Resting the phone against her shoulder. Slouching
into the corner of her couch. “General boredom. What’s up with you, New Hampshire?”
“You didn’t write back.”
There was a pause, and I imagined her moving the phone from one shoulder to the other.
“Is that the only reason you called? Geez, I only just got it. What, you think I sit
around all day staring at the computer just in case you happen to send an e-mail?”
“No, I don’t think — ”
“And besides, it didn’t even say anything. It said you were done with the day. That’s it. Wow. Excuse me for not being
inspired to respond.”
“You’re mad at me.”
Silence. And then, “No, you asshole. I’m not mad at you.” She sighed into the phone,
and I felt it, I swear. And I wanted to reach through the phone. Sit cross-legged
on the couch beside her while she painted my nails dark gray or hot pink or midnight
blue. I ran my fingers against the silver cord of the phone, searching for words.
“To continue this call . . .” An automated voice broke the silence, jarring me back
to here.
“I’m out of money . . .”
“I’ve got an end date: two weeks. Can’t have your number showing up on the phone bill.
Sorry.”
“Colleen?” I thought of words, but they weren’t the right ones. “I hate it here.”
“I — ” And then there was a dial tone. What? I thought. I what ? I miss you or I’m hungry or I want to drop a penny from the top of the Eiffel Tower? What?
Reid didn’t show up during study hall. And really, why would he? He’d already told
me what he had to say, and I thanked him by simultaneously scaring the shit out of
him and insulting him. I wanted to send him an e-mail, tell him how I got off the
roof. That it was safe, that I would’ve told him, if he asked. But he didn’t ask.
I also remembered that email wasn’t necessarily private here.
Ugh. I shoved my work — and his sweatshirt — into a backpack and walked down the hall.
“Where to, Ms. Murphy?” Ms. Perkins tore a slip of paper off her permission pad.
Krista stood behind me, tapping her foot. “Danvers West,” I said. And suddenly Jason’s
words from the night before made sense. Danvers. You disappear, you get a dorm named after you.
Ms. Perkins was still waiting. I cleared my throat. “Reid Carlson.”
She tore the paper off the pad, but before handing it to me, she said, “Krista? Same?”
“Yep. Danvers West. Jason Dorchester.”
Ms. Perkins handed us our slips of paper together, and I didn’t really have any choice
but to walk beside Krista.
Once we were outside, she spoke. “You shouldn’t have left, you know. It’s initiation.
And you haven’t been properly initiated yet.”
“What, hosing me down with water doesn’t count?”
“Oh, not hardly,” she said. We walked across the rest of the quad in silence, and
she entered the dorm in front of me.
Mr. Durham took our permission slips in the lounge. The dorm was the mirror image
of mine, but the furniture was more worn, and the whole place smelled a little more
like musk and sweat, like boys. Krista took off down the hall, but I stayed at Mr.
Durham’s makeshift desk.
“What is it?”
“I don’t know the room number.”
He grinned at me. “You’re showing up uninvited?”
“No,” I said. “He’s expecting me.” At least I hoped he was. “I just forgot to write
it down.”
“Right. Room 203.”
The door to his room was open, and there were other voices coming from inside. By
the time I realized that, though, he had already seen me and it was too late to turn
around. Reid cocked his head to the side as I stepped into his room.
He was sitting on the black rug on his floor, surrounded by three other students from
his grade. “This is Amy,” he said, pointing to the redhead with freckles next to him.
“Nick”—he pointed to the boy closest to me—“and Landon.”
“And this must be Mallory,” Landon said,
into the corner of her couch. “General boredom. What’s up with you, New Hampshire?”
“You didn’t write back.”
There was a pause, and I imagined her moving the phone from one shoulder to the other.
“Is that the only reason you called? Geez, I only just got it. What, you think I sit
around all day staring at the computer just in case you happen to send an e-mail?”
“No, I don’t think — ”
“And besides, it didn’t even say anything. It said you were done with the day. That’s it. Wow. Excuse me for not being
inspired to respond.”
“You’re mad at me.”
Silence. And then, “No, you asshole. I’m not mad at you.” She sighed into the phone,
and I felt it, I swear. And I wanted to reach through the phone. Sit cross-legged
on the couch beside her while she painted my nails dark gray or hot pink or midnight
blue. I ran my fingers against the silver cord of the phone, searching for words.
“To continue this call . . .” An automated voice broke the silence, jarring me back
to here.
“I’m out of money . . .”
“I’ve got an end date: two weeks. Can’t have your number showing up on the phone bill.
Sorry.”
“Colleen?” I thought of words, but they weren’t the right ones. “I hate it here.”
“I — ” And then there was a dial tone. What? I thought. I what ? I miss you or I’m hungry or I want to drop a penny from the top of the Eiffel Tower? What?
Reid didn’t show up during study hall. And really, why would he? He’d already told
me what he had to say, and I thanked him by simultaneously scaring the shit out of
him and insulting him. I wanted to send him an e-mail, tell him how I got off the
roof. That it was safe, that I would’ve told him, if he asked. But he didn’t ask.
I also remembered that email wasn’t necessarily private here.
Ugh. I shoved my work — and his sweatshirt — into a backpack and walked down the hall.
“Where to, Ms. Murphy?” Ms. Perkins tore a slip of paper off her permission pad.
Krista stood behind me, tapping her foot. “Danvers West,” I said. And suddenly Jason’s
words from the night before made sense. Danvers. You disappear, you get a dorm named after you.
Ms. Perkins was still waiting. I cleared my throat. “Reid Carlson.”
She tore the paper off the pad, but before handing it to me, she said, “Krista? Same?”
“Yep. Danvers West. Jason Dorchester.”
Ms. Perkins handed us our slips of paper together, and I didn’t really have any choice
but to walk beside Krista.
Once we were outside, she spoke. “You shouldn’t have left, you know. It’s initiation.
And you haven’t been properly initiated yet.”
“What, hosing me down with water doesn’t count?”
“Oh, not hardly,” she said. We walked across the rest of the quad in silence, and
she entered the dorm in front of me.
Mr. Durham took our permission slips in the lounge. The dorm was the mirror image
of mine, but the furniture was more worn, and the whole place smelled a little more
like musk and sweat, like boys. Krista took off down the hall, but I stayed at Mr.
Durham’s makeshift desk.
“What is it?”
“I don’t know the room number.”
He grinned at me. “You’re showing up uninvited?”
“No,” I said. “He’s expecting me.” At least I hoped he was. “I just forgot to write
it down.”
“Right. Room 203.”
The door to his room was open, and there were other voices coming from inside. By
the time I realized that, though, he had already seen me and it was too late to turn
around. Reid cocked his head to the side as I stepped into his room.
He was sitting on the black rug on his floor, surrounded by three other students from
his grade. “This is Amy,” he said, pointing to the redhead with freckles next to him.
“Nick”—he pointed to the boy closest to me—“and Landon.”
“And this must be Mallory,” Landon said,
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