“Dela-where?” Teagan said, but Sarah and Julie just looked at her.
Sarah asked if Teagan was a day student, and Teagan explained that her mom lived far enough away that she would be a boarder.
“Most of us are boarders,” Sarah said. “My mom told me that.”
“What facts did your dad tell you?” Julie said.
“Um. Not much. I think he told me to study the periodic table,” Sarah said.
“That’s a weird goodbye,” Teagan said.
“He didn’t drop me off. Just my mom,” Sarah said.
“I didn’t see your dad today,” Julie said to Teagan.
“Yeah,” Teagan said, as if it were an explanation.
“Dads don’t go in for that kind of thing,” Sarah said.
“What kind of thing?” Teagan asked.
“Dropping us off here.”
“Oh,” said Teagan. She had no idea what Sarah was talking about. “Where was your dad?” Teagan directed the question at Julie.
“My dad died when I was twelve.”
“I’m sorry,” said Sarah.
“Thanks,” Julie said.
Teagan was surprised by Julie saying “thanks.” It sounded strange. “That sucks,” Teagan said.
“So where was your dad?” Julie said.
“He and my mom aren’t together,” Teagan said.
“I’m sorry,” Sarah said.
Teagan didn’t say anything.
“I wonder what’s for dinner,” Julie said.
Teagan realized that she didn’t know if her parents were divorced. She didn’t think they were somehow. It didn’t matter anyway. They wouldn’t be getting back together, even though Grace said they might. Thinking of Grace made Teagan feel a little guilty for talking with these girls who would be her new friends, and then she felt a little mean for knowing that these girls wouldn’t measure up. Her other thought was that girls who went to boarding schools had missing fathers, and then she realized that it was a stupid thought. She let her train of thought end and broke the awkward silence that had fallen on them.
“I hope it’s good,” she said.
“I’m hungry,” Sarah said.
The path they walked was lined with old flagstones. The stones were mostly swallowed up by the grass, and only gray shapes remained, sunk in the ground. Nearer to the old brick building that was the dining hall, the stones got bigger and closer together. The path seemed to emerge from out of the grass as she walked toward the dining hall and dissolve into the ground when she walked toward the old building that was her dormitory. It was as if time ran forward or backward, depending on which direction she walked, the path coming into being or eroding into a diminished version of itself.
They saw some girls sitting around a wooden picnic bench on a painted wooden porch. Behind them a screen door let out the noise of people talking and eating. They stepped up on the porch and said hello to the older girls.
“New Girls,” a stocky girl with short blond hair said.
“Freshmen,” Teagan said.
“You’re called New Girls. We’re seniors, and you are on our senior porch.”
“Okay,” Teagan said.
“When you’re a senior, you can sit on this porch,” said a lean girl with straight, dark brown hair and fashionable glasses.
“That’s nice,” Teagan said. She saw that Sarah had stepped off the porch.
“So for now, get off,” the blond girl said.
Julie stepped off the porch.
“Okay. We’re just trying to go to dinner,” Teagan said.
“Get off the porch, now,” the blond girl said.
Teagan stepped off the porch and walked away.
“It’s the door around the side,” said the fashionably bespectacled girl.
Teagan kept walking. Julie said thanks, softly.
“I hope I’m not such a jerk when I’m a senior,” Sarah said.
“They must feel really special about their porch,” Teagan said.
Sarah and Teagan laughed.
“I think it’s part of tradition,” Julie offered.
Sarah and Teagan stopped smirking, but Teagan didn’t think she was going to care much about traditions. The dining hall smelled of cooked potatoes. It turned out to be country fried steak, green beans, mashed potatoes, french fries, corn off the cob, and dinner rolls. It was like the menu at a buffet steak house. Sarah asked Teagan what country fried steak was, but Teagan had never tried it. They grabbed green trays and loaded them with thick, white ceramic plates of the industrial dining variety; plain, stainless-steel knives, forks, and spoons; and thick, unbreakable, short drinking glasses. The actual glass glasses, and real plates, and the color of the trays were all a novelty for Teagan, who was used to the plastic drinking glasses and flimsy orange trays of public school. A young black man stood behind the glass-fronted counter and loaded up plates as the girls said what it was they wanted.
“New Girls,” he said when the three were in front of him.
“So we’ve heard,” Sarah said.
“Hand over your plate, and don’t miss out on the cookies. They go fast,” he said.
Sarah collected her full plate, and at the end of the line they saw a large tray heaped with soft chocolate-chip cookies. They each took three. Teagan put one in her mouth immediately. It was good. She learned later that, to get the cookies, she had to get to dinner in the first hour, otherwise there was no luck, especially since the older girls took big handfuls whenever they passed the pile.
