From the moment I wake up, I’m confused. My surroundings were completely unfamiliar, and even the firmness of the bed I’m currently laying in seems alien to me.

I cast my gaze over a darkened and sparsely furnished bedroom. A small open closet reveals a smattering of clothes, a small desk has a laptop and a reading lamp sitting upon it, and a small fridge sits on the floor next to the door.

This is not my bedroom. For a brief moment the confusion starts to give way to panic, but the memories return quick enough to prevent a disaster.

This is my new dorm room. And today is my first day at a new school.

With a groan, I check my phone to see the time. I still have over two hours before class starts. I regret going to bed so early last night, but losing three hours due to the time zone difference left me more than a little jetlagged. Pulling myself from my comfortable sheets, I trudge across the floor to begin my morning routine. I just hope I can remember where the bathroom was in this new place.

All in all, I shouldn’t really be complaining about my accommodations. It was my first time living alone, and that enough was cause for celebration. In spite of that, the circumstances weren’t exactly ideal. With my mom and step-father having to juggle work with caring for my brothers, it was simply easier for me to go to school out of town. As liberating as it might be to be on my own, I was keenly aware that it came with significant pressure. Villeneuve Academy was a prestigious name after all, and if I wanted to pursue a career in law like my parents, it would be my best shot at both making connections and proving myself academically. And seeing as I only had a year before I graduated, I’d have to really push myself to do both.

After my morning shower, I put on my school uniform for only the second time, the first time being when we went and bought the damn thing. I had a decent collection of identical white undershirts and cream trousers, but only 3 navy blue blazers to swap between. The front of each of them was proudly emblazoned with the school's crest. The only semblance of individuality allowed was the color of my tie, and even then the brochure warned against “loud or disruptive colors and patterns.” Well, I might as well go with my favorite color then. I grab the dark green one and try my best to remember the double windsor knot my step-dad taught me, ending up with something presentable after only a couple of tries.

As I made my way downstairs, I was surprised at just how lonely I felt in this old pre-prohibition building. As far as I could see, I was the only one up at the moment. As I step into the shared kitchen, I quickly double check my phone to make sure it isn’t still set to my old time zone. That would be the most embarrassing first day possible if I missed a detail like that and ended up two hours early, or god forbid, late. Luckily, my phone seems to have updated automatically, and I'm right on time. I guess nobody else here is a morning person.

I make what I think counts as a valiant effort of a halfway decent Denver omelette. Luckily the fridge was already stocked with food; I was told yesterday that everything in the fridge was up for grabs, so I kinda just went for it. It isn't until after I finish and am washing my plate that I finally catch a glimpse of another human being. The dorm mother, a somewhat rotund and vibrant woman with long red hair done up in a frizzy bun, rounds the corner into the kitchen and lets out a small yelp of surprise.

“I thought I heard someone in here!” she exclaims a little melodramatically.

“Oh yeah, that was me,” I reply sheepishly. “Just getting ready for my first day. Sorry if I was a little loud, Ms. Koprowski.”

The dorm mother, when we met yesterday, seemed like a decent enough person. According to her, she'd inherited this old tenement from an estranged family member and put it to use immediately as a dorm for the local secondary school. I like to think I'm a pretty good judge of character, most of the time, and to me she projected the airs of an overprotective aunt. A nice enough woman, if a little overbearing.

She gives a small laugh. “Not to worry, no problem at all! I suppose I’ve been so used to the girls simply not bothering with breakfast that it surprised me.”

I nod. Now that she said that, I remember that I’m the only boy in the dorm, which explained to some extent my lonely morning. She told me yesterday that I had the third floor all to myself, seeing as it had been designated the “boy’s floor”. A bit of a waste of space if you asked me, but I could understand her reticence at having opposite genders rooming next to one another.

“Don’t they know that breakfast is the most important meal of the day?” I ask her as I put the plate on the drying rack next to the sink.

“Oh, don’t you worry about that. There’s plenty of shops and cafes on your walk to the school, I don’t doubt that they usually grab a bite from one of them.”

“Maybe I could cook for everyone sometime,” I mutter, more to myself than anything. I’d certainly been used to doing that back at home for my brothers.

The dorm mother narrows her eyes at me conspiratorially. “Mr. Kelly, are you already trying to ensnare the hearts of my girls? You know what they say about a man who can cook.”

I give her an awkward laugh. “Ma’am, I haven’t even met any of your girls yet.”

“Well, just know that I’ve got my eye on you young man,” she says with a smirk.

After a few more bits of small talk she ultimately lets the notion lie, and I was on my way once more. As I put on my shoes I briefly considered waiting for the appearance of my dorm mates, more out of idle curiosity than anything, but given Ms. Koprowski’s reaction to my offer to cook I decided against it. While she seemed good-natured about it, it was probably better to not risk making an enemy of the dorm mother in my first week.

As I step into the surprisingly cool August air, the heavy door closing gently behind me, I can’t help but feel excited. And, if I’m being honest, more than a little bit nervous. After years of guiding two little brats around every morning, micromanaging them to get them out the door, the solitude of my morning has left me feeling empty. I try to shake the melancholy as I set off at a brisk pace, double checking my phone for my route, swapping between the map app and my social media to see if anything interesting comes up. Keeping my hands occupied helps with my first day jitters, and keeping my mind occupied helps with the anxiety. The thoughts of my previous school seem so far away now, and I barely even think about my ex as I stroll down the street, scrolling down my timeline. I might not be able to control what happens next, but I can always control my attitude, and right now I’ve decided that this is going to be a great year for me.

Maybe if I keep telling myself that, I’ll even believe it.