An institution seemingly as old as the Earth itself, Windsor University has enough history and character to star in its own movie. Which it has. Several, actually. With worn stone pathways and tattered red brick buildings, the campus has been a favorite filming location for many productions, except the ones based on Windsor's rich history - which is ironic when you think about it.
Formerly Windsor Academy, it was renamed in the late '70s after a string of mysterious murders that have never been solved. Even still, it's been the favorite school for high-profile adults to ship off their children to study. It's almost a status symbol among Hollywood elites. Anyone whose anyone's children graduate from Windsor.
But these hallowed halls hold secrets. In addition to its own serial killer, it's also allegedly host to Windsor's version of the Skull and Bones. The secret society holds its own when it comes to rumored goings-on; ritual sacrifice, sex club, and white-collar crime. Of those, who knows what's true. Rich kids get bored. God knows that the usual pleasures of college can be lost on kids who have been partying since they were fourteen.
The school even had an attempted murder at the beginning of the fall semester. That is what brings my red bottoms to clack down the worn tile of Kresky Hall on this early November afternoon. The victim was my younger sister, Renee. She manages to hold onto her life but she's currently in a coma, and we're unsure if she's ever going to wake up. The brutal attack has no leads, no suspects, and this school with a past and more money than God wants to bury the story - along with my sister - six feet under to protect its prestige and reputation. I'm not going to let that happen.
I watch impatiently as the admissions clerk taps her pink acrylic nails across the keys of her computer. Pulling her glasses down her nose and squinting at the screen, she repeats my name with drawn-out indecision, "Genevieve Dubois?"
"Yes, but can you please make sure my preferred name is noted as Eleanore? Ellie for short. It's my middle name."
Without acknowledging me her nails once more coast across the keyboard quickly making this note in what I assume must be more places than necessary. Which is fine. My real name must stay under wraps. It's not that I'm as famous as most of the students enrolled here, but I do have a very successful true-crime blog called Serial, and a podcast by the same name. I've also been part of very notable studies within the psych program at my former University as well as being a part of their school paper. Since Renee was only my half-sister, she carries her father's last name - Troy, while I carry my father's.
Since my major was communications, I chose to attend an Ivy League school on the East Coast. I was halfway through my junior year when disaster struck. Luckily I was able to transfer most of my classes here. Even though their communications program is lacking, I am also minoring in psych. Since it's an extremely lucrative business in tinsel town I won't arouse suspicion with my course selections. I'm choosing to mark psych as my major, here at least.
"Alright sweetheart, I've got that all updated for you."
"Thanks," I replied, flashing a smile I hope seems genuine. I'm not a big smiler so it always feels forced.
She hands me a large manilla envelope filled with papers, along with a planner and a student ID card. "The list of books you need, a map of the campus, and your dorm assignments are right inside that folder. If you take that main road there about a quarter-mile north you'll find Harrison Hall which is where we have most of you juniors. It's a unisex dorm building, but the top two floors are all for the ladies," she notes with a conspiratorial wink.
"Thanks so much for all your help." I have very little energy for fake pleasantries, though I'm well aware that I'm going to require quite a lot of them if I want to find any of the information I'm looking for. Hopefully, the old adage holds true and practice really does make perfect.
***
It's late morning when I arrive at my dorm which I expectedly find empty. The Concierge (yes, this dorm has an actual concierge. It's like the Twilight Zone), was kind enough to let me know that my boxes had arrived and had already been delivered to my room. I only had to take up my suitcase and myself, which I was able to make quick work of. These dorms are less like dorms and more like luxury accommodations.
The campus itself, including its dormitories, is as big as any well-known college - but they let in far fewer students. I think they just want to seem more exclusive because they could easily accommodate twice the population.
I'm hanging up the last of my clothing when the worn oak door creaks open and a blond bombshell breezes in only to stutter to a stop, startled in her tracks. I guess the concierge didn't alert her that she would have a roommate arriving today.
"Uh, hi," she says tentatively, removing her jacket and placing it on the desk on her side of the room, "I'm guessing you're my roommate?"
