Chapter Text
Hillerska BS was nothing like Marieberg Högstadiet.
(Yes, the BS stood for bullshit, because Simon hated both places even if Sara thought this fancy boarding school was leagues better.)
“They aren’t picking on me here,” she reminded him heatedly.
Not yet, Simon thought worriedly. It was only a matter of time. Marieberg was at least more diverse. Hillerska had a shockingly low number of non-boarders. This alone was cause for the taunting looks thrown his way.
Sara seemed to be immune to those. Or perhaps, the girls were nicer about it. She befriended the horses quickly and that meant the riders were grudgingly impressed by her skills. Simon’s only standout skill was his voice along with his grades. He joined the school choir and quickly fell into the ranks.
But of course, as first years, Simon and Sara would not escape the scrutinizing eyes of the third years who ruled the school.
“Eriksson!” a tall, smirking boy announced. He was flanked by two others, also grinning wide. He dropped a heavy hand over Simon’s shoulder, stopping him from entering the dining hall for lunch.
“Hello,” Simon said, fingers fidgeting with the sleeves of his loose shirt. He fought the urge to hunch his shoulders, but it was a near thing.
“I’m August!” the boy said, emphasizing the weight of his name. “And this is Nils and Vincent. Congratulations, Simon, you are our 12th non-res! The baby of the group!”
Simon forced a smile. “Thank you.”
Nils chuckled. “Let’s not drag it out.”
Vincent folded his arms, grinning wide. “You’re 16, yeah?”
“Yes?”
“See!” August said, slapping a hard hand over his back. Simon grunted, stumbling forward.
“Old enough for initiation,” August laughed.
Simon’s heart plummeted. He’d hoped that he and Sara could escape the nonsense that was Hillerska’s traditions. He’d heard a single horror story of residents’ rituals and it was one too many for him. Marieberg’s light hazing had nothing over them.
“Erm, I’m not even a res,” Simon said, but Nils caught him around the shoulder and shook him as the three boys laughed.
“True, we can’t go the usual route,” Nils explained. “But we can’t leave you outsiders out like this? You’re one of us, Simon. Aren’t you?”
Simon gulped. “Yes?”
August rolled his eyes. “Relax, kid! You and all the non-res first years will be meeting us tomorrow at 6 pm. Tell your folks you’re staying over at the dorms that night. But…”
August winked as he continued, “We’ll be partying all night and I want to see how wild you baby-teens can get!”
The boys jeered and pushed him into the dining hall as Simon’s heart beat rapidly, sweat already beading up over his temples.
“Overnight?” Linda asked, frowning.
“I can stay over at Felice’s,” Sara said, painfully hopeful. Simon hated that tone in her voice. He knew she was actually looking forward to the initiation. He had found no way to avoid the thing.
“And you?” Linda asked Simon.
“August said there’s a couple of empty rooms in the dormitories,” Simon said. “I can stay the night with a few other boys.”
Linda nodded, still hesitant. “The school knows about this, right?”
“Yes,” Simon and Sara lied.
“Well… okay then.”
Sara beamed. Simon thought there were rocks in his stomach, pulling him under.
“It’ll be fine,” Sara whispered later that night when they cleared the table. “The third years will be with us.”
“They’re coming to laugh at us, Sara,” Simon mumbled.
“We’re going to a party,” she huffed. “We’re going to have fun just like them.”
“We’re not like them.”
She sulked as they cleaned the kitchen. Simon didn’t like the chores, but he sucked it up and they finished it together.
“Look,” Simon whispered. “If it gets too much, we’ll just leave, okay?”
She humphed. “You’re so used to spending time with Rosh and Ayub that you forget other people can be fun too.”
“No!” Simon defended himself. “I just don’t trust Hillerska’s hoity-toity idiots!”
“They’re inviting us to a club that we would never have been able to get into otherwise,” Sara said, annoyed.
“A club!” Simon blurted.
“Shh!” Sara hissed. They spun around to check for their mother. But Linda was thankfully back in the living room, watching TV.
“How d’you know?!” Simon asked her hurriedly.
