by Sophia Sharp
The students were what caught my attention. As they shuffled across the yard, I was struck by the contrast of the student body here compared to that at Oliver Academy. All of them were older, of course, though some not by much. But that wasn’t what intrigued me. What stuck out most was that the camaraderie I felt at Oliver Academy – the way everyone seemed to know one another as they passed by, how there were people always smiling, talking, having fun, and walking in groups – was noticeably absent here. As I looked around, most of the students I saw were walking alone, many with their heads down. There was no solidarity here. It felt more like we were amongst groups of individuals rather than in a collective, cohesive community.
I mentioned it to Ashley, who nodded and dubbed it “creepy.” I had to agree. Where was the unity? Where was the excitement? Every time I walked to class on Traven Island, even if it was on the darkest, rainiest day, the school felt warm and inviting. Here, things were cold and distant. Was this what a large university was really like? Or was it something unique to Harvard?
I also took note of the tourists. They stood out amongst the students with their cameras around their necks and their mouths hanging open. There were guided tours moving through the yard. Everyone there seemed to be taking pictures of everything. For the first time, I was thankful for the rule that only students were allowed on Traven Island. Going to school here, with all these people taking pictures all the time, would probably feel something like being on display in a zoo. Maybe that was a reason for the students’ haste. As I looked around, I also saw a lot of tired, blank faces. A lot of the students seemed depressed or at the very least apathetic.
I shivered unconsciously. I did not like it here. Something was not quite right about this place. There was… there was no joy anywhere. If it was like this when my dad went to school, I could see why he left in such a hurry. He was the most happy-go-lucky guy in the world. I could imagine how soul-crushing walking amongst students like this every day could be.
After consulting our map a few times and asking for directions – or rather, trying to, as the one time we did we were rudely shrugged off – we came upon Emerson Hall. It was a big, square building made of red brick and not much else.
“The second floor?” I asked, opening the door for the girls.
“Yeah,” Ashley confirmed. “Room 249, I think.”
“That’s what John said too,” Liz added.
“Right,” I replied. “Do you see an elevator, or…?” I trailed off as Ashley started up a flight of stairs. I shrugged, and went after her.
The stairs wound all the way around to the second floor. We stepped around a corner, and came upon a wide hallway. There was an opening in the middle that looked like a lobby. Benches stood by the walls. A few were occupied by people with their heads buried in books. There were doors on either side of the hall, but most of them were closed. There was only one, at the far end, that elicited our attention.
There, a group of students formed an anxious crowd around the entrance. I could see people trying to squeeze their way inside, but there was not enough room. As we got closer, the babble of hushed voices filled the air. All three of us were busy scanning the office numbers to find the one we were looking for, and all three of us made the realization at the same time: Arthur Eliot’s room was the one the students were crowding.
“He must be good looking to have so many visitors during office hours,” Ashley quipped beside me. I shot her a hard look. With all these students, how on earth were we going to get a chance to speak to him alone?
We stopped just short of the crowd, watching. “What do we do?” I wondered. “Do we just force our way through?”
“There’s no way we can ask him anything with so many people around,” Ashley observed.
“I didn’t come here for nothing,” Liz said determinedly. “And I’m not just going to wait around for the crowd to disperse. Come on.” Stepping forward, she started to shoulder her way between people. We had no choice but to follow. Some shot us admonishing looks, while others protested out loud, but nothing was going to stop Liz. She pushed through all the way into the small office, where a middle-aged man was leaning against his desk, engaged in conversation with five students with their backs to us. The man – Arthur Eliot, presumably – had a bushy, gray beard that was neatly trimmed, and fine lines around his eyes that gave him an appearance of great intellect. His hair was gelled back. Round, elegant spectacles graced his eyes. He wore a dark beige suit, complete with a matching green tie. The collar of his shirt was undone and the tie hung loosely around his neck. He looked up at the commotion we had caused by barging in.
“Girls,” he said exasperatedly, pulling his glasses down to peer at us with his eyes unobstructed, “if you need to talk, you’re going to have to wait your turn. You can’t just push through everybody.”
“Oh, we need to talk,” Liz confirmed. “About this.” She shoved the paper we brought beneath his nose.
The man – Arthur Eliot, I was sure, although he hadn’t confirmed it yet – frowned and took it from her. Quickly his eyes narrowed. “Out,” he whispered coldly. “Everybody out.”
The five students he was just talking to shot each other startled glances, not quite understanding. “OUT!” Arthur Eliot bellowed, and everybody jumped. I stood uncomfortably in the middle. Even Liz began to turn away, but he grabbed her arm. “Not you,” he said.
The other students shuffled away, muttering their disapproval and darting us with mean looks as they passed. When the room was empty, Arthur Eliot stepped around us to close the door, emphasizing the action by an audible click. He turned around and looked at us gravely. “Where did you get this?”
“We found it,” Liz said, “and came to ask you about it.”
He regarded her levelly. “Me? What can I possibly tell you?”
“We want to know about the crystals,” I spoke up. “The paper has your name on it. You helped write it.”
