Chapter 6

When it was time for college, I didn't let Andrew see me off.

Grandma took the train with me all the way to another state.

On registration day, the restoration department's welcome desk was pretty empty. The popular majors had lines out the door, but at our desk, there was only one upperclassman chewing on a pancake.

When she spotted me, her eyes lit up. "Wait, a freshman?"

I handed her my acceptance letter.

Her name was Lisa Ford. She had short hair and a quick tongue. "Charlotte Summers, right? Your dorm's in Orion Gate.

"Fair warning: our department's broke, the workload is killer, the professors are strict, and if you're hoping to get rich after graduation, well, good luck with that."

Grandma's eyebrows shot up. "Girl, are you recruiting or trying to scare her off?"

Lisa laughed. "Madam, I'm setting realistic expectations. If you stick around, you must really love this stuff."

I said, "I'm staying."

Lisa slapped the key into my hand. "That's the spirit. Tonight's our welcome party. Don't show up in a white dress. The storage room is a dust pit."

After helping me settle in, Grandma slipped a cloth bag into my hands before she left. "This is your mom's old apron. If you're really going to learn this trade, wear it proudly.

"There is nothing more honorable than making a living with your own two hands."

I hugged her.

Grandma leaned in and whispered, "Andrew called me, asking for your dorm number. I didn't tell him."

"Don't ever tell him."

"I'm not stupid," Grandma snorted. "He was grilling me like a cop. I told him to memorize his own address first."

I couldn't help but laugh out loud.

*****

The welcome party was held in an old storage room.

The department head, Maurice Goodman, stood behind a long table, laid out with a few battered old paintings and book pages.

He was a man in his forties who didn't waste time on pleasantries. "If you're looking for fame or glory, you're in the wrong room. Patience, steady hands, and an eye for detail. That is all that matters here."

Lisa leaned over and whispered, "Professor Goodman is savage. He's made three years of students cry."

Maurice glanced at us. "Alright, everyone come up and pick a piece of damaged paper. Try to figure out what kind of paper it is, where it's torn, and if it can be fixed."

The freshmen exchanged nervous glances.

One guy muttered, "Seriously? We just got here and we're already getting tested?"

Maurice shot him a look. "If you want to quit, now's the time. Your bags are still packed, so it'll be easy."

When it was my turn, I picked up a piece of paper with yellowed edges.

The paper had water stains, loose fibers, and the edges were eaten away by bugs.

I said, "This is bamboo paper. It's been damp, and there's old insect damage. You can't size it right away. First, clean off the dust, flatten it, and try patching it."

Maurice tapped the edge of the table. "Where'd you learn that?"

I replied, "Some elders in my family passed down a few tools."

Lisa nudged me with her elbow. "Way to go, rookie."

One girl rolled her eyes. "Bet you memorized the textbook."

Maurice picked up another piece. "What about this one?"

I glanced at it. "This isn't old damage. Looks like someone tore it on purpose. The tear's fresh, and the fibers are stiff."

The storage room went quiet.

Maurice stared at me for a few seconds, then took back the piece of paper. "Tomorrow at 8 AM sharp, show up at the restoration room."

Once he left, Lisa slapped the table. "Charlotte, you're in for it. Professor Goodman's got his eye on you."

I asked, "Should I be happy about that?"