The dining hall itself had more surprises. The tables were round with tall-backed metal chairs with padding on the seats. There was a refrigerated dispenser of three varieties of milk, nonfat, full-fat, and chocolate. Most of the sophisticated-seeming seniors drank the nonfat, Teagan noticed. She went for the full-fat and the chocolate, especially when washing down her scavenged supply of chocolate-chip cookies. There was a napkin holder, like the kinds in fast-food restaurants, on each table. On a stainless-steel table, pushed against a wall, were plastic-sleeved loaves of bread and stainless-steel tubs, one for peanut butter and the other full of strawberry jam. Teagan cut a little corner off of the chicken fried steak, which turned out to be a piece of steak fried in batter. She wasn’t sure she liked it. She ate the green beans and the mashed potatoes. Julie was over by a rack filled with what looked like hot dogs.
“You’re having a hot dog?” Teagan asked.
Julie laughed at her. “It’s not a hot dog.”
Teagan looked closer and saw that the top was covered in chocolate. “What is it?”
“Dessert,” Julie said.
“It’s an éclair,” a girl said, popping one onto a plate and walking away.
“It’s a chocolate hot dog,” Teagan said.
She and Julie sat down again.
“What is that?” Sarah said.
“A chocolate-covered hot dog,” Teagan said.
“Really?” Sarah said. “You’re going to eat it?”
“It’s an éclair.” She bit into it. “It’s cream-filled. Sort of a long doughnut.”
“I’m getting one,” Sarah said. She sat down with two and gave one to Teagan.
“I don’t know,” Teagan said, but bit into it. It was cold as if it had been recently frozen.
A stream of new girls was heading out the double doors.
“Is something going on?” Julie asked.
“We’ve got to go to our house meeting,” Sarah said, balling her paper napkin.
“How do you know that?” Teagan said, getting up.
“It’s on the schedule,” Sarah said.
“I didn’t know there was a schedule,” Teagan said.
“In your room, on one of the desks, sitting next to the handbook,” Sarah said.
Julie looked at Te
agan, who assured her that she hadn’t seen a schedule.
“We didn’t need it at dinner anyway,” Teagan said, feeling that Julie might think she was irresponsible. “What’s the handbook?” Teagan asked Sarah when they were on the disintegrating path.
“Rule book. School codes and that kind of stuff,” Sarah said.
It sounded ominous to Teagan. She would let Julie have the handbook.
* * *
—
Their common room was full of girls all talking at once. Teagan and Julie found a place on the floor to sit down. They seemed to be waiting for someone, and then Teagan noticed a woman who was not much taller than any of the girls. She had light blond, almost gray, short wavy hair and wore a white cardigan. After a minute she motioned for everyone to quiet down.
“For those of you I haven’t met, I’m Ms. Ganski, and I’m house mother for North Dorm. My apartment is at the end of the ground-floor hall, and if you ever need anything, you can knock on my door. Tonight we’re going over some of the dormitory rules. Does everyone have the handbook?”
A few yellow spiral-bound handbooks went into the air.
“If you don’t have yours, it should be on one of the desks in your room, or come to me and I will get you a copy. Everyone is expected to have a handbook and to be familiar with what it says. The academic and holiday schedule is printed at the back, and all of the campus phone numbers and faculty and staff names are listed, too. We have an internal phone system, so all you have to do to call anywhere on campus is dial the four-digit extension number. Do you see those pages?”
Teagan and Julie looked around at people flipping pages. A girl with light brown skin and long brown hair offered to hold hers so Julie and Teagan could see.
“Julie forgot ours,” Teagan said.
Julie pinched Teagan’s arm.
* * *
—
“Okay, some other important things. Lights-out is at eleven o’clock. No new girl may have lights on in her room after eleven. The morning bell rings at seven A.M. from the schoolhouse, but it’s a better idea to use an alarm clock. If you don’t have one, I’ll see about getting one for you. You may request late lights every other night, which will give you half an hour extra time, and you must do your studying in the common room, so as to not disturb your roommate if she is sleeping. If you find that you’re needing to request late lights often, you might think about getting your homework done earlier.
“North Dorm is all new girls, except for your prefects, who I will introduce in a moment. I need to explain study hall. All new girls start by having proctored study hall. After one week of successful proctored study hall, you may move to studying in your rooms. There is no music or talking during study hall hours, which are seven to nine P.M. If you have finished your homework before study hall, you are still required to be in your room, and you may do quiet activities like reading. Is that clear? Okay, let me explain room inspection.”
There was a murmur through the crowd.
“Room inspection,” Ms. Ganski said again. “Each day after you leave for classes, I will look at your room. Your beds should be made, everything should be off of the floor, and your closets and desks should be neat. If you don’t pass room inspection, you will not be eligible to request late lights. If you pass inspection every day of the week, you earn a skip pass.” She held up a stiff piece of yellow paper with a hole for a doorknob. “Hang this on your door and I will not inspect your room that day, and I will collect the pass. Each pass is good for one use.”
There was another, more hopeful murmur.
“Prefects?” Ms. Ganski said.
Two girls made their way to the front of the room, smiling and waving.