"Uh, yeah. I'm Ellie." I reach out awkwardly for a handshake.
Taking my hand in hers, she confidently states her name, "Jade Westin."
"Marcus Westin's daughter?"
"Yeah, that's me," she offers a smile. Marcus Westin is a huge director right now. He won an Oscar last spring and has a feature coming out during the holiday season. It's expected to bring big money at the box office, or so my stepdad says.
"Nice to meet you. Sorry to barge in on you here, but I just got in. I'm guessing you weren't expecting anyone?" I offer apologetically.
"No, I wasn't, but I'm actually glad to have a roommate. These rooms can get a little spooky at night by yourself. Plus, it's always nice to have another size six to swap clothes with." Jade laughs and tosses her perfect shampoo commercial hair over her shoulder. I giggle along, but it's far from unfeigned. I'll be damned if I let her long legs and model figure outshine me in my own damn clothes.
Really, the school may as well have a uniform. High class, designer, expensive. We all own the same clothes from the same stores. We're all dressed by the same designers for special events. There are no cute coeds running around with bouncy tits under their t-shirts and tight department store jeans. No meat-head jocks to bro around in the quad. This is not like other schools. Although they do have sororities and fraternities, Windsor doesn't have any sports teams worth mentioning. That's not what brings kids here, and it's not what brings in the money. It comes walking in on its own two legs wrapped in Armani.
"Yeah, definitely. So, I'm obviously arriving halfway through the semester, is there anything super important I should know? Professors to look out for, guys to avoid?"
"Well, there's a party tonight you absolutely have to come with me to at Delta Phi. It's kinda the event of the season. They make a huge deal out of it. Everything is catered in and their sorority house is like a little piece of Bel-Air. I can introduce you to some folks. You generally want to avoid the frat guys. They may look like they're straight out of GQ, but they're still frat guys. Oh, and Lex Wells. He is strictly 'look but don't touch." Jade sits on the bed and pulls off her black satin pumps.
Lex was already at the top of my list of people to talk to, along with his step-sister and a few of their friends. Getting in good with the top dogs of the school is going to be crucial if I want to get my finger on the pulse of the underbelly here. I purposefully arrived on a Friday so that I could spend the weekend getting settled and adding some suspects to my list. "Speaking of parties, I actually got in super late last night and missed my shower before psych this morning, so I'm going to jump in the shower real quick and leave you to get settled in. I have two more classes this afternoon, but if you want to grab dinner and pre-game with me and the girls before the party tonight I'll be back around four," Jade offers.
I paste on a look that I hope looks both excited and endeared, "Oh? Thank you so much. It helps to have someone who knows their way around."
Jade extends a coy smile before slipping into the ensuite bathroom - which has a jetted garden tub. It's a nice departure from the shared bathroom in the hall I had in my last dorms, but again astounds me with its opulence that is so unusual for a college. Renee came here for their Fashion Design program. Aside from the performing arts programs that are par for the course for any school of this nature, it's also one of the best fashion programs in the country. Our parents offered to send me here as well, but it wasn't the direction I wanted to go - and to be honest, it was nice going to school where people didn't care about all this glitz and glamor; didn't preen in the mirror, and didn't get paid to sell diet pills on social media. But make no mistake, this is my world. What I grew up in.
Our family may not be Hollywood royalty, but my mom is a famous music producer. We originally hail from New Orleans where she met my father who started what later became a major record label. He passed away before I was born, and my mom decided to move the label out west, where she met Renee's father, an executive at Paramount. Luckily for me, I carry my father's last name so I won't be easily connected to my mother or Renee. Obviously, if anyone looked hard enough they would be able to figure it out. That's why I'm going by my middle name, despite usually being known as Gen by my friends.
In addition to adjusting my name, I'm going to switch up my personality. I've been told I have a wicked case of RBF. Most people find me intimidating, so I've made a special effort to be more approachable. I went out and bought softer tones of makeup, and picked up a few "girly" dresses. Pretending to like people is a workout on its own, but I'm determined to be friends with the student body if it kills me, which oddly enough, it just might.