“Felice heard it from the third year girls,” Sara muttered as she rinsed the dishes. “She was so jealous! We’re going to Linköping--”
“What?!”
“--to a fancy club--”
“Linköping??”
“--and partying till everyone gets black-out drunk,” Sara said, smiling satisfied.
Simon’s jaw was on the floor. “We’re going outside Hillerska? Outside Bjärstad?!”
“They’ll probably have a bus for us.”
“God… we’re going to be in so much trouble,” Simon whispered, tugging on his hair in frustration.
“We won’t be if no one blabs about it,” Sara pointed out, still at ease. “By the way, I’m borrowing one of your shirts. I’m using it as a crop top.”
“No way!”
No one was surprised by the private transportation waiting just beyond the bus stop. Simon had a nervous day of classes and choir practice. His vague plans of joining the rowing team were put on hold. If he survived this night, Simon would avoid August for the rest of the year.
Rosh and Ayub had come through though. Ayub had given Simon one of his infamous pep talks that had a lot of swearing and historical references to pub nightlife of Linköping. Rosh had handed a tall thin bottle of apple juice.
“My Mom pressed it just last week,” Rosh had explained. “Switch the drinks out with this and you’ll be fine. Get some water too.”
Simon had hugged her in relief. He had never planned to get tipsy, let alone drunk. He had enough of alcohol after everything his father had put him, Sara, and Mamma through. He was never going to get inebriated in front of Hillerska’s frat boys.
Linköping was barely half-an-hour from the school, but Simon was a nervous wreck the whole way. His bulky jacket helped hide the bottle. Sara had put on one of his red shirts, buttoning up half way and tying the ends of it over her belly button. Simon swore to himself, if August stared at her one more time, he’d deck him, consequences be damned.
The bus drove into the city, crossing landmarks such as SAAB arena and grand parks. The buildings were beautifully lit and the sheer number of people walking around made Simon grin. It was wildly different from Bjärstad.
They slowed outside a tall glass light building with the words Kaggeholms Gård glowing in pink neon light. The sun had already set and the nerves were back. Simon shuddered while Sara happily drummed her fingers on her thighs.
“Kiddos, listen up!” August announced as the bus slowly parked. “You know the rules. If you pass the initiation, you can expect more parties around here and exclusive invites to the palace! I want no boring non-res here! This is just the beginning of your Hillerska life!”
The bus erupted into cheers. Sara clapped.
“We’re going to be holed up on the first floor, the party floor!” August laughed at their enthusiasm. “Drink as much as you can! I want to see how you really bring the roof down on this place!
“WOOHOO!” people yelled.
Simon felt rocks in his stomach again.
They poured out of the bus and were ushered into the club post-haste. Simon lost Sara in the chaos and was stuck with another timid non-res, Filip.
Nils led them to one of the side rooms that had a large pool table and a dance floor that was already lit up. The DJ’s music from the main floor filtered through the speakers. Dread sprouted in Simon’s tightening chest.
“We’re starting off easy with a bit of whiskey!” Vincent cackled, handing the twelve non-res kids whiskey glasses with dark amber liquid sloshing around in it.
Simon acted quickly. He stepped behind Filip and drained the liquid into the carpet as quietly as he could. He knelt and pried open the clear bottle he’d brought and poured the apple juice into the glass.
It wasn’t a perfect substitute. The juice was opaque with fizzy bubbles. But he tucked the bottle back into his jeans band and stood up.
Sara was the only one who noticed. She shrugged at him, not too bothered. Simon sniffed at his glass, wrinkling his nose at the smell.
“Shots for us!” August announced, bringing over a tray of small shot glasses filled to the brim with clear liquid.
“Three!” Nils shouted. “Two! One! Drink!”
Everyone tipped their drinks into their mouths. Simon watched as several 16-year-olds sipped and spluttered the whiskey. He followed their motions, grimacing as he swallowed down the apple juice.
“Drink it all!” August warned. “Last kid to finish their drink will have more shots to chase down!”
Simon fucking hated this. He hated August. Hated the third years. Hated Hillerska. Hated Marieberg for running them out. Hated, hated, hated.
It was only the beginning of the night.