the context of Jacob. Watching Dalton alone gives me new appreciation for him, his wry tone, his smirk, his from-the-corner comments. I guess whenever Jacob is around, I turn a blind eye to everyone else — or if not blind, a certain mutedness overcomes the rest.
“So, who failed then?” I ask Dalton. He swivels in his tiny seat, giving me a look that for some reason makes me pay more attention to him.
“Funny you should ask,” he says, but he doesn’t elaborate. He’s like that, filled with humor and proverbial peanut gallery fodder, but then just as likely to withhold.
Jimmy Kapp shrugs. “Everyone passes.”
“Not Parker Addison,” Dalton says. He doesn’t look right at me as he says this name, but there’s an energy floating between us. Maybe he knows Chili likes him (read: she is among the legions of girls — and a few guys — who track Dalton’s every move with their crushes). Or maybe he and I are just on some bizarre wavelength.
“There are lots of rumors about that guy,” Harriet says. “Who knows what’s true about him?”
I could speak up and say that I know about him. At least a bit. He’s Charlie’s brother and though I met him with rather unfortunate circumstances this summer (read: I thought he was Charlie and tried to grope him), I do know that most of those rumors — the stuff of campus lore — are true. But I don’t say that — because to say that means to admit how I know him, and to do that is to be one of those people. And I while I want my relationship with Charlie (and, by virtue of his being related, Parker), I do not want to be one of the Hadley heartbroken, who abuse the verbal privilege by bringing up their long-distance amour every chance they get. Those people — the ones who wait for the phone calls, the letters, the texts, the emails, and all while constantly longing for that long-distance love who begins to sound made up. Is that what Charlie will be? Some summer myth?
I look down at my notebook, at my current list, hoping people will go back to being quiet — reading or ignoring the text.
The page in front of me is a list that belongs in my journal, but since I refused to bring along any of them — even the latest one — to the dorms for fear of them being read, I have only pages in my notebooks to fill at random.
NEW RULES THAT SUCK (not in any order):
No cell phones (as of this morning all phones are to be turned in to the headmaster’s office — hi, Dad! — only to be redistributed at closing of the day (day students) or Friday at four pm (boarders).
Required participation in Hadley Hugs — the hippy earthy crunchy procedure that was started in nineteen sixty-eight for valid reasons (country torn apart, people divided, racial tensions, and so on) but that culminate in the hugging of every single one of Hadley’s students by every single other student. This is not optional as in prior years. Hadley did away with calling it “a non-required community-minded day” and got around the litigious parents and anti-touching laws by making it an academic necessity. Basically, it’s a morning of gropage that either ends in laughs, tears, gross-outs or hook-ups.
Maximum weekends away for boarders are capped at 4 per semester. This includes holiday weekends.
In light of last year’s (when I wasn’t even a boarder!) infractions, all boarders are to remain on campus after school unless otherwise approved (permission granted examples include doctor’s appointments, college interviews, and parental visits — provided you’ve asked permission IN WRITING beforehand). If my mother visits, which she has promised to do, she’ll have to plan in advance. For a women who came into my life after a near-eighteen year absence, forethought might not be her strong suit.
Then there’s THE NEW RULES THAT ARE GOOD:
Extended parietal hours (this is highlighted in the reissued handbook as though it’s a major coup on the students’ part — however, the giant
“So, who failed then?” I ask Dalton. He swivels in his tiny seat, giving me a look that for some reason makes me pay more attention to him.
“Funny you should ask,” he says, but he doesn’t elaborate. He’s like that, filled with humor and proverbial peanut gallery fodder, but then just as likely to withhold.
Jimmy Kapp shrugs. “Everyone passes.”
“Not Parker Addison,” Dalton says. He doesn’t look right at me as he says this name, but there’s an energy floating between us. Maybe he knows Chili likes him (read: she is among the legions of girls — and a few guys — who track Dalton’s every move with their crushes). Or maybe he and I are just on some bizarre wavelength.
“There are lots of rumors about that guy,” Harriet says. “Who knows what’s true about him?”
I could speak up and say that I know about him. At least a bit. He’s Charlie’s brother and though I met him with rather unfortunate circumstances this summer (read: I thought he was Charlie and tried to grope him), I do know that most of those rumors — the stuff of campus lore — are true. But I don’t say that — because to say that means to admit how I know him, and to do that is to be one of those people. And I while I want my relationship with Charlie (and, by virtue of his being related, Parker), I do not want to be one of the Hadley heartbroken, who abuse the verbal privilege by bringing up their long-distance amour every chance they get. Those people — the ones who wait for the phone calls, the letters, the texts, the emails, and all while constantly longing for that long-distance love who begins to sound made up. Is that what Charlie will be? Some summer myth?
I look down at my notebook, at my current list, hoping people will go back to being quiet — reading or ignoring the text.
The page in front of me is a list that belongs in my journal, but since I refused to bring along any of them — even the latest one — to the dorms for fear of them being read, I have only pages in my notebooks to fill at random.
NEW RULES THAT SUCK (not in any order):
No cell phones (as of this morning all phones are to be turned in to the headmaster’s office — hi, Dad! — only to be redistributed at closing of the day (day students) or Friday at four pm (boarders).
Required participation in Hadley Hugs — the hippy earthy crunchy procedure that was started in nineteen sixty-eight for valid reasons (country torn apart, people divided, racial tensions, and so on) but that culminate in the hugging of every single one of Hadley’s students by every single other student. This is not optional as in prior years. Hadley did away with calling it “a non-required community-minded day” and got around the litigious parents and anti-touching laws by making it an academic necessity. Basically, it’s a morning of gropage that either ends in laughs, tears, gross-outs or hook-ups.
Maximum weekends away for boarders are capped at 4 per semester. This includes holiday weekends.
In light of last year’s (when I wasn’t even a boarder!) infractions, all boarders are to remain on campus after school unless otherwise approved (permission granted examples include doctor’s appointments, college interviews, and parental visits — provided you’ve asked permission IN WRITING beforehand). If my mother visits, which she has promised to do, she’ll have to plan in advance. For a women who came into my life after a near-eighteen year absence, forethought might not be her strong suit.
Then there’s THE NEW RULES THAT ARE GOOD:
Extended parietal hours (this is highlighted in the reissued handbook as though it’s a major coup on the students’ part — however, the giant
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