placed her on the swing. Her legs hung motionless above the ground as she balanced herself, clutching onto the metal chains holding up the seat. She wobbled for a moment but otherwise stayed upright. "You going to be okay?" I asked trying not to laugh.

She looked so awkward, but when I tried to grab her, she demanded I not touch her. "I don't need your help for this part," she informed. Bonnie continued to adjust herself, and nearly fell backwards but managed to catch herself. "Glad I wore pants today," she mumbled.

I chuckled, folding my arms as I watched her sit there. "Well go on then. Swing."

Bonnie lifted her chin, making a loud humph as she turned her head away. After a moment, she tried to swing back and forth, but using her upper body alone wasn't enough to cause much momentum. I was standing a meter before her and felt no need to dodge her weak swing. After a few minutes, it became less funny and more saddening at watching her try so hard.

I walked behind her and grabbed the chains to stop her swinging. "Hey!" she snapped.

"I'm going to push you," I explained bringing the swing to a neutral stop.

"I was getting there," she said through gritted teeth.

I nodded, "I know you were." I pulled the swing back by the chains and let it go, allowing Bonnie to swing back and forth gently. Whenever she returned to me, I gently pushed against her back, giving her a proper swing experience.

It was a beautiful afternoon for the park. The afternoon was quiet aside from the coo of birds, and the golden hue of the setting sun turned everything orange, creating a very cozy setting. Mia was still on the roundabout, her giggling coming to a stop to keep an eye on Bonnie and me while I pushed her.

"Does Mia know she's special?" I asked.

Bonnie spoke whenever she came back in earshot. "She's aware," she informed, "It sometimes gets her down, but usually she doesn't let it worry her."

I remembered a mention in one of my health cla.s.ses about EQ. Usually, everyone has a low EQ when they're born, and as they grow up people become more emotionally intelligent, people with low EQs are often seen as cold, unsympathetic sociopaths because they're emotionally tone-deaf. For someone who everybody claims to be below the usual emotional quota, I found Mia to be quite an emotionally aware person. I agreed she had a brilliant resting poker face, and may at times be emotionally inappropriate, but not to the extent everybody seems to think.

"Is that why she doesn't talk? Because of her special-ness?" I asked continuing to push Bonnie.

Bonnie stayed silent, and after a few more pushes told me to stop. "I'm good now," she informed, "Can you bring my chair to me?" I stopped the swing and took the break off the chair. When I brought it to her, she grabbed the arms of the wheelchair and went to pull herself into her seat, but the swing moved, and she fell over.

Bonnie yelped in surprise as she braced herself against the woodchips. She flexed her hands and brushed away the woodchips that stuck to her sides. Mia had run over when Bonnie yelped, the roundabout still spinning quickly from when she jumped off.

I sighed as I folded my arms, a touch exasperated by her inability to let me help her. "Need a hand?" I asked.

Bonnie's eyes were getting gla.s.sy, my worry overtaking my smugness as I kneeled to her and watched her sniff and wipe her eyes. "I landed on my legs weirdly," she confessed wiping her eyes, "I'm fine."

I was getting annoyed by her pride as I wrapped an arm around her shoulders and lifted her easily. I scooped up her legs and carried her bridal style to the chair. Bonnie didn't object to my help. Mia's lips twisted into a strange expression, eventually reaching forwards and brus.h.i.+ng the woodchips off her knees. "Mia, I'm fine." Mia continued brus.h.i.+ng away the woodchips, ignoring her growingly angered tone. Bonnie grabbed her hands, "Mia, stop."

Mia visibly gulped as she pulled her hands away. I cleared my throat. "Am I counting this experience? Or do you want to try another time?" I asked.

Bonnie sighed through her nose, blinking away her tears as she grabbed the tops of her wheels to move. "No, it counts. Let's go home," she pa.s.sive-aggressively said rolling past Mia and myself to head to the main road.

*

Estelle doesn't know how to slice vegetables.

At all.

I peeled carrots and potatoes and anything that required peeling and handed them to her, thinking she knew how to at the very least cut them into cubes. I went to the sink to wash the peeler and when I returned she was slamming the knife against three carrots, using the wrong edge. One of the carrot pieces flew off the red chopping board and rolled to my feet.

"Seriously?" I was in awe.

