by Drew Magary
The boys and girls whooped. Vick raised one corner of his coin slot mouth half a centimeter. It was as mirthful as the man got. He was raised in a single-room house in Unadilla, Georgia, sent out to work in the pecan orchards at age eight, and hadn’t taken a day off since. Fun was not a necessity for the man. Fun was a horrible distraction. The crowd settled.
“We sent you an information packet prior to you arriving here. But we find that students don’t typically read through the materials, so I will give you a brief topline. The most important thing we have here at Druskin is Druskin itself: the grounds, the buildings, the faculty, and most important of all: you, our students. It is our haven and it is well protected by the Wall System. The portwall and the red brick Harkness Wall are there to safeguard you. That is why we ask that you never leave campus without prior authorization. Do not expect securing that authorization to be automatic. Circumstances must be urgent. Any student caught porting outside of campus or attempting to breach the wall will be subject to expulsion. For any field trip or sporting event that takes place off campus, you will travel by chartered bus.”
The entire audience groaned. Vick ignored them. He was used to students groaning.
“We want you to want to be here. I know that this transition won’t be easy for many of you. It will take a certain period to adjust to the fact that you are no longer porting on a regular basis. Those who adjust, excel. Those who do not”—the dean cast a look toward the balcony—“do not.”
“Seems uncalled for,” Bamert whispered.
“Shut up, man,” Anna said.
“By now, you’ve all been outfitted with a transponder that tracks your movements in a benign fashion. It does not spy on you, except to see who you are texting.”
There was silence.
“That was a light joke,” Vick said.
That caused Bamert to let out an ironic “Ha haaaa!” from the gallery, which in turn caused the whole audience to roar in genuine laughter. Vick stared darts at Bamert, but Bamert was too satisfied with the result of his joke to worry about it. Anna liked him immensely.
“Please do not tamper with your transponder. Anyone caught tampering will be summarily put up for disciplinary measures. And that’s that. Whether you know it or not, you are about to become part of something very important. Something beyond you. When you commit yourself to a larger cause, you yourself become larger. Everything in this world is so transient now. But Druskin has remained right here the whole time, in this place, and it will always remain here. It is sacred ground. One day, you will have a profound appreciation of that fact. This is only a two-year preparatory school, but these will be the most vital two years of your life: years you’ll recall with great clarity for the rest of your days.”
Bamert turned away from the stage, dipped a tiny straw into his flask, and took a sip.
“When Elias Druskin founded this school in 1794, he saw it as Grand Experiment. He saw this school as a great living organism: a place that would not only influence those who pass through its halls, but would itself be equally influenced by those same, extraordinary students. You will have the opportunity to leave your mark here, and those who choose to excel will find that the marks they leave last far longer than anything you could spray paint onto a wall or carve into a tree.”
“Now there’s an idea,” said Bamert.
“You are now part of that Grand Experiment. Open yourself to Druskin, and you will find—”
“LARA!”
There was a commotion coming from the entrance to the hall. Bamert and Anna peered over the balustrade so they could get a look underneath.
It was the boy from Druskin Gate. He was still clutching his flowers, only now his leg was broken. He staggered into the hall dragging the lower half of that leg behind him. It was bent in places where legs should not bend. Anna looked at Lara, who seemed just as shocked at the boy’s emergence as Anna was. Dean Vick’s head condensed with rage.
“I climbed the Harkness Wall for you!” the boy shouted. “It was worth falling that far for you, baby! I’ll always fall for you.”
“Holy shit, that’s the corniest line I’ve ever heard,” Anna said.
“That’s how you know he means it,” Bamert said.
The boy was clearly hoping Lara would respond, but the entirety of Druskin’s security force had other ideas. They swallowed him up and by the time they dispersed, the boy was gone. Not in cuffs. Not dead. Gone. Anna was dumbfounded. The orchestra section quivered with nervous giggles, Lara included.
“Wait,” said Anna. “How did they—”
“Now that’s a trick, isn’t it?” said Bamert. “The media and PortSys say it’s impossible to port anyone but yourself. And yet.”