“This is Sen, your junior prefect, and this is Erin, your senior prefect. I expect you to show them the respect you would show me. They are living in North Dorm to be of help to you, and they can also enforce rules and write reports, if necessary. Tomorrow, Sen and Erin will be in front of the schoolhouse at eight-fifteen to help you locate your classes. They’ll be wearing blue sashes, so you can locate them.”
A girl raised her hand.
“Yes?”
“What if we have a free period?” she said.
“You probably won’t have a free period your first semester, but it’s a good question. If you have a free period, I suggest you use your time responsibly. The library is a good place to study, and on nice days many girls read on the lawn. Also, if you need to change for your gym class or other gym-credit classes, like dance or riding, you may come into your room and change, but if I find you are staying in your room during the school day, I will ask you to leave. I think that covers the basics. Sen? Erin?”
“Sign-out for weekends,” Erin said.
“Right. Sen, why don’t you take that?” Ms. Ganski said.
Sen explained that for special activities on the weekends, a sign-up sheet would go up on the common room notice board in advance. Activities included plays at the Kennedy Center in Washington, D.C., and sometimes other things such as concerts. There were also social activities with other private schools, dances, sports events, and picnics.
“Okay. You have some time before lights-out. Please remember to do all of your bedtime preparations, brush your teeth, wash your face, before lights-out. Tonight Sen, Erin, and I will be coming around and knocking on your doors to remind you. You are free to go.” Ms. Ganski smiled.
“What’s proctored study hall?” Teagan asked Julie. The girls were filtering out, but Teagan noticed the girl who had shared her handbook lingering to talk to Ms. Ganski. A few other girls were lingering, too. Teagan hesitated and heard someone ask Ms. Ganski to tell the story of Miss Guinevere.
Ms. Ganski glanced at the clock and hesitated. “How did you hear about that?” she asked.
The brown-haired girl said her mother had gone to Hunting Hill and had mentioned the story.
“Not tonight. It’s getting late. Maybe another night. Remind me,” Ms. Ganski said.
Ex
Teagan woke up on Saturday morning with an excited feeling, like on the morning of her birthday, when she knew, sometime that day, there would be presents and cake. She looked around the rectangular room. Julie was turned to the wall, her yellow and pink plaid blanket tucked around her shoulders. Teagan was alone. Her mother, and her brother, and her friends were far away. Julie was sort of a friend. They would become friends, she knew. It was just that Julie was new, too. Everything was. The view out the window was new, her plain blue blanket was new, the clothes in her closet were new, her books and backpack were new. She realized, of course, that at some point, soon, all of it would not be new to her anymore. Right now it was, and she liked that. Even her hairbrush and toothbrush were new. She’d picked out a kind of shampoo she’d never used before and decided she was letting her hair grow long. She was new. Nothing old had come with her. Her horse was supposed to have been the familiar thing.
Her father’s horse wasn’t gone. He’s gone, she had to remind herself, but not the horse. He had once ridden the horse, when the puzzle pieces fit: horse in the barn, father in the house, she in the yard, walking in one direction or the other, finding one or the other in his usual place. They seemed to form an equation, but, as she was never attentive in math class, she couldn’t think how to order the problem, or what to solve for. At her old school, what she had noticed in math class was that her teacher was younger than her other teachers, and she had a tattoo that sometimes peeked from the cuff of her long sleeve. Grace had been brave enough to ask what the tattoo was. Their teacher had pulled back her sleeve to reveal words. Teagan had expected numbers. The words said, SOLVE FOR X. Grace seemed to think that the tattoo was funny, in the way that Grace found really smart people to be funny. Teagan wanted to know what x was, then she’d know what to solve for. But she hadn’t been thinking about math. She’d been thinking about a hors
e. She’d been thinking about her father. If she knew where he was, she could figure out how to find him.
This Has Never Happened
I dreamed that in front of me were steamed fruits like the shells of snails. I cut one open and found a thick white worm. I saw a chef, standing on a lawn littered with the fruits, all cut in half, all revealing worms. He seemed desperate. He said to me, “This has never happened before.”
Infinite
She was hungry, but Julie said she had to call home. Julie had promised her mom she’d call her that first weekend. “After breakfast,” Teagan complained, but Julie wouldn’t wait.
In the patch of grass outside the dorm, Teagan walked back and forth. Stopping at a point on an invisible line, she turned nonchalantly, as if trying to disguise that she was pacing. She didn’t think it was a polite thing to do—pace—but it felt good. At one end of her invisible line, instead of turning, she began to walk an invisible circle. Instead of completing the circle, she followed a diagonal line, then traced part of a circle at the other end, picked up the diagonal line and, finding herself at the opposite end, turned, traced part of a circle, walked the diagonal line, and continued the pattern. She slowed her steps and walked deliberately, as if she were measuring distance, a step for each yard. (She remembered a story her grandmother had told her: when her grandmother was a child in a math class, the teacher asked, How many feet in a yard? Her grandmother asked the teacher, How many people are in the yard?) Teagan held her shoulders back, her back was straight, and she traced the figure eight.
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