"Hey, you want my help with dinner, I do this my way." She raised the knife up and slammed it back on the carrots, the force of the blunt end of the blade cracked the carrot, and it too fell to the floor.

"Can you at least hold it properly?" I begged, picking up the remnants on the floor.

Estelle held the knife like a butcher carries an axe. "What's wrong with how I'm holding it?"

I replaced the carrots, "You look like you're going to murder me."

In response, she made a stabbing gesture. "Am I scary yet?"

I pushed her hand down, "You scare me every day, little star."

She puffed out her cheeks, "I'm not little."

I compared heights, noting how I was almost a head taller than her. She growled and slapped away the hand I had placed on her head. "I'm still armed, tall stack." She held the pointed end at me.

"I'll always be taller," I countered looking back to the vegetables. "Can you skip the carrots and go onto the potatoes? I want to see how your method works with that."

Estelle hesitated, changing her grip on the knife, incorrectly again, and poking it with the tip; the potato got stuck, and she had a frantic moment of waving it around to get it off. I grabbed her wrist to stop her and sighed through my teeth, "You terrify me now."

"Just boil whole potatoes!" she exclaimed putting the knife down, "Prep is stupid."

I scoffed, "Prep is prep. I'm not boiling whole potatoes."

She grunted, "Why can't we order pizza? Pizza is good. Pizza is life!"

I took the knife from her and started chopping the carrots properly, "Go boil some water for me then," I instructed, "You can do that, right?"

"Pft," she grunted, "What am I? Just a pretty face?" She turned on her heels and started searching the kitchen for a pot, opening cabinets and drawers.

I put the knife down to watch her, arching my head sideways, "You are hopeless sometimes, Estelle," I said. When she looked to me to object I gestured with my eyes to the stove top, where I had already taken out a pot full of water, it just needed to be put on heat.

She grumbled something under her breath as she turned the stove top on. "Only deliberately," she murmured as she found the lid and put it on the water.

I returned to the vegetables. "Did you have people to do this for you?" I asked keeping an eye on the potatoes, so I didn't chop off my fingers, "Make meals and such I mean?" In the eight weeks, I'd been here, Estelle had never made a meal by herself, she always a.s.sisted, had Simmons make her something, or ate pre-made foods.

Estelle nodded, "I usually got shooed out of the kitchen and called when it was ready," Estelle explained, "I never got to see anybody cook until two years ago." She watched steam escape the sides of the pot, lifted it when water started escaping and turned down the heat. "Truthfully, I have no hospitality skills whatsoever."

"None?" I was surprised.

She nodded, "Absolutely none. I don't even know how to iron a s.h.i.+rt," she laughed it off, but I was in genuine shock.

I dropped the knife on the chopping board and faced her, "Come here."

"What?"

"Come here. I'll show you how to chop vegetables," I gestured Estelle over, "Come heather." She retook her position as the chopper and grabbed the knife again. "Okay, so you hold it like this," I adjusted the knife, so she held it properly, "And you shop with the s.h.i.+ny edge here." Without touching it, I gestured with my finger which edge was the sharp one. I grabbed her wrist and guided it down on one of the carrots, giving her a feel for how easy slicing was. I let go of her hand when she started doing it herself, "Tda. You'll be a chef in no time."

She smiled, "Watch out Gordan Ramsay. I'll turn you into an idiot sandwich," she joked.

There was a loud ringing somewhere in the house, followed by heavy footsteps as someone ran down the hallway. Moments later, Robyn entered the room, approaching the kitchen and seeing what we were doing.

Out of everyone, Robyn was the one who cooked the most but was also the most experimental. The previous night she had combined corned beef and corn chips, a strangely decent combination but confusing nevertheless.

Robyn signed, and thankfully Estelle understood her. "We're making sausage and mash," Estelle replied loudly, she was too focused on chopping to sign back at Robyn. Robyn seemed to understand and tapped on the counter in thought, a moment later she was in the pantry and pulled out two onions, some mushrooms and instant gravy.

Before I could comment, I heard a loud crash and someone yelling in pain. "What the h.e.l.l?!" Alexis bellowed as she limped down the remaining hall and appeared in the doorway. She had already changed into her pyjamas, but her expression was anything but sleepy, her face was red with anger as she braced herself against the door and rubbed her s.h.i.+n. "Does everyone forget I'm blind?" she snapped, "Who put a side table in the hallway?"

