The Search for Artemis (The Chronicles of Landon Wicker) by P. D. Griffith

source.
    “What? What is it?”
    “You’re roommate . . . it’s Brock. You’re sharing a room with Brock Holbrooke!”
    “Are you sure?” Landon shakily asked.
    “Yeah, this is supposed to be your room—498. Your name’s right there under Brock’s.”
    Riley stepped away from the door and pointed to a small placard mounted to the right of the doorway. On it, a card with Landon’s name was in the slot below “Brock Holbrooke.” Landon stared wide-eyed at the sign. Riley had overwhelmed him with feelings of unpreparedness as he went through his schedule, and now he was to bunk with the alpha male of the Gymnasium’s elite. Landon wasn’t ready for any of it.
    After a few deep breaths, Landon stepped up to the door, hesitantly turned the handle and walked in. The room was pitch black, and the air felt dungeonous and suffocating. Being one of the interior rooms, there were no windows to cast any natural light or get any air circulation. Landon flicked up the light switch, and the room’s overhead bulbs turned on with blinding intensity. Landon let out a sigh of relief, though, when he saw Brock wasn’t there.
    The room was in perfect symmetry. On either side, an extra-long twin bed jutted out with the headboards pushed up against the back wall. Next to Landon’s bed was a small, two-drawer wooden nightstand and a little double bookshelf, and each had their own four-drawer dresser and a desk with a rolling chair along the side walls. But even with its symmetrical layout, it wasn’t difficult for Landon to distinguish Brock’s side from his.
    Brock’s bed was covered in disheveled blue sheets and an overstuffed comforter. A couple of drawers were ajar and loose articles of clothing and toiletries covered his dresser. His desk had papers strewn everywhere, and a stack of books was haphazardly piled up on his nightstand.
    Landon, however, was welcomed with a neat stack of white sheets and a green comforter folded flawlessly at the foot of his naked mattress. His shelf contained a small collection of books lined up from tallest to shortest, and his desk was clear, except for a brand new laptop and a desk lamp. Landon set the copy of Treasure Island on his desk as he walked over to the dresser.
    He opened his drawers to find them stuffed with pairs of pajamas, t-shirts, sweaters, pants, shorts, underwear and socks that weren’t his. His closet wasn’t any different. Jackets, an assortment of long-sleeve and short-sleeve oxfords and a few pairs of dress trousers lined the racks, and the closet floor was covered in at least twelve pairs of shoes in all styles.
    “Everything okay?” Riley asked. Landon had forgotten Riley was still standing beside the door.
    “Is this all Brock’s?” Landon asked.
    Riley walked over to the closet and inspected one of the dress shirts that were hanging on the pole. “Nope, it’s too small. . . . I actually think it’s yours” he said. He continued to peruse the closet, pulling miscellaneous pieces off the rack and scrutinizing them for a few moments before wedging them back into place. Riley spent a bit longer inspecting a green, felt basketball jacket with a ribbed neckline, cuffs and hem. “Can I have this?” he asked shamelessly.
    Can this all really be for me? Who bought it? Where did it come frome? Landon was having difficulty wrapping his head around everything. When he was woken up that morning, he had no idea how much his life would change by dinner time. He wasn’t sure how to react to it all. Then he noticed an old pair of pants lying in the seat of his desk chair.
    “Seriously, can I have this?” Riley asked again, holding the jacket up prominently for Landon to see.
    “Sure,” Landon said, distracted.
    His eyes were solely trained on the pants; he couldn’t figure out why he didn’t notice them earlier. He walked over, picked up the pair of worn jeans and pulled them toward him. A note fell to the floor. Riley quickly grabbed it and handed it back to