The Dorm Guard 6 Chapter Six: Mr Wittman

*

I waited until I got to the front gates to hop on my bike for the ride home, but the moment I even attempted to ride my bike, something got my attention.

"Landon Becks?" someone called.

I turned to see a man in a suit strolling to the front gate behind me, apparently in no rush to speak with me as he was so slow in approaching. "Yes?" I was puzzled as to who this man was. My first guess was a teacher, as he dressed in a suit like all male teachers seem to even on warmer days like today, and he carried a book bag with him. His hazel eyes suggested something wise behind his spectacles and his scratchy old voice.

"Glad I caught you," he said.

I tilted my head but remained silent, a bit spectacle that he wanted to talk to me.

"I'm sorry, sir. But who are you?" I asked.

He laughed, it was a sound very similar to a Santa Clause. He seemed to find it very amusing as his usual laugh soon turned into a belly laugh, it was so ridiculous I couldn't help but smile.

When he composed himself, he nodded, "I guess we haven't formally met, have we?" He held out a wrinkled hand, "I'm Scott Wittman, the princ.i.p.al, we spoke on the phone a handful of times." I went wide-eyed at the information and took his hand.

"Umm… nice to finally meet you, sir…" My statement followed by lingering silence, which made the exchange seem awkward, but he seemed too jolly to see this.

"How are you finding it here so far, my boy?" he asked. "Get around okay?"

I could do small talk, but it didn't mean I enjoyed it. I replied honestly, "I got some help now and then. It was a tad slow today, but I'd imagine it would pick up as the term goes on."

He patted me on the back, a significant amount of force behind it forcing me to fall forwards slightly. "Atta boy. All students feel that way, no reason for it to let you down." He continued, "I would've spoken to you throughout the day, but I'm afraid at the start of the year it does become hectic for teachers, the princ.i.p.al especially."

I nodded pa.s.sively. "I'd imagine so, sir."

"If it's alright with you, I'd like to have a quick word with you. Please." He gestured to a bench bolted into the floor outside of the gates. It didn't sound like a question; it was an instruction.

I rolled my bike over to the bench and leaned it against the wall while Mr Wittman plonked himself on one half of the seat. I sat next to him, and he stared out into the distant road, cars not prevalent on this road as a rule, and not a couple of hours after the end of the school day.

"I trust that you've met all of your dorm mates," he stated, he leaned forward on his knees as he spoke, still not looking to me.

I nodded. "Yes, sir."

"What do you think of them?" he asked.

I found this to be an odd question. "Well… they seem nice enough, some a bit weirder then I'm used to, but nothing I can't handle."

"So you've taken your dorm guard duty seriously, I see?" he asked.

I shrugged. "I guess; it was a part of my scholarship after all."

He nodded, "Speaking of which…" He sat up straight again, "You came here on a sports scholarship, yes?" I agreed with him. "I've heard you have quite the heart condition, how is that going?"

Instinctively, my hand started fiddling with the b.u.t.tons around my chest. "It's managed, sir."

"Managed is not what I want to hear, boy." The princ.i.p.al's demeanour shifted with these words, "I hear it's gotten better, maybe even start sport again. What were you thinking?" he asked.

I gulped, "Umm… I was thinking cycling. And I was good at running, so probably soccer or basketball." He nodded with each suggestion I made. "Sir, speaking of which," I forced my hand to stop playing with the b.u.t.tons, "Why do I have this scholarship, sir? And if you know of my condition, why make my duty a Dorm Guard?"

He smiled and nodded. "I knew your mother, believe it or not. She's told me that your heart problem is stable now, thanks to some daily medicine, correct? She didn't go lying to me about that."

I sighed. My mother seemed to know a lot of people.

"She was quite the sportswoman as well, and White Winter Prep has been monitoring your sporting achievements all the way up until that accident of yours." He smiled, "When that happened all other schools declined their offers, right? But we knew, if you could get that under control, then there would be no stopping you getting back out there." He sighed as well as if thinking about what to say next, "As for the dorm guard position, we saw it as a good fit. You're protective and capable of defending those girls if that situation ever arises, and there's no one out to come after you, no reason for people to want you."

"What do you mean by that?" I asked. I didn't know whether to be offended or not.

"What do your parents do?" he asked.

"My Dad is a travelling archaeologist, and my Mum works as a mobile nurse," I informed.

He nodded. "Your parents don't have the likelihood of creating enemies that would want revenge of any kind, and, no offence, but based on that your family income it certainly doesn't have the money to evoke any ransoms. But almost eighty percent of the students here in Winter White Prep School have that sort of money or have those kinds of parents. While most go home after school, there are those who stay in the dorms, like you and your roommates. Family bodyguards can only go so far, and in your dorm, it hasn't gotten very far at all. So dorm guards were put in place." Mr Wittman continued to talk about the duties of a dorm guard and everything that had already been regurgitated to me over the last few days.

"And you, my boy, seemed to have qualified greatly for this position. I'm telling you, it was a pain to try and figure out who could fill that position because not everyone can."

I spoke, "How, in any way shape or form, am I qualified to protect a bunch of girls and a boy in a dormitory?" I asked, "You said it yourself, I have a heart condition, only recently been managed. Wouldn't that put me at a disadvantage?"

The princ.i.p.al seemed to find something hilarious about what I said and stood up. "When all those years of fighting cla.s.s you've endured leaves that skull of yours and that black belt you own gets lost, then I'll call you a disadvantage, boy." He picked up his book bag and checked to see if it was secure. "And it's not like you'll end up doing anything overly strenuous. A dorm guard has to make sure the dorm is alright, make sure there's nothing shady going on and report anything that might be. But self-defence is a load off the mind." He nodded to himself as if he had made any amount of sense to me, "Good talk, lad. Be seeing you tomorrow."

"But sir…"

He ignored me and continued walking, no car, n.o.body came to pick him up, he was walking down the road until he was out of sight.

I could've chased him if I wanted to, but I went against it and slouched on the bench.

It was true, my Father had insisted on learning how to fight and self-defence when I was young. He started to travel around a few years ago, and I went with him. He explained that sometimes other countries were not so kind to people who found what the past buried, claiming them to be thieves or unlawful treasure hunters.

I had only ever needed to use any of my skills once, and it ended with someone else tackling my attacker to the ground. I hadn't fought since we found out about my heart, and that was several months ago, perhaps even over a year.

I forced myself to take a long, deep breath before getting to my feet and collecting my bike from against the wall. As I went to ride it, however, I heard someone behind me. I looked over my shoulder at another boy, likely just walking out of the school, but he just stared at me.

Have you ever held a stare with someone that was almost uncomfortable?

I felt the discomfort, but I could tell he knew he was making it. He held it for as long as I stayed in his sights before looking ahead to where he was going.

I felt a moment of nausea at the idea that this may deteriorate into something, or escalate whichever way is correct. I hopped on my bike and made my way back to the dorms, eager to just lay down and think about what had just happened.