The Scholarship Ch. 01 - Moving In

I lean my head against the window of the SUV and watch the unfamiliar landscape roll past. I would normally be excited to be seeing California for the first time, but I'm too exhausted for excitement right now. In my current state, all I can manage is faint curiosity. Also, this isn't really California. Not the parts I would want to visit, at least. This is just traffic. I've already seen plenty of traffic. I sigh and watch the cars go by, sometimes racing past in a hurry to get where they need to be, and other times slowly crawling, honking their horns in fury that they aren't where they need to be. A hand takes mine and squeezes it reassuringly.

My twin sister, Lauren, grins at me from across the backseat. "You look so gloomy," she gives my hand another squeeze. "We're in California, it's sunny, and soon we're gonna be starting school and you'll get to make all the goofy movies you want. So lighten up a little!"

"I'm not sad, I'm just tired," I explain. She knows that though. She knows me better than anyone else in the world, maybe even better than I know myself. Lauren's just a constant ball of sunshine and happiness and has never let anything keep her down. Not even a 15-hour travel day. It certainly wore on me.

"Yeah, it's been a long day, but we're almost done! Just focus on that, soon we'll be at our new house and meeting new people and all this travel will be behind us." Her smile widens, somehow, and I can't help but mirror it back at her. Though we're not identical twins, we still look shockingly similar. Same thick dark brown hair, same brown eyes, similar facial bone structure. Even if you don't know we're twins, you can figure it out pretty quickly. The only real difference is that I'm a boy and she's a girl. I keep my hair a little shaggy, and she cuts hers short for a girl, normally wearing it as a spiky, unkempt mess that ends just below her ears. It works for her though, framing her cherubic face and shining, inquisitive eyes. We're both 18 and carefree and silly and trying our best in this world.

We don't come from money. Quite the opposite, in fact. But when we were six years old our aunt got us an old video camera for Christmas, and our view of the world changed. We were no longer poor kids from the Midwest who struggled in math, instead we were making movies. Her primarily in front of the camera and me behind. Constantly writing (though the complexity of our early works was definitely lacking), filming, and acting out short films. It started with just me and her, but eventually we dragged our friends and family into acting with us, making them play parts as needed. That was fun, but exhausting. The core though, for the last twelve years, has been just the two of us. It's easier to discuss and plan a movie when you always know exactly what your partner is thinking.

The original camera died when we were nine, and the two weeks between that camera's last gasp and our parents helping us purchase a new one were the longest of my life. Those two weeks were the basis of my college application essay to Los Angeles School of Advanced Artistry. It's the most prestigious school for a wannabe filmmaker like myself, and Lauren's desire to be an actress led her to the same conclusion. While we got accepted, we didn't get any of the scholarships. Not unexpected, you have to be the cream of the crop to get a full ride considering only half a percent of applicants get accepted. But it was prohibitive when we saw the official yearly estimates.

Our hopes were crushed for four long days until we got the mysterious scholarship offer that allows us to follow our dreams. A full-ride for both of us, a total of $960,000 between us for four years. The scholarship didn't come from the school, but from a private entity. A "Ms. Larson Holdings". In addition to normal GPA requirements for maintaining the scholarship, it came with several odd stipulations, such as a requirement to live in specific housing, and not returning home for any breaks other than for the summer. It only took us ten minutes to accept, strangeness be damned. Our parents were overjoyed that we found something to allow us to follow our dreams, and accepted that we would have to settle for phone calls on Christmas and birthdays.

"Joe, look," Lauren says, tapping my arm to pull me out of my thoughts. I raise my head to see the car pull up to a gate. The driver, I can see through the side window, is leaning out of the driver's window and pressing keys on a keypad. The gate opens, and he pops back inside, then drives us down a long road flanked by green fields on either side towards a mansion visible a quarter mile away. "We're here!" The excitement in Lauren's voice would be obvious even if I couldn't see her hands shaking.

To say our new home is large is an understatement. Even the word mansion is an understatement, though I admit I have very few of those to compare it to. Three stories, each wide with rooms. The third floor has several exterior doors leading to balconies, something absent on the other floors, though the first does have a large patio coming off of the left side of the house.