He ignored me. “Only one copy of that manuscript has been published,” he said slowly, “and it was destroyed a long time ago. So, I repeat my question: where—did—you—get—this?”
“We found it in the library,” Ashley said quickly. “We were doing a research project at school, and it was wedged between the pages of a book.”
“So you say,” Arthur Eliot said. He walked slowly to his desk. “Tell me, what type of research project does a group of high school girls do? You are in high school, aren’t you? None of you looks much older than my daughter, and she’s just a sophomore.”
We exchanged glances, and I nodded. “Yes, we go to Charlestown High.” That was our planned cover: that we were just local students who stumbled upon the abstract of the paper and wanted to find out more. Unfortunately, Arthur Eliot saw right through the lie.
“No,” he said, “you’re not from around here. I can tell by the way you speak. Not one of you has the Massachusetts accent.”
“That’s ridiculous!” Ashley defended. “You can’t just presume that everyone has one!”
“No, but in a group of three, odds are at least one of you would. Especially if, as you claim, you go to school here.” He let the accusation hang. “So,” he said finally, tenting his hands, “either you tell me the truth, or I kick you out. But something tells me you’ve come a long way to see me, so I don’t think you would like that very much.”
“Do you know about the crystals or not?” Liz demanded. “If not, then we’re wasting our time, and we’ll happily go! But something tells me we’ve got your interest, otherwise you wouldn’t have kicked all your students out!”
“So it’s like that, hmm?” Arthur Eliot mused. “You come to my office. You make demands of me. But when I ask for the truth, you shy away?”
I looked at the other girls. We had to be cautious, it was true. But, this man did not seem… threatening. He was genuinely surprised when he saw the paper. He was not somebody that could possibly expect us, or be linked to the men who came after us. He was an ally
, I decided, not a foe.
“You’re right,” I said. “We’re not from around here.” Ashley and Liz gave a collective gasp at my candor, but I pressed on. “We came from Oliver Academy, a boarding school off the coast of Maine. We know about the crystals. At least, we know some things. We found your paper when we were searching for more information. And we decided to come to you.”
“Oliver Academy, is it?” he said. For the first time, Arthur rested his gaze on me. It was slightly discomfiting. Those dark, intelligent eyes seemed to take every part of me in and process it without prejudice. “I’ve heard of the school, though I admit I don’t know much about it. Maine, you say? That means you’ve had quite a journey coming here. And in the middle of the school year, too. If I were a betting man, I’d say there was a certain urgency to your trip.”
“Are you going to tell us anything or not?” Liz exclaimed again. “You dug for the truth and got it, and now it’s your turn to be honest. Do you have a full copy of the paper? When did you write it? With whom? How did you know about the crystals?”
“Those are all very good questions,” he said, taking off his glasses with one hand, “but I am not the right man to ask.”
“You’re not?” I said. “But you’re Arthur Eliot! We found your information online. Your name is right here on the paper!”
He looked at me, and the corner of his lip twitched up a smile. “All good presumptions, I admit. But not entirely true. I’m not the one you’re looking for? I’m not Arthur Eliot.”
“What?” all three of us exclaimed as one. “Who are you?”
“Just a teaching fellow,” he admitted with no shame. He barked a laugh. “James Dutherby. Funny how appearances can mislead sometimes. The person you want to talk to is Arthur Eliot, Junior.”
“Junior?” I asked.
“Yes,” James answered. “Son of the original Arthur Eliot, who was the one who worked on the paper you found.”
“Wait,” Liz said, “if he’s not you, how do you know about all this?”
“I worked with his father,” James said. “And now with Arthur, Junior.”
“Where’s Arthur Eliot, then?” I asked. “The original one?”
“He left the institute a decade or more ago,” James explained. “Nobody’s heard from him since. As far as I know, he’s in a cabin somewhere at the end of the world.”
“Why?” Liz asked.
“That’s not for me to say. Talk to his son. Maybe he will be able to tell you.”
“So, his son,” I started, “he’s the professor now? This is… his office?”
“That’s right,” James said.
“Where can we find him?” Ashley asked.
“Probably in the bed of one of his students!” James chortled. “He has a brilliant mind, but wastes it getting drunk and high in the final clubs. His father received tenure at the university, and he’s close to getting the same distinction himself. But he throws it all away each night in the name of decadence.”
“What’s the best way to talk to him?” Liz asked.
James smiled slyly. “Go to the final clubs.”
“Final clubs?” I asked uncertainly. I’ve heard of them, but was unsure how to separate fact from fiction. Apparently, they were these lavish mansions where everyone threw money around for drugs, and booze, and only men were allowed entrance.
“They’re like frats,” James explained. “Old boy’s clubs. Secret societies. They’re the only places on campus students go to party.”
“Then what’s Arthur – Professor Eliot – doing there?” Ashley asked.