None of us could provide an answer, but we couldn't suppress our laughter. "Are you okay?" I asked walking up to her.

She blew some loose strands of her hair from her eyes and grumbled, "My s.h.i.+n hurts…" She pushed off the doorframe and walked to the lounge without a.s.sistance, running her hands over the coffee table in search of the radio. When I returned to the kitchen, Robyn had started cutting mushrooms next to Estelle, Estelle telling her a story of some kind verbally as she carefully started chopping the remaining potatoes.

I left them to the chopping as I sat across from Alexis, her hand running across the different k.n.o.bs of the old radio, her ear pressed against the speaker as she listened. "What's for dinner, Landy?" she asked, the radio offering a high pitch static sound.

"Sausage and mash," I informed.

She nodded, "Poor man's food. Good choice." Alexis found a channel that played jazz and returned it to the edge of the coffee table.

I always found jazz an interesting music genre, something erratic and chaotic about such a sweet and energetic collection of sounds. I knew there was such a thing as scripted jazz, but almost every piece I've ever heard sounded improvised. "What colour is jazz?" I asked watching Alexis' eyes dart around the air as she leaned back against the lounge.

Alexis paused, considering it for a moment before describing, "Very loud," she tried, "And I guess bright, a lot of fun to look at most of the time. Not every jazz piece is the same colour; sometimes they're pinkish, sometimes blue, other times orange," she rubbed one of her eyes, "This one is…" She hesitated as if trying to place it, "Purple. Yeah, purple." She leaned forward on her knees, "What colour is it for you?"

I scoffed at her joke, but quickly realised she wasn't joking. She waited intently for an answer. I listened to the music to search for an answer. If I had to pick, what colour would this be for me? I mused.

Alexis sensed my pause and spoke, "If you listen to it like really listen, some part of your brain makes it a real thing," she informed, "Strip back everything else and just tell me what colour comes to mind."

"Green," was the first colour that came to mind while listening to jazz.

Alexis smiled. "Refres.h.i.+ng, calming, jealousy, growth," she listed off looking to the ceiling, "Interesting."

Estelle suddenly yelped out. "Ouch!" Something metal clattered on the floor, breaking me out of whatever trance Alexis was trying to get me in. I was sent into a panic when Estelle suddenly started chanting, "Blood. Blood. Blood. Blood." I got to my feet and ran to the kitchen. When I arrived, Robyn was running Estelle's hand under the tap water. Estelle had turned her back on her hand; her eyes screwed shut as her face contorted into a mixture of a wince and disgust. "Eww! Eww! Eww! Eww!" was her new chant. After a quick rinse, Robyn grabbed some paper towel and pressed it tightly around Estelle's finger to dry it off. A small section of the paper turned red.

"Remind me not to leave you alone with sharp objects," I commented picking up the knife, "Is it bad?"

"Oh, you should've seen it," Estelle proclaimed with large eyes, still unable to look at her hand. "Check the potatoes, Landy, the tip of my finger may be amongst it."

Slightly worried, I looked to Robyn for clarification, she had read Estelle's lips and made an 'It's not actually that bad, stop exaggerating,' expression, comprised of pressed lips, a raised eyebrow and a very subtle head shake.

Estelle had just nipped the tip of her finger.

*

That night at dinner everybody took their usual s.p.a.ces around the dining table. As I sat down at the head of the table, I recalled the one time I had sat further down the table, maybe in Mia's spot, and it caused an uproar of outrage that no one could justify other than 'That's where Mia sits.'

"Who cooked?" Amia asked as she scooped at the green salad.

"I cooked," I informed, "With the help of Estelle and last-minute help from Robyn." Robyn hadn't been paying attention to me, rather taste-testing some bread, so Ava nudged her and signed what I said. After swallowing her mouthful, she thanked me.

"Yeah, with minimal Estelle blood hopefully," Alexis commented leaning her cheek on her hand.

"This is a serious battle wound," Estelle announced holding up her 'injured' hand. At the end of her pointer finger was a puppy themed Band-Aid. "I have learnt lessons from this event, my entire moral compa.s.s compromised."