Surrounding the house, as we get closer, I can see a large grove of trees, providing privacy from anyone who might try to spy on the place, with a few vast green swaths of land there to break up the trees. In front of the house is a fountain encircled by asphalt, and a nearby garage. Our driver pulls up along the roundabout and parks right in front of the front door, then turns off the car. I look at Lauren, and she looks back at me, a smile on her face, a glimmer in her eyes. As one, we unbuckle our seatbelts and climb out of the car. The late summer heat hits us like a truck. California is a fair amount hotter than we're used to, and our ride here had been well air conditioned.

"Go on in, I'll take care of your luggage," the driver says with a chuckle, "it's part of my job description anyway."

I turn towards Lauren but she's already bouncing towards the front door, a jittery half-skip gait that makes her look like a cross between a rabbit and a newborn deer. I hurry to catch up and reach her just as the front door opens a few feet from us.

"Joseph, Lauren!" The speaker is a woman in her mid-40's, roughly. Her lustrous red hair is mostly contained in a bun, though a few strands currently hang loose on either side of her face. Bright green eyes, already studying us, sit above a mouth smiling wide at us. My eyes, those of a teenage boy, roam down her body quickly. Perky slightly-more-than-handful breasts strain against a tight, tan athletic shirt that hugs a fit form. Not the body of an elite athlete, but rather someone who works out on a schedule and takes care of herself. Dark blue yoga pants wrap around an appetizing looking butt and the legs of someone who runs regularly. This must be Ms. Larson. Hopefully. I only pray she didn't notice me checking her out. And that she doesn't notice how much I appreciate her body.

"Come in, come in, it's so nice to meet you!" She says, holding the door open and ushering the two of us inside. She follows us in closely, shutting the front door behind us. There's a brief moment where I wonder why she makes a point of locking the door if the driver is still going to bring our luggage in, but I brush it away under the assumption there's a side door.

The room we're in now looks, at first appraisal, like the world's nicest locker-room. It's large, spacious and empty in the middle except for two cushioned benches. Along the side walls are six enormous closets. They're all currently open, and show enough space to easily house my entire wardrobe. Five of them are labeled with names set into the wood above them. Mine and Lauren's are on the same wall as someone named Alex. The other wall has an empty, and then a Tyler and a Kayla. Ok, weird. I was expecting a grand foyer, or some sort of lobby. Not a set of closets.

"I'm sure you're tired, and have dozens of questions and just want to get settled," Ms. Larson addresses us as she walks over to a bag on one of the benches and pulls out two packets of papers. "But before we get to any of that fun stuff, there is the legal side of things to take care of." She slinks back to us, her gait oozing a level of confidence I wasn't sure was physically possible in a person. "I have some non-disclosure agreements here," she hands one packet and a pen to each of us. It's four pages, and full of legalese as I flip through it. "It's standard stuff," she continues, "feel free to read over it, but to summarize it: you don't talk to anyone outside of this house about me, the house, or anything you see or do here. You should understand that I am a very private person, and other than the students that live here for the scholarship, I don't like sharing details of my life with anyone. If you don't think you can do that, then I'll have my driver take you back to the airport and pay for your flight home." She looks at us expectantly.

I look at Lauren and see her already signing her name at the bottom of the last page. "You didn't even read it!" I exclaim, "What if this is a thing that says she gets your soul or something?" I round on my sister, chastising her for her lack of foresight, as I often did.

"Why would she get my soul? That seems incredibly difficult to enforce. Why would she want souls anyway? She have a machine that runs on soul energy? Lot of work to get a single soul," She looks at me with a smile that says I'm an idiot. I've seen it many times. She's rarely wrong about that, but I wish she wasn't so happy for me to be an idiot.

"Ok, good point," I say, watching her hand the paperwork back to Ms. Larson, "but still, shouldn't we... talk about it or something?"

"What's there to talk about?" Lauren counters, turning towards me. "It's our dream school, for free. F-R-E-E," she spells the word in my face. "This is just an NDA. You'll sign these your whole life, probably, and it's definitely worth what she's paying for us to sign it." Lauren stares at me, her eyes boring holes through my skull and into my brain as if she can force me to admit that she's right. And she is. That's the worst part, she's always right about this stuff.

