"Welcome to Nicholas J. Fury Academy, Miss -" the man fumbles through a stack of papers for a last name.
"Just Skye," the woman interrupts without acknowledging the man in any other way. She stops abruptly and looks around, her walnut hair moving with the slight breeze. The man, now a few feet away, sees that Skye is no longer with him. He turns around and takes a few slow strides back to her side.
"Classroom 84, Monday through Thursday, 0800," he reminds her. The man's use of military time takes immediate note in the corner of Skye's mind.
"I know," Skye says dismissively as she turns in her spot. She watches as wind blows through trees, rustling failing leaves and pulling them to their graves.
"Your housing is this way," the man tries to explain, hand on the back of Skye's left arm. She pulls away.
"I've already been shown my housing, thank you," Skye speaks, her words forming in a temperature similar to the fall breeze that picks up. Skye buttons up her coat as she spins slowly around, taking in her surroundings.
The man looks at her momentarily before walking away without a word. Skye lets out a deep breath, and with it a few sly giggles. She has succeeded in her self-assigned task of nonchalance. Previously camouflaged elation restores in dark mahogany eyes. Her mind ignites. Months of applications and interviews has brought her exactly where she wants to be. She looks around, eyes wide open, bright smile on her face.
Skye takes a walk around campus, trying to recall from the tour she had been given weeks prior the location of all of the important places. The cafeteria, covered in vines, tucked behind an unlabeled building. The Arts and Humanities building, students with uncharacteristically empty arms trickling out its front doors. Building 302T where Skye would be spending many hours over the next year as the Academy's new Computer Science teacher.
As Skye makes her way past the faculty building she hears a roaring noise coming from the other side of the quad. She turns around, considering investigating, but instead bumps into a girl whose enormous book – Gödel, Escher, Bach: An Eternal Golden Braid – is knocked out of her hands and flies to the ground with a thud.
"I'm so sorry," Skye blurts out.
"Watch where you're going!" the girl almost shouts at her. A velvety, yet bitter, British accent at variance with anything Skye has ever heard. The girl leans down, grabs the book, and storms away without a word or even a glance. Skye stares after her, trying to remember any characteristics of the girl's face. All she sees is a memory of a pale hand touching a book spine and the footsteps that carry the stranger away.
Skye takes the long way to the faculty housing facility at the easternmost edge of the campus. She looks at the moving boxes stacked neatly against a wall. She ignores their calling and drops backward onto an unmade bed.
She wakes a few hours later from a sleep she is unaware she had fallen into. The clock on the wall claims it to be a bit later than she had hoped. She jumps off the bed and makes her way to the cafeteria. She puts together a plate of mashed white sweet potatoes, broccoli, roasted pork, and a piece of cornbread, none of which look entirely unappealing.
"Miss, this table is for faculty only," a tall, olive skinned woman condemns as Skye places her tray halfway down the table closest to the back door.
"I look young, I know," Skye says, not taking it personally. "I'm Skye. The new Computer Science teacher."
"Ah, well," the woman replies.
"Welcome to the Academy, Skye," the man to her left speaks. "Grant." His eyes relax as Skye reaches out to shake his hand. "But you can call me Ward."
"Nice to meet you," Skye says.
"And that is Mrs. Hand. You're going to want to avoid her as best you can," Ward warns.
"Good to know," Skye says. "So what do you teach?"
Ward falters for a moment. It is brief, but noticeable enough that Skye narrows her eyes slightly. "Physical education," he recovers.
"So... Gym?" Skye asks.
"Physical education," Ward repeats.
"Got it," Skye says as she uses her fork to pick up a piece of broccoli. "Gym," she says again with a shrug. Ward's nostrils flare.
When Skye gets back to her room she begins to unpack. She first locates the box labeled "bedding" and puts sheets, pillows, and a comforter on the bed. She pulls all of her clothes out of another box, placing some on hangers in the small closet and the rest folded up into the dresser. After the essentials are set up she picks up a small box labeled "important." She places it on the foot of her bed and sits, cross legged, in front of it. She pulls off the tape holding it closed and begins to pull things out.
A small bunny stuffed animal which she places gently in front of the nearest pillow. An unopened envelope addressed to Skye at a P.O. Box in Chicago, no return address. She stretches backward and puts the envelope into the top drawer of the unfinished wooden nightstand.
Lastly, a framed photograph. The frame, Art Deco with its geometric shapes carved into wood and painted gold. The photo, Skye with her arms wrapped around a girl with long blonde hair covered by a Chicago Cubs baseball cap.
Skye holds the frame in her hands and closes her eyes. After a few moments she stands up and places the photo on the nightstand.
Skye's nightly ritual of toothpaste and face wash seems too much for her in the face of the next day. Skye's first day as a real teacher. Not a substitute. Not an outside contractor brought in for a day to teach kids how to use a computer. She sets an alarm on her phone and falls asleep easily.