Boarding School

Boarding School

Who says, that school abroad can't be fun?

Chapter 1 by knurpslquorg knurpslquorg

2616/5000

The sun was burning down as I hiked up the mountain to the dorm. Of course I could have taken a taxi, but I was too stingy for that. The fact that my father provided me with a lot of money did not mean that I had to throw it out of the window with both hands.
I admit that I underestimated the mountain. from below, the path did not look as steep as it felt now. My legs hurt. But if I have learned one thing, then that there is no such thing as weakness here in Japan. We lived here long enough. At that time my father ran the Japanese branch of a canadian machine manufacturer. And because he always wanted to win new customers for the benefits of Canadian engineering, we had just moved for the third time in 5 years.
This time we were washed up near Hirakata. And since my parents were never home anyway, I thought it would be a good idea to attend a boarding school. I've never liked these shoeboxes that the Japanese call an apartment. Somehow, you never were really alone. There never seemed to be anything like privacy. I preferred the boarding schools, since you had a room for yourself and the other roommates were the same age as you. But we've never lived anywhere long enough to build up much of a friendship.
But this time - at least for me - that was about to change, because I was close to final exams and so I would stay in Hirakata even if my dad was going to fish clients in Sapporo. And that was at least 800 kilometers to the north.
I chose the school for two reasons. First, it had a more than good reputation. Anyone who graduated here, could be proud of it.
And secondly (I do not know what was more important to me): The school was mostly attended by girls.
Boys have only been admitted to the Kunimi-yama School for two years. So I was one of only 12 boys among 350-ish girls. And on top of that, I was white. So I was a double foreigner, if you will.
After fighting my way up the mountain in the August sun of Japan, I was standing in front of the dorm that should be my home for the next two years.
I entered the mint green six-story building and found myself in a kind of lobby.
Somewhere here I was supposed to meet someone of the administration.
In the back area was a kind of reception desk, behind which but no one was visible. There was also a telephone hanging on the wall and a door that seemed to lead to some kind of office.

Where do I try to register?

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