"Do you ever say a serious thing? Like ever?" Bonnie asked.

Estelle winked, "Not if I can help it."

Mia clapped her hands to gain some attention and started signing. Everyone watched and waited quietly for Mia to finish, I missed half of the words, and it made no sense to me. Ava reached a hand out to her and a.s.sured her that Estelle didn't bleed on the food.

Once everyone became convinced of this fact, everyone started chatting, now, and then someone taking over the entire table's conversation to tell a story about something at school, and once to mutually vent about Mr Timble's science cla.s.ses. Estelle currently led the discussion, saying an over-the-top story about a doc.u.mentary she had watched in health cla.s.s about a man who ate nothing but junk food for forty days.

Alexis sat next to me and seemed disinterested in Estelle's topic of conversation. "You good?" I asked, her expression turning sombre.

She blinked away her daze and nodded, "Yeah, just thinking."

"What about?" I asked scooping some vegetables onto my plate.

"Just stuff," she replied, "At the moment I'm thinking about my project for the Ident.i.ty Art Contest coming up. But before I accidentally traumatised myself by thinking what would happen if a man-eating grizzly bear just popped up in the living room."

I smothered my laugh. "What would make you think that?" I wondered.

"Train of thought is a strange thing, Landon," she countered reaching her hand out blindly for something.

"What're you looking for?" Ava offered her help as Alexis ran her fingertips over the lips of the dishes, eventually being handed the sausage platter.

"How's that going by the way?" I asked fitting some broccoli in my mouth.

Alexis considered my question, "I think I know what you're asking me, but let me clarify," she said putting the tray down, "Are you talking about the art thing or the man-eating bear thing?"

I rolled my eyes at her joke. "Both equally interesting, but let's start with the art show."

Alexis nodded, "Thought so. It's going alright. I've finally narrowed down a medium to use." She described an installation, comprised of various textiles for people to touch and feel on their fingertips, ranging from fluffy surfaces to napkins. Alexis explained how her ident.i.ty was how she viewed things, or rather what she didn't view physically, going in depth about how the sense of touch was her identifying factor and that with some artistic manipulation she could give everyone a chance to see things the way she would. I got lost in her explanation the more she went on about it, something strangely mesmerising but equally confusing about what message she was aiming for in her installation. But she seemed very sure of herself, and I was more than happy to let her talk at me.

Halfway through one of her sentences, I felt her foot brush against mine as she stretched, she paused and reached under the table, her hand reaching for my feet. "What kind of socks are you wearing?" she asked, genuinely confused.

I laughed, "Not socks. Robyn made me slippers. I thought I would wear them."

Alexis smiled, "That's cute. What kind did you get?"

Alexis had a smile different from her other ones, a strange blissful one she saved for whenever one of our dormmates did something smile-worthy. I hadn't seen it since I brought Mia to the garden shed a few weeks ago, and I almost forgot to answer when she gave me that smile again.

"Oh, well someone told Robyn I like Monster Munchies," I informed, "I wonder who that could've been." Alexis' smile adjusted to a slightly cheekier expression. "She made them orange coloured," I informed, "A little lopsided but fun."

Amia nearly choked on her milk as she stood up and called for everyone's attention. "Before I forget," she coughed, "Does anyone have any plans for the end of term holidays coming up?"

At the end of odd terms, being one and three, students and teachers were given two weeks holidays. Most of the students from White Winter Prep ended up going home or vacationing elsewhere since they didn't live here.

There was a small discussion around the table, but no one seemed to have any solid plans for the holidays. "Well, our aunt has invited Amada and me to go on vacation at her timeshare resort up the coast," Amia informed, "And she said we could bring friends."

Amada's interest spiked at this as he too stood up, copying his sister's enthusiasm. "It's a lot of fun up there. The resort is on the beachside and is nearby a water park."

The girls spoke with excitement at the idea of going on a beach vacation for the holidays. "When would we go?"

"Well my aunt wasn't specific, but she offered us five days whenever we wanted, just as long as we gave her a few days notice," Amia informed, "But based on everyone's reaction, is that a yes?" Amia jumped excitedly on the spot. Everyone at the table gave an enthusiastic yes, aside from Mia, who seemed to slide down her chair in disinterest, and Alexis, who made a joke about her skin burning the colour of her hair.