gift of rooming with me, I mean.” She laughs at herself and I join her, then follow her as she presses her nose to the windows. “See?”
Rather than simply a lovely view of the grassy oval between Deals, Bishop and Fruckner, our room’s windows are not what they seem. “What the….” I back up while Mary fiddles with a latch on the window side. With a few clicks, and a bump from her hip, the window reveals its true nature.
“It’s a door!” I can’t help but yelp. Two out of the three windows are attached, and swing open, just a crack now since the desks are in the way, but enough so that I can see the small step down to a deck.
Mary shushes me. “No kidding. This room is kick-ass and built for boarding break-outs…” She waits for me to react. “Don’t get all headmaster’s daughter on me, okay? Carlton and I didn’t make it through three years of parietals without the occasional nighttime rendezvous.”
“And everyone knows about this?”
Mary has a matter-of-fact tone. “Well, Love, the deck is made of actual wood — it’s not invisible.”
“And we’re allowed out there?”
“No. But legions of Fruckners have gone out there to smoke or make out or just gaze at the stars.”
“And that’s your plan?” I look at Mary. She seems so varsity — so rules-oriented and regulated, with her regular classes and steady boyfriend and group of sweet if generic friends.
“No. I mean, smoking disgusting.” She smiles. “But being social…” Mary closes the door-window and locks it, shoving the desks back in front of it. “Anyone can get to the deck — it takes a truly stellar planner to get down from there.”
I laugh, ignoring the seconds ticking away, and lick my lips. “No way — I had my one run-in with the disciplinary committee sophomore year…”
“Oh, yeah — with that guy — Robinson Hall?” she scoffs. “I bet that was time misspent.”
“Tell me about it — but, let it be noted that it quelled my taste for breaking and entering.”
Mary crosses her arms over the plain red t-shirt she’s chosen for today. “I’m not talking only about leaving here — who’d want to leave this palace?” She looks around our awesome room, and I have to agree. If I do get into the creative writing class — or even if I don’t — I can imagine many days spent writing here, tucked away from noise and chatter and yet still a part of campus. “Listen,” Mary says, sounding every bit like she’s thought this through. “I wouldn’t ever ask you to risk getting in trouble. But just…” she slides cherry Chapstick across her lips and shoves a notebook into her bag. “If you’re ever in a position to…um…be in a position…” she raises her eyebrows. “Just know, I’d be happy to vacate should you want a little nighttime privacy.”
She heads out before me, even though I’ve been waiting to leave. I take my backpack form my bed and I’m suddenly aware that I seriously have no idea what will happen in the space of these four walls and four windows (or um, two windows and a door). I could have fights in here, write the next American novel, find out if and where I’m going to college, pine for Charlie, play guitar with Jacob, even bond with my fellow boarders. And maybe, just maybe, I think, smoothing out my duvet even though my bed isn’t in its final position, share this bed with someone other than just myself.
Chapter Five
Ten minutes into History of Hadley, the required elective (a misnomer itself) of all seniors and most of us are bored enough that we’re engaged in other pursuits. It should be noted that the class is unmonitored, so there’s no teacher keeping up here, but our section is shoved into a former lower school classroom in plain view of all faculty offices. On our transcripts, the class looks rather quaint and official, pulling Hadley’s name even further up the boarding school rankings — all this and no need to pay a teacher to slog through the
Rather than simply a lovely view of the grassy oval between Deals, Bishop and Fruckner, our room’s windows are not what they seem. “What the….” I back up while Mary fiddles with a latch on the window side. With a few clicks, and a bump from her hip, the window reveals its true nature.
“It’s a door!” I can’t help but yelp. Two out of the three windows are attached, and swing open, just a crack now since the desks are in the way, but enough so that I can see the small step down to a deck.
Mary shushes me. “No kidding. This room is kick-ass and built for boarding break-outs…” She waits for me to react. “Don’t get all headmaster’s daughter on me, okay? Carlton and I didn’t make it through three years of parietals without the occasional nighttime rendezvous.”
“And everyone knows about this?”
Mary has a matter-of-fact tone. “Well, Love, the deck is made of actual wood — it’s not invisible.”
“And we’re allowed out there?”
“No. But legions of Fruckners have gone out there to smoke or make out or just gaze at the stars.”
“And that’s your plan?” I look at Mary. She seems so varsity — so rules-oriented and regulated, with her regular classes and steady boyfriend and group of sweet if generic friends.
“No. I mean, smoking disgusting.” She smiles. “But being social…” Mary closes the door-window and locks it, shoving the desks back in front of it. “Anyone can get to the deck — it takes a truly stellar planner to get down from there.”
I laugh, ignoring the seconds ticking away, and lick my lips. “No way — I had my one run-in with the disciplinary committee sophomore year…”
“Oh, yeah — with that guy — Robinson Hall?” she scoffs. “I bet that was time misspent.”
“Tell me about it — but, let it be noted that it quelled my taste for breaking and entering.”
Mary crosses her arms over the plain red t-shirt she’s chosen for today. “I’m not talking only about leaving here — who’d want to leave this palace?” She looks around our awesome room, and I have to agree. If I do get into the creative writing class — or even if I don’t — I can imagine many days spent writing here, tucked away from noise and chatter and yet still a part of campus. “Listen,” Mary says, sounding every bit like she’s thought this through. “I wouldn’t ever ask you to risk getting in trouble. But just…” she slides cherry Chapstick across her lips and shoves a notebook into her bag. “If you’re ever in a position to…um…be in a position…” she raises her eyebrows. “Just know, I’d be happy to vacate should you want a little nighttime privacy.”
She heads out before me, even though I’ve been waiting to leave. I take my backpack form my bed and I’m suddenly aware that I seriously have no idea what will happen in the space of these four walls and four windows (or um, two windows and a door). I could have fights in here, write the next American novel, find out if and where I’m going to college, pine for Charlie, play guitar with Jacob, even bond with my fellow boarders. And maybe, just maybe, I think, smoothing out my duvet even though my bed isn’t in its final position, share this bed with someone other than just myself.
Chapter Five
Ten minutes into History of Hadley, the required elective (a misnomer itself) of all seniors and most of us are bored enough that we’re engaged in other pursuits. It should be noted that the class is unmonitored, so there’s no teacher keeping up here, but our section is shoved into a former lower school classroom in plain view of all faculty offices. On our transcripts, the class looks rather quaint and official, pulling Hadley’s name even further up the boarding school rankings — all this and no need to pay a teacher to slog through the
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