He gestured to the empty spot on the hall floor where the failed Romeo had vanished.
“Quite the Grand Experiment they have going on here, no?”
SEWELL HALL
Lara was nowhere to be seen after assembly. Anna trudged back to Sewell and lounged on her new bed, skimming through the assigned common read. It would have taken her less time to eat the pages than to read them in full. She instantly forgot each sentence by the time she had moved on to the next. The book’s only saving grace was a smooth matte cover that Anna liked to run her hands across. Her hands were always moving, always taking in new information. She would have been a fabulous blind person.
She eyed the door for Lara every few minutes. She took a break by going down to the common room, only to encounter a tight circle of girls that was impossible to breach. When they turned her way, she would let out a weak, “Hey guys,” and then realized she had nothing else to add. She headed back upstairs and flirted with the book again, drawing pentagrams in the margins to keep herself interested. To diversify her procrastination methods, she hopped on the laptop. But the school’s Internet firewall proved just as feisty as its other walls. She’d have to sort a way past it if she wanted to do her standard online snooping. There was someone out in the ether that she still needed to find.
As night fell, there came a knock on the door. Anna sprung up in glee before realizing that her roommate probably wouldn’t bother to knock before entering.
“Come in.”
A middle-aged woman with thick, owl-eyed glasses and a dome of straight red hair came in, carrying a tray of oatmeal chocolate chip cookies.
“Hmmmm, let me guess: Anna Huff.” She had a German lilt and pronounced Anna’s last name like hoof. “Sorry, my dear.”
Did something happen to Lara? “Sorry for what?”
“That I wasn’t here. You must be thinking what the shit, yeah? I’m Mrs. Ludwig. Cookie?”
Anna wolfed down two before realizing she was in dire need of supplemental fluid. “Do youf haf anyfing to drink?”
“Oh. Oh, that would have been a good idea. Scheisse. Yes, let me get that right away.”
“Ith’s fine.”
“No no no, stay there. I get it for you.” She set the tray on a box and rushed downstairs. Anna took two more cookies and stuck them in the fridge, violating her No Food rule within hours of imposing it upon herself. When Mrs. Ludwig returned, she was carrying a new tray with tea service: bags, pots, mugs, creamer, and six different kinds of sugar.
“Tea?”
“Thanths.” Anna awkwardly grabbed the teapot and a cup from the tray as Mrs. Ludwig tried to keep it balanced.
“Now, I must again apologize for not being here. Our cat, it died this morning. Run over by a truck.” She set the tray down and clapped her hands together. “Squashed it, just like this.”
“Oh my God. That’s so sad!”
“Not really. It only had two legs. It’ll go to cat heaven, yeah? We have two dozen more anyway.”
“Oh.”
“Anyway, we can’t have a dead cat out on the grounds on your first day, but this school has a big stupid process thing.” Mrs. Ludwig started making yapping gestures with both hands. “I had to fill out four separate forms, all for this goddamn cat here. Can you believe that?
”
“That’s a lot of forms.”
“All longhand. My back hurts now. Are you hot? It’s too damn hot in this place.” Mrs. Ludwig took off her cardigan. Her top was drenched in sweat.
“I’m fine,” said Anna.
“Well good. You’re here now, and all settled in. This is very nice.”
“Have you seen my roommate?”
“Lara Kirsch, yeah? She had to go to tutoring.”
“But school hasn’t even started.”
“Yes well, when Emilia Kirsch wants extra tutoring for her daughter, she gets it. Now, who are you?”
“I’m Anna. You already knew that.”
“Yes, but who ahhhhhhh you? You’re more than a name, Anna Hoof. For example, I know from your background that you play piano, and it said that you’re quite the diver.”
Anna squinted. “Lotta people digging around my background today. What else do you know about me?”
Mrs. Ludwig squirmed. “Oh, nothing! Just school records and what not. That’s why I’m here, schatz. I wanted to get to know you, and perhaps tell you about myself if you wanted such a thing.”
Anna let Mrs. Ludwig twist a moment before finally letting her off the hook. “Ah. Okay.”
