A Disorienting Orientation

I had spent a few minutes checking my ransacked bags to ensure nothing was missing before continuing with Nika and the others to the university. The rest of the girls were amiably talking about something or other, but I was too mentally exhausted by everything that had happened to pay attention. It was barely the middle of the day, and I was already about to collapse.

I checked my watch. We made it to Saint Isidore’s University with a cool five minutes to spare. Considering where I was only a couple hours earlier, it was a miracle that I even made it on time.

I turned to Nika. “Seriously, thanks for everything. I don’t know what I would have done without you,” I said.

“W-well, it’s like I said before. It’s common sense to help those in trouble,” she stammered out while turning away. Was she embarrassed? I didn’t see any real reason why she should, but my instinct suggested it was probably due to the growing smirks the other three girls had on for some reason.

“Well, I’ll definitely need more of your help in the future, so if you don’t mind, could I get your number?” I unlocked my smartphone and created a new contact before handing it over to Nika. The girls crowded around her.

“So this is one of those touchscreen devices,” Io said. I think this is the first time I’ve heard her speak more than one word. “I’ve never seen one of these before.”

“Really? They’re really common across the world. I’m pretty sure most phones are like that.”

No one responded. They were too engrossed watching Nika handle my phone, struggling to enter in her phone number. I was worried she’d spend all the remaining time I had fumbling with the screen, but after a couple minutes, she managed to figure it out. I made sure to add the extension number at the beginning as she gave it back.

“You should cherish this moment, Nika,” Melissa piped in, “It’s the first and last time a guy will ever ask for your number.”

Once again, Nika was immediately riled up at that. How she still had energy to spare after that chase from almost half an hour ago was a mystery to me. As much as I would have liked to stay and watch hilarity ensue, I was about to be late. I waved goodbye to the group and rushed up the grand stairs to the main building.

The building itself was grand, likely built toward the end of the medieval era. Giant Corinthian columns lined the entryway. They had ornate etchings at the top and base of the pillars and held up a relief sculpture that depicted some sort of deep, symbolic scene. The only windows I could see from this angle were closer toward the exotic dome that capped off the entire building. Considering the tools of the era, this was quite an impressive feat of engineering.

The interior was even more impressive. Upon entry, I saw elaborate, glamorous mosaics covering the walls, shining even brighter by reflecting the natural light of the clerestories. But I didn’t have time to dawdle and admire these works of art. I had an orientation to attend!

Running with all my might, I eventually found the right room with seconds to spare. To my surprise, there was no one there. I walked out to double check the room number, but it looked like I was in the right place. At this point, my only option was to wait. I bided my time for about half an hour, looking over the listening devices I’d inevitably plant throughout the building. Suddenly, the door opened. A woman wearing a dark uniform walked into the room. Her dark hair was tied into a bun, and she wore a dark navy uniform. She spoke up.

“I’m sorry to keep you waiting. I was held up by an earlier meeting. I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long.”

“It wasn’t a big deal,” I replied. Actually, it was, but complaining to her face wouldn’t have helped my reputation, so I pretended not to mind.

“That’s good to hear. Let me introduce myself: I’m the international studies coordinator. My job is to help ensure exchange students like yourself can easily transition to studying in Miklagardia. Let me give you a tour of the facilities.”

I followed her for quite some time, half-heartedly listening to her lectures on the history of the building. I was more focused on surreptitiously planting the small collection of listening devices I had stashed away in my pockets while I had the chance. They were magnificent little devices. Small enough to be easily concealed and adhesive enough to stick onto almost any surface with ease. Inside each device was a high-quality microphone that could easily record the lowest whisperer from across the room.

This went on for a couple more hours. I sure was glad I ate beforehand. At the pace we were going, I genuinely thought I’d run out of recorders to bug the places with. We came back to our starting point.

“And that concludes the grand tour,” she declared. “Any questions?”

“Well, actually, yes. We walked for an hour and a half, and I haven’t seen anybody else. Aren’t classes supposed to be in session?” I asked.

“Oh, we’re on break for another month. You should have received that information in the package we sent.”

“I did—my parents they—they handled the paperwork. They said I had to get to be at orientation today, so I assumed the term had already started.” Not like there was any website I could check. Philistines.

The woman silently laughed to herself, “We hold these orientations every month. They must have wanted you to acclimate yourself to Miklagardia before starting. Aren’t you too old to have your parents take care of that for you?” I tried to keep a neutral face, but it was clear by her expression that I was failing miserably. “Was that everything?” She broke the silence.

“Yeah, that was.. all I had to ask.”

“If that’s the case, I’ll show you to your accommodations.”

I sighed. It was time to carry around all my junk again. Thankfully, I wouldn’t need to this again for a while.

And so, she guided me out of the building, down the long steps back to street level, through the busy crowds until we got to our destination. It was a quaint little building, not an ideal place to live, but it’d make do. Stepping inside and throwing my bags to the floor, I was pleasantly surprised by its spaciousness, with a large common area, a kitchenette, bathrooms, and bedrooms on several. If I were staying here by myself, this would be awesome!

“You’ll have the building to yourself for a few weeks, until the other exchange students arrive,” said the coordinator. And I was once again brought crashing back down to Earth. On the bright side, it was all mine for a while.

The woman handed me a stack of papers before turning to leave.

“Here’s a list of everything you’ll need, and some activities we recommend to get you acquainted with everyday life here. I made sure to write my number down, in case you needed anything. I hate to leave in such a hurry, but I’m late for another meeting! Got to run!” She practically flew out the door. Another meeting? As far as I could tell, I was the only international student here. On second thought, I didn’t actually know that, and there’s most likely administrative work to get the rest sorted. Not that it directly concerned me. I had more important things to do right now.

I quickly stormed into one of the many open rooms, dragging my luggage on the floor behind me, and began unpacking my things. I wanted to flop onto the bed and collapse right then and there, but an unpleasant memory suddenly resurfaced. Right… I had to make a call back home. I cringed as I remembered the interaction with the woman whom I am forced to publicly acknowledge as my mother at the payphone earlier this morning. I was in for a real thrashing, but if I didn’t call this evening, I was destined for even worse. With a heavy groan, I began searching for the building’s Wi-Fi password. Since my original plan had failed , it was the only way I could even connect with anyone.

Hoping beyond hope to find an excuse to go to bed early, I skimmed through the documents in my hand and, unfortunately, found the Wi-Fi password. At least I didn’t have to live in the Stone Age. I reluctantly pulled out all my devices and made sure to connect them to the Internet, testing them and calculating the download and upload speeds, which were surprisingly impressive. I made sure to store all my clothes properly in their drawers. I organized all my belongings in functional, then alphabetical order.

Finally, I ran out of tasks to procrastinate with. From a glance outside, I could tell that the sun was already setting. I couldn’t hold off any longer. Opening my phone, I stared at the contact for “Home” for a good while. It must have taken minutes to muster the courage to hit the call button.

A dial tone rang. A male voice responded at the other end.

“John! It’s good to finally hear from you! Your mother and I were worried sick this entire time! How was everything? Did you run into trouble?”

“Hey Ols—”

“John! Is that any way to talk to your father?”

“Ah, right, Dad. Sorry about that,” I apologized.

Internally, I stifled something between a laugh and a scream. This situation was screwed beyond all belief, for the man on the other end of the phone was a commanding intelligence officer in the Ustasian military. That’s right. The people I’m forced to call my parents are actually my case officers.