"Fine," I say, and I sign the NDA, then hand the paperwork and the pen back to Ms. Larson. She grins as she takes the documents from me, and files them away, then pulls out another sheet of paper for each of us. "And what's this?" I ask, looking puzzled. More things to sign?

"No, you don't have to sign this. These are just the rules of the house." Oh that makes sense. I look down at the sheet but before I can read anything she continues speaking. "I'm paying nearly a million dollars in tuition for the two of you over four years. That isn't money from a trust or a government grant. That is my money. And that's just tuition. Add in food and your spending allowance, along with books and any fees for extracurriculars--because I cover all that as well--and you can see that I'm spending quite a bit here." She pauses, and Lauren uses the break to jump in.

"And we're so thank--"

"I'm not finished," Ms. Larson cuts her off, the stern look accompanying the words shuts my sister up quickly. "I pay this much to partially help you out, but also because I get something out of it too. You are bound by an NDA, so if you tell anyone even about the rules, I will litigate. If you cannot abide by these rules while you are living here, then you can go home. I'll pay all your air fare to get you home, but that will be the end of our relationship." She gestures now to the pages we have in our hands. "Go ahead, read them."

I look down, confused and concerned at her words. Rules for Scholarship Recipients is the title at the top of the page. Below is a bullet list of rules to follow while in the house. At just the first point my eyes go wide and I look up. First at Ms. Larson, then to my sister. I find my twin giving me the exact same look. What the fuck?

Rule #1: While in Ms. Hayley Larson's mansion, all Scholarship Recipients must be entirely naked at all times.

Rule #2: Scholarship Recipients will do as requested by Ms. Hayley Larson, as long as they are physically able.

Rule #3: All Scholarship Recipients must treat each other with respect, and must be conscious of the boundaries of others.

Rule #4: No one other than Ms. Hayley Larson, her approved staff, and Scholarship Recipients will be allowed access to the mansion grounds.

Rule #5: All Scholarship Recipients must maintain an average GPA of 3.8, checked at the end of each semester, and must be in at least one extracurricular activity per semester.

The rules are simple enough to understand, but the actual meaning behind them is terrifying. "We can't wear clothes at all?" I ask. I see Lauren is still reading over the list, just a hair behind me.

"This room," Ms. Larson says, gesturing around us to the locker room, "Is a changing room set aside for you. All of your clothes will be put into your assigned closet. When you leave for school, or an activity, or even just to hang out with friends, you come down here, get dressed and then leave. When you come back, you come in here, put your clothes into your closet or in the hamper for laundry, and strip naked again. This is the only room in the house where clothing is permitted for you."

"Why?" I ask bluntly. Lauren nods her agreement at the question, finally on the same page as me about how weird this is.

"Because I can," she replies, standing. We're roughly the same height, but somehow she seems to tower over me. "I'm worth just shy of a billion dollars. Billion with a 'B'," she looks down her nose at me. "I want to use that to help a kid here and there, but I want something out of it too. This is what I get out of it. I get to watch a few college kids prance around naked, learn about their body and the bodies of their fellow housemates, and often, experiment sexually in a safe environment."

I blanch when she mentions experimenting sexually. I'm still a virgin, and I'm ninety-nine percent sure that Lauren is too. Hell, I've only had one girl ever even look at my dick in a sexual way. "When you say 'watch'..." Lauren lets the implicit question hang in the air, cocking her head slightly.

"Oh, yes, the whole house is filmed with cameras. Fifty or so of these things." She looks almost proud of that. "I'm not always around the house, and want to make sure I don't miss anything fun," she smiles devilishly.

"What if we don't want to?" I ask.

"Don't want to what?" Ms. Larson looks puzzled. The obvious answer being that if I don't want to be naked all the time, I can just leave the program.

"What if we don't want to uh, experiment sexually?"

Her puzzled expression vanishes, "Oh, that's no problem. I've had students come through here who never did anything more in the house than masturbate. I've had students who had long term partners and though they looked at the others here, nice long looks, they never touched. And then I've had plenty of students who were single and realized sex is a beautiful thing and they came into their own here, learning everything they possibly could about what they liked and how to please a partner." She adopts a faraway look, a faint smile coming across her face. "Even had two marriages between students."