“So how has your day been?” Mrs. Ludwig asked her.
“Boring,” she lied. Standard teenager reflex.
“Well now, that can be good or bad now, can’t it? I like a day that’s somewhat eventful, but not too, too dramatic.”
“The Wi-Fi here is spotty.”
“Oh, it’s shit. They’re always onto the next thing before perfecting the last thing.”
“The firewall blocks a lot of sites I need for my, uh, studies.”
“Did you try the school’s intranet? They say there are over seven trillion volumes archived in the virtual Helton Library, although I haven’t looked at any of them. Books, ugh.”
“Okay, but what if I still need more?”
“Then you’re a better reader than I am. You can always file a request with IT. You kids are nifty with that little machine there. Always a good skill for anyone to have, yeah?”
“Sometimes. Other times I wanna throw my laptop out a window and then flatten it with a steamroller.” Mrs. Ludwig fidgeted. Anna gave her a wink. “See now, I thought you’d know from checking my background that I’m a bit of dick.”
Mrs. Ludwig smiled. “I knew you were very clever, Anna Hoof. That’s for certain.”
“Why are you here?” Anna asked her.
“Pardon?”
“Why are you here? I mean, I know why I gotta be here: learning, college prep, personal growth, yada yada. But what about you? What makes you wanna babysit 40 girls all year long?”
Mrs. Ludwig put a hand on Anna’s shoulder. Her fingers were crooked from rheumatoid arthritis, but her palms were as soft as fur.
“Anna Hoof, you’re not the only one with a background, see.”
“You said you would tell me about yourself.”
“Some of it, schatz. But not all of it.”
“Oh.”
“My door is open anytime. And if you like a nice Sunday drive, I can get you permission to leave Druskin Gate with me and go out for a spin. I have a vintage Shelby Cobra. You can buy one for practically nothing these days, did you know this? Mine goes very fast. At 120mph, most of the girls turn shit white.” She picked up the tea tray again. “Don’t forget about the Welcome mixer at 8pm at Dunbar. There’s music. Food. Kids. Big party, ooh.”
“I don’t think I’m gonna go.”
“Well,” said Mrs. Ludwig, trying to suppress a cackle, “if you just sit here, maybe you really ahh a ‘dick,’ yeah?”
“Okay, you’re right. I should probably go.”
“Only so you can complain to me about it afterward. This is the fun part of things.”
“That’s a deal.”
Mrs. Ludwig backed out with the tray and Anna slipped on her busted mary janes. Before she hit the welcome mixer, she had to go to the bathroom, so she clambered up to the dingy bathroom near the summit of the stairwell. Inside the toilet stall was a worn-out spiral notebook with an index card taped to the front that read:
The Shit Memoirs
Anna cracked the tome open and found scribbles in blue ink, red ink, pencil, and black Sharpie. The front pages dated all the way back to 2028. Each page had its own collage of stains from presumably nasty fluids. The copy inside the notebook was just as rude. Anna tore through each page and marveled at the volume and ferocity of the gossip. The book named names. Colleen Mulwray was a bitch. Jessie Stimes was a super bitch with fat legs. Cady Douglas had sex with Mr. Highland’s teaching assistant. Jenny Hall was nicknamed Squirrel because “she loves nuts in her mouth.” Anna wanted to learn who each girl mentioned was, so that she could better appreciate every bit of invective. When the copy wasn’t vituperative, it was downright surreal. One page had BIG HAIR IS BIG FUN written in orange marker, and nothing else.
On the back of one of the pages, she found an anonymous entry written in glittery purple ink. It was only three words long:
DUNBAR HALL/FIELDS
The party was lame as shit, but Anna knew that would be the deal going in. The Orientation Committee had banquet tables with cookies and punch set up outside the dorm while Brendan McClear manned the Sonos and subjected everyone to his own personally curated playlist. All the kids were drinking out of Solo cups that they all direly wished had beer in them. When Brendan McClear looked up and saw Anna milling around the lawn nearby, she sensed his gaze and locked eyes on him. Sometimes, when Anna wanted to freak people out, she could turn feline on command: zeroing in with an unwarranted, accusing glare until they were forced to look away. It always worked. Brendan McClear looked back down.
