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Ultragreen -7- Cabin 23
🕑 Added 2019-01-12 06:25:45 +0000 UTC
They rode through the gates at Carson Rogers with plenty of time to spare, stopped at the office to sign back in and waved nonchalantly at the weekend office person, Harry Bonds, who also taught woodshop and history, part time.
Their bunk was in Cabin 23, Room B, in the second row behind the main campus quad, so they biked there and stored their bikes in the nearby utility shed. It wasn’t really necessary to lock the bikes up on campus but they did so anyway, so they wouldn’t get in the habit of not locking them up when off campus.
Same for their rooms, really; theft was not a real problem at the academy but they had started locking their room when away as a declaration of privacy. This was allowed by school policy as long as someone in administration had a copy of any keys.
Cabin 23 was a four-by-eight, as it was called: four rooms and eight students. About half of the student living at CR was made up of such units. Each room had a separate entrance and shared a large bathroom with one of the other rooms.
The buildings were of wood, in a bungalow construction, with a covered porch all the way around. Being up in the mountains, the famous Arizona heat was not as much of a problem and winters saw only a minimum of snow at their elevation.
Once inside, their room, Shellie threw herself on her bunk, dropping her satchel of books on the floor. “Wow,” she said. “The mountain seemed steeper today.” She rolled over to look up at George standing just inside the room, staring at her with an odd expression.
“You wanna go get dinner in the cafeteria before they stop serving?” she asked him.
He mumbled something and shuffled toward his own bed.
“Huh?” Normally she understood George but sometimes his incoherence peaked.
“I said, ‘Garbage in, garbage out,’” he replied a little more clearly, not looking directly at her.
Shellie giggled. It was a phrase they had both learned in their computer sciences class and it had application in many places. “The cafeteria isn’t bad at all, really. And our folks do pay for it. Also, I’m kinda hungry.”
George waved vaguely. “Go ahead, I’ll come in a bit.”
Shellie nodded. “Saturday night is roast beef sandwiches, one of your favorites,” she got up and headed for the door to their shared bathroom. “I’m gonna wash up.”
“Lock the door while you are in there,” George reminded her, looking concerned.
“I’m not gonna take a bath,” she said.
George shook his head, looking disturbed. “You gotta lock the door every time so you don’t forget. I don’t want you to get kicked out for being a girl.”
“I’m more worried that they won’t let us continue experimenting and I get stuck, so yeah, you’re right. I’ll be sure to lock the door.” She turned to grin at him before going through the internal passage to the toilet.
George gave one of his spastic grins back, sudden and fake-looking as always. Shellie did not consider it significant.
In the bathroom, she did lock both doors before sitting down to do her business and discovering that it was almost impossible not to dribble on herself down there. The heck? she wondered. Do all girls have this problem?
A bit of toilet paper took care of it, but she wanted to have a look. That proved harder than she expected. Without a hand mirror, she had to spread her legs and look between them at the full-length mirror to get a view.
With the blood rushing to her head, she looked and used a finger to examine herself until she got dizzy. Yup, she thought, I’m a girl. And things are kinda sensitive down there.
Just then, someone tried the door from Room A and Shellie almost landed on her head trying to stand up quickly. “Be done in a minute,” she called out.
“Who’s in there?” inquired a voice from the A side of the door. It sounded like Andy Fluyt who shared A with Denny Pointer.
“It’s me,” said Shellie, quickly pulling her pants up and turning on a faucet to wash her hands.
“Who is it?” asked Denny’s voice.
“Sounds like a girl,” said Andy.
But with the water running, Shellie didn’t hear that part.
