hair falls in his face. He keeps his hair shoulder-length, rock-star length, he says. I’ve known him since we were freshmen because he plays violin. We play together often, in orchestra, in quartets, in two-on-one practices with the music teacher, and of course in puppet show performances for the Faculty Club, like this one we have to do next month—a Mozart sonata. Because, well, we’re really the two best musicians the school has.
Funny thing is, Jones would rather be playing electric guitar. His parents don’t want him to, so he compromised, or really, tricked them. He scored a ticket out of the house for four years, where he can play guitar in his room all he wants.
“No one,” I whisper back as Julie walks into the classroom. She lives down the hall from me and she is going to save the world someday, I’m sure of it. She started a group here called Change Agents, so she’s always heading up this or that fund-raising drive or volunteer project. We’ll chitchat in the common room or while we brush our teeth at night and she’ll often suggest I come help out on her latest feed-the-homeless efforts.
She was there
that night,
and when I see her walk past my desk, I look the other way because I can’t help but wonder what she saw, if she thinks I asked for it. My chest tightens and I half-expect her to say something cruel, eventhough Julie doesn’t have a mean bone in her body. Instead, she just gives me a wave before she sits down.
Then a runner darts into the room. The runner never says a word; he just waits for an attendance slip from our teacher, Ms. Peck. Runners help out in the office by collecting attendance slips from each class. This would be a menial task at many other schools. But thanks to the point system here, their job is actually pretty important. Themis awards attendance points you can cash in for off campus privileges, sort of like a weekend pass but to the movies or the coffee shop. Points are key if you ever want a real social life, if you ever want to have a real date. The rewards get better with each passing year. Freshmen can use points to have lunch off campus once a month, sophomores once a week. Juniors can cash them in for three lunches per week, including weekends. Plus, you can use points in the second half of junior year for Friday Night Out privileges. Seniors can come and go as they please for lunch and can leave campus Friday and Saturday nights. Of course, you can also lose points if you skip class or don’t show up for your extracurricular activities.
Ms. Peck hands the paper to the runner, who dashes out, then clears her throat, peering at us over the top of her tortoiseshell glasses with lenses the size of Frisbees. “Good Monday morning to you all,” she says. She still has a slight Texan accent—she’s from there—but she rarely slips up with
y’all
. That wouldn’t really go over well at Themis.
“Good morning, Ms. Peck,” we say in unison. All the female teachers here are referred to as
Ms
. whether they’re married or not. With this policy, the administration thinks the faculty’s marital status is off the table, a non-topic of discussion for the students. As if we all don’t already know exactly which teachers are married, divorced, single, cheating, in marriage counseling, or dating. We know everything that goes on here and we always will.
The consequence of that is someone probably knows about me. Natalie knows where I was Friday night
and
Saturday morning. Then I remember her boyfriend, Kevin, is a water polo player, like Carter. I slump down in my chair, the reality hitting me. I’m sure she’s told the whole track team she saw me doing what she thinks was the walk of shame from Carter’s room. And Kevin has probably told the water polo team.
I shake my head, shake the thought away like a leaf that has fallen in my hair. The leaf falls to the ground, and I picture myself stepping on it. The brown, crackling leaf turns to rubble under my foot. I
Funny thing is, Jones would rather be playing electric guitar. His parents don’t want him to, so he compromised, or really, tricked them. He scored a ticket out of the house for four years, where he can play guitar in his room all he wants.
“No one,” I whisper back as Julie walks into the classroom. She lives down the hall from me and she is going to save the world someday, I’m sure of it. She started a group here called Change Agents, so she’s always heading up this or that fund-raising drive or volunteer project. We’ll chitchat in the common room or while we brush our teeth at night and she’ll often suggest I come help out on her latest feed-the-homeless efforts.
She was there
that night,
and when I see her walk past my desk, I look the other way because I can’t help but wonder what she saw, if she thinks I asked for it. My chest tightens and I half-expect her to say something cruel, eventhough Julie doesn’t have a mean bone in her body. Instead, she just gives me a wave before she sits down.
Then a runner darts into the room. The runner never says a word; he just waits for an attendance slip from our teacher, Ms. Peck. Runners help out in the office by collecting attendance slips from each class. This would be a menial task at many other schools. But thanks to the point system here, their job is actually pretty important. Themis awards attendance points you can cash in for off campus privileges, sort of like a weekend pass but to the movies or the coffee shop. Points are key if you ever want a real social life, if you ever want to have a real date. The rewards get better with each passing year. Freshmen can use points to have lunch off campus once a month, sophomores once a week. Juniors can cash them in for three lunches per week, including weekends. Plus, you can use points in the second half of junior year for Friday Night Out privileges. Seniors can come and go as they please for lunch and can leave campus Friday and Saturday nights. Of course, you can also lose points if you skip class or don’t show up for your extracurricular activities.
Ms. Peck hands the paper to the runner, who dashes out, then clears her throat, peering at us over the top of her tortoiseshell glasses with lenses the size of Frisbees. “Good Monday morning to you all,” she says. She still has a slight Texan accent—she’s from there—but she rarely slips up with
y’all
. That wouldn’t really go over well at Themis.
“Good morning, Ms. Peck,” we say in unison. All the female teachers here are referred to as
Ms
. whether they’re married or not. With this policy, the administration thinks the faculty’s marital status is off the table, a non-topic of discussion for the students. As if we all don’t already know exactly which teachers are married, divorced, single, cheating, in marriage counseling, or dating. We know everything that goes on here and we always will.
The consequence of that is someone probably knows about me. Natalie knows where I was Friday night
and
Saturday morning. Then I remember her boyfriend, Kevin, is a water polo player, like Carter. I slump down in my chair, the reality hitting me. I’m sure she’s told the whole track team she saw me doing what she thinks was the walk of shame from Carter’s room. And Kevin has probably told the water polo team.
I shake my head, shake the thought away like a leaf that has fallen in my hair. The leaf falls to the ground, and I picture myself stepping on it. The brown, crackling leaf turns to rubble under my foot. I
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