It's a lot to take in. This isn't at all what I expected, but the preliminary rules regarding us being required to live here make a little more sense now. She likes the control, she likes to have her gaggle of impressionable, naked college kids around her at all times. I want to say no. I want to turn and walk out the door and get back in the car and fly back home.

But I can't. It's my dream school, my dream program. Graduating from here looks so good on a resume that it almost guarantees work in Hollywood. The connections I will make here alone are worth the cost of tuition, let alone the technical knowledge.

"Can we have a minute to talk it over?" I ask Ms. Larson. She nods, but doesn't move. Lauren and I walk back towards the entrance, and huddle together to talk.

"Nudity isn't the worst thing," Lauren starts. "The sex stuff is optional. Overwhelming, but optional. And I mean... I've seen you naked before. And we won't have to share a room or anything. Maybe we'll like it?" She suggests hopefully.

"Or maybe she sells this video somewhere and four years of us being naked winds up on the Internet," is my rebuttal. My heart isn't in it though. I play Devil's advocate on reflex, providing a realist, if pessimistic view on possible events. But even I can see that this is too good of an opportunity to say no to.

"That's all you've got?"

"That's all I've got," I reply quietly.

"Wow," Lauren grins and lightly punches my shoulder, "you really want this."

"I need this," I correct her. "Letting a perverted older woman like her see me naked for four years is a better way to get it than most."

"Plus she's pretty," Lauren says, looking over her shoulder at Ms. Larson. "What?" She asks when she looks back, seeing my surprised expression. "I'm not saying I want to like... do something. I have eyes though, she's pretty. You think so too. You might have kept your little 'checking her out' moment hidden from her, but I've seen you look at girls at school that way too many times to not know that look." She shrugs. "It's ok."

"So we're going to do this?" I ask quietly. She nods instantly. I reach out for her hand and she squeezes my fingers hard.

"If it's weird and scary, at least we'll be together to handle the scary weirdness." Lauren pulls her hand away and we turn back to Ms. Larson.

"Ok," I say simply. "I'm in."

"We're in," Lauren stresses, "Can't have one of us without the other."

"I know," Ms. Larson replies, "That's why this is the first time I've ever handed out two scholarships in one year," she grins at us, "felt wrong to split you two up."

"How long have you done this?" I ask. It won't change my decision, but I'm curious now.

"23 years," she says quickly. She didn't even need time to think about it. I wonder how much of that footage she still has saved. Surely she doesn't have every minute from every camera from all those years stored somewhere. That's an obscene amount of video to store, especially with as high quality as these cameras are. That implies that she, or someone else, spends time editing it down. Probably down to just the sexual parts, to assume the worst.

"And..." Lauren starts, speaking up trepidatiously, "And you always have four students in the house?"

Ms. Larson nods, "One student for every year. A senior, a junior, sophomore and a freshman. Though, this year I'll have two freshmen, I suppose." She shrugs as if it wasn't her idea in the first place. "Alex is our sophomore, Tyler our junior, and Kayla is our senior for this year. They won't move in for another couple of days, so you two have some time to get used to things before you meet your housemates." She pauses for a moment, a faraway look coming into her eyes. Then she snaps back to us. "Any other questions, or shall we start getting you two acclimated?"

"Just one," I say softly. I'm not sure if I really want to ask this, the possible answers scare me a little, but I feel like I need to know the answer before I can really move forward. "This thing of rules," I hold up the sheet of paper, "it says we must do whatever you tell us to. What uh... What does that mean?"

"It means that you have to do what I tell you to, it's a pretty clear rule, don't you think?" She responds, a cocky smile spread across her face.

"Does that include like... sexually?" I ask, blushing at the thought of her commanding me or Lauren to do something to someone else and knowing we have to.

"Oh no, dear," her face lightens a little, "No no, you always have the right to say no when it comes to sex. I may ask you to do something, but you can always refuse. It means more about chores, or helping around the house or something of that nature. Or if I tell you to get a tutor for a class, or to pitch in for a birthday gift for a housemate." That assuages some of my fears. And I nod my understanding to her. She nods back. "Ok then, if there's nothing else... you two need to undress before we go any further."