Trent RosenthalAs soon as the door knob clicked, Trent held his breath. He willed himself not to look through the crack, and glimpse at his new room. He remembered what a few students from the hall had said.
'You'll enjoy it here! It'll feel like you're at home!'
With a shiver, he grunted, "Please don't let it be anything like that hell hole."
He gave the door a push and dropped his heavy luggage in shock.
It was nothing like the cave-like basement he spent his childhood in. The whole room was adorned with all the things he loved - there was even a cool floor lamp that resembled a man playing the guitar."Oh..." he breathed out, "this is so not my room." Trent grinned happily for what seemed like the first time in his life, and jumped on the bed.
"Oh, the bed is so fluffy. I could sleep here forever!" he giggled while looking at the fine, ebony details of the ceiling. A shine of red, black and white and tan glimmered over his head. He craned his neck backwards and almost fell of the bed in shock.
"No way. Are those... guitars?" He gasped, kneeling on his pillows to reach the polished bodies of three guitars hung over his bead. A wooden brown guitar, a red guitar and a black and white bass line up on the wall. "Gibson... nice." His smirk fell as quickly as it had come up.
"The academy sure has outdone themselves..." His eyebrows crashed together, crossing his legs and scanning the whole room. The guitars, the records, notebooks and other materials that sat on the shelves beside his bed, the band posters that made him suspect the school knew too much about him... it confused him. Why would someone go through all the trouble of making his life better? No one else tried to do so in the past. No one ever cared about him. But then again, the curtains were white, and the light would easily peek through them.
"Ugh, with an unbelievably comfy bed like this, who cares?" Trent shrugged and curled up on the grayscaled bed, grinning at the room that had become paradise for him.