“You can see for yourselves,” James said. “Today is what… Wednesday? You’ll find him at the Owl; that’s the only one that’s open tonight. Be forewarned, though. The man you’re looking for should not be taken lightly. Some people say he’s riding his father’s coattails, and that’s how he became a professor so young. But, the ease with which his mind sees things is remarkable. He’ll pick you apart if you’re not careful. And… he’s not the most noble gentleman.”
“Wait! You said he’s young?” I asked. I had assumed him to be the same age as James, perhaps older. “Just how old is he?”
James looked at me, and smiled. “He’s turning twenty-three in a month.”
***
A few hours later, I found myself clinging onto Ashley’s arm, desperate not to fall. The cobblestone sidewalk did little to alleviate the discomfort I felt from wearing high heels, which were excruciatingly difficult to balance in, particularly on such an uneven surface. What made it even worse was that I hadn’t even had the chance to break them in yet. So, I had no luck finding that elusive center of gravity that permitted walking with grace and elegance.
Luckily, I wasn’t the only one having trouble. None of the girls around me looked particularly comfortable in our hastily assembled attires. After we returned to the hotel from that brief meeting with James and told the others what he said, John revealed that he had heard of the final clubs. They were all-boys clubs, the most exclusive destinations on campus, and John said the only way past the front door would be to appeal to the opposite sex’s most primal instincts.
This meant, of course, that all five of us had to be quickly dolled up and fitted in the sultriest clothes we could find. It wouldn’t have been so bad, of course, if it wasn’t for the seriousness of what we had to do. It’s not like we were going there to enjoy a night out.
So there I was, in a skimpy red dress cut just inches below my waist, hair done up and makeup glamorized, stumbling through the freezing night with most of my legs exposed. Every time a gust of wind blew down the lane a series of goose bumps erupted across my bare skin. My toes were being crushed into the points of my shoes and the deep neckline of the daring red dress made me fear I would slip out at any moment. But all that was secondary to just trying to avoid falling over.
Ashley took a step forward, missed, and started to tumble forward. I caught her, but her momentum tugged me off balance. We started to fall as one when Rob caught us from behind.
“Careful,” he warned. In that single moment I felt a spurt of spiteful jealousy. All Rob had to do to get ready was pull on a simple black T. And he still managed to look good! It wasn’t fair.
A block away from the Owl, I started to hear the sounds of the party. Music wafted down the street, and there were groups of people standing outside the house. Some of the guys were dressed in tuxedos, of all things. I saw to my relief that the five of us weren’t the only girls struggling on the sidewalk. There were groups of girls who looked much like as, all clinging to each other and laughing as they bravely made their way forward. Of us all, Liz had the least trouble managing, but that was to be expected. She was always the one who loved getting dressed up. Her skin-tight black dress showed off her generous curves, and her hair was glossy and smooth. Ashley, on the other hand, had lashes extending a foot past her face, while Eve had her special don’t-give-a-damn look going, and it worked. Out of everyone, though, I thought Madison looked the best. There was just something extremely sensual about the petite girl. If I hadn’t known her real age, I would have guessed her to be the oldest of us. The eye shadow she used complemented her natural features, making her cheekbones stand out just beneath her eyes. Her full lips were emphasized by a vibrant red. The thing that pulled it all together, though, was her beautiful hair.
All those thoughts faded to a dull buzz as my attention was pulled back to the task at hand. Specifically, at the anxious uncertainty I felt about getting into the final club. Even though we matched the girls here based on looks, we were clearly out of our element. Everyone was older. It made me feel out of place and nervous. Unlike what I saw during the day in on Harvard’s campus, here people seemed to know each other. There were salutations and greetings all around. None were directed at us. We were, in a way, a very small school of fish swimming against the current, unified but faced with a herculean task. This wasn’t going to be like attending a party at Oliver Academy.
> Truth be told, I didn’t know what exactly to expect tonight. That fueled my nervousness. I’ve heard of parties at frat houses before, seen them in the movies, but this was decidedly different. We were going to try to get into a building run purely for the pleasure of its male members. We were entering as complete outsiders.
As we came closer and closer to the doors, my stomach started to roil at the thought of it all. It was going to be dark inside. I knew it. It would be grimy, with loud music, and no space to move. Everyone would be drinking, too, though apparently even harder drugs were prevalent at these parties. But a sense of urgency pushed me on. It guided all of us. We needed to find Arthur Eliot, to talk to him, to see what he knew. And if it meant putting up with this type of environment, so be it.
The entrance to the Owl was guarded by a skinny and not particularly attractive guy. When he saw us walking toward him, though, his eyes lit up.
“You girls new? I haven’t seen your faces before.” He smiled greedily at us. “You look good. But I can’t just let any sweet young thing in here. This is a private, exclusive event. You have to know somebody inside, or have something else going for you.”
“Get over yourself asshole!” somebody screamed from behind him. “If they’re chicks, let them in!”
The guy at the front door sighed. “If only it were that easy,” he said with exaggerated despair. “Someone has to man the door. That means someone’s stuck on crowd control. And that’s me tonight, and I get to decide who goes in, and why. It’s already full inside, and you girls are clearly not from around here—”