She scanned the throng of kids for Lara and saw nothing but boys with unkempt hair and girls with deep tan legs. Ever since middle school, Anna figured that she could look cool and important if she was seen looking around for cool, important friends. It was not a canny strategy.
A hickory-scented mitt landed on her shoulder. Here was Bamert, clad in a whole new suit. This one was bright red with little geckos all over it.
“You’re not wearing a tie,” she told him.
“It’s a casual affair. Who were you looking for just now?”
“No one.”
“Well you were sure looking hard for no one.”
“Don’t push it, Bamert.”
“Okay, all right.”
Another boy sidled up next to Bamert, wearing an argyle sweater vest and crisp trousers. He looked deeply annoyed.
“What kind of sound system is this?” the boy asked, seemingly to no one in particular. “They must have fished those speakers out of landfill. The array is off center line. You’d get better sound quality aiming your phone at a sheet of foil. Am I the only one who cares how tinny this is?”
“Burton, I can assure you that you are. Anna, this is Jamie Burton: also new but a junior, like you. He’s from my hometown of Richmond, Virginia and is also, without question, the most annoying person you will meet here.”
“Why is he saying you’re annoying?” Anna asked Burton.
“I have no idea what Bamert’s talking about,” Burton said. “He’s the one who’s louder than a jet engine and dresses like he’s hosting a murder mystery.”
“Anna, after five minutes of being exposed to Burton, I promise you’ll know what I’m talking about. Now, as to this party…”
Bamert surveyed the scene. From his lofty view, he could make out every face in the crowd: all the reticent newbies and all the android Orientation leaders trying to coax enthusiasm out of them. A box of Twister loomed ominously under the DJ table.
“I can declare, with a near pathological certainty, that this party blows,” he said.
“It’s a school party,” said Anna. “What do you expect? A party thrown by some school isn’t a party at all.”
“That’s true. This is why I suggest we create a soiree
of our own.” Bamert opened his jacket to again reveal his hip flask.
“I don’t drink,” Anna said.
“Neither do I,” said Burton.
“Yes, but that’s immaterial to me.”
“You’re really gonna get thrown out before you’ve taken a single class,” Burton said to Bamert.
“If I try hard enough. Follow me.”
He led them away from Dunbar and down High Street, past the school’s brutalist concrete gym and onto a vast, darkened plain of playing fields. Anna looked past the infield diamonds and took in the silhouettes of trees soaring over the Harkness Wall in the distance. Her lungs opened like valves, clear and full. She felt as if she could inhale the sky. There was something different about Druskin, something she couldn’t quite get at until she ran her hands over the front of her pants and realized there was no PortPhone on her. There was nothing on her that gave her that nagging itch to be someplace else. Is this what normal feels like?
“Now, isn’t this lovely?” Bamert asked.
“They’ve planted tall fescue here,” Burton said. “Poor grass. It’ll be taken over by crab grass if they get anywhere near the standard amount of rainfall next summer.”
“Once again, dear Burton, you have taken us sideways. How do you always manage it?”
“I hate to ask,” said Anna, “But are you two, you know…”
Bamert and Burton looked at each other. Bamert let out a mighty roar. “Anna my dear, I regret to inform you that Burton and I are heterosexual in ways that would both disappoint and appall you.”
“Well you’re really good at not liking each other.”
“Comes with practice,” Bamert said. “You’ll get the hang of it.”
He took a swig from his flask. Anna pointed to a stone bridge that skipped over a small river on the way to the school football stadium.
“What’s that bridge?” she asked.
“It’s just a bridge,” Bamert said. “Charming that there’s still a place in the world where a person might need to cross one on foot, no? Come with me.”
Bamert led Burton and Anna across the soft, wet fields, past a bronze plaque honoring dead football coach Barty Kissel, and over to the bridge, a rusty NO JUMPING/LOW WATER CONDITIONS sign dangling off its parapet. He led them to the center of the arch. There, set in the concrete, was a placard that read, “Gift of the class of 1948.”