understatement.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Whitman, there seems to be a mistake. I’m not qualified to take honors chemistry or trig,” I tell her with cool concern in my voice. I’ll be here a lifetime if they expect me to pass those in order to graduate. I try to hand my mistake of a schedule back to her but she holds up her hands in refusal.
“There’s no mistake, sugar. All the senior classes here are honors. Don’t worry, though. We have some brilliant students who are able to tutor you, and there are some students at the college who help us out with that, too. We’ll make sure you’re taken care of, dear,” she says nonchalantly, as if a tutor is going to somehow magically make me understand complicated math and science. This is going to be a very long year.
“Um…ok.” I sigh and purse my lips. I twirl a lock of my long ponytailed hair as I contemplate this.
Another administrator walks into the office and Claire becomes involved in an immediately heated conversation about how this year’s mock trials should be coordinated. I motion to her that I’m going to go ahead and find my classrooms and excuse myself.
The main hall of the building is unlike any school I’ve ever seen. The floors are carpeted and the walls are painted a warm, khaki color. It’s incredibly inviting. There is no linoleum flooring or fluorescent lighting, which every girl here is sure to enjoy. Fluorescent lighting never made anyone look good. Along the walls are oil paintings of the school’s founders and board of directors, all in gilded frames. Of course, Gregory Meyer is at the helm of this ship. That doesn’t surprise me. I have the impression that Mr. Meyer enjoys being at the center of everything. Even his portrait creeps me out. It’s like the ones at the Haunted Mansion at Disney where the eyes follow you.
Further exploration down the hall leads me to the library where my schedule indicates Study Hall is held. I pass through the heavy, solid wood door and the room is instantly like a dream. There are elegant sofas and the room is filled with rich mahogany furniture. A fireplace has wingback chairs strategically placed in front of it. The room looks more like a lodge than a library. The smell of old books fills the air, and I inhale deeply several times. There are two rows of tables with green banker’s lamps like the kind you see in movies. It’s wonderfully overwhelming and I have to make myself leave before I find a book and a corner and am never seen again.
I find the east wing easily. Each room is marked with a simple “E” and the number of the room. There are six classrooms on each floor. The science and math rooms are on the first floor, which means my English, civics, and Spanish classes are upstairs. All the rooms are the same so I decide that I don’t need to go upstairs to locate my other classrooms.
Walking back down the long hall toward the main building I see a gold-plated sign pointing to the dining hall. Dining hall? Why don’t they just call it a cafeteria? As I come within reach of the doors I see why. This is no cafeteria. The room is filled with large round tables covered with white linens. Each table has ten high-back chairs, and there are small floral centerpieces on each table. With four huge silver chandeliers hanging from the high ceilings, the room is more like a hotel ballroom than a high school eatery.
I don’t see an entrance to where the students pass through the kitchen and receive their lunch from the industrial size pot it’s held in, only a set of swinging double doors. No…it can’t…they couldn’t actually have wait staff here! I’m in shock at the mere thought. I’m used to packing my lunch and I certainly don’t want to draw any more attention to myself than I already will, so I better find out from Claire if I’m absolutely crazy, or not.
“I’m sorry I didn’t show you around the school. Did you find everything ok? What do you think?” Claire asks as we pull
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Whitman, there seems to be a mistake. I’m not qualified to take honors chemistry or trig,” I tell her with cool concern in my voice. I’ll be here a lifetime if they expect me to pass those in order to graduate. I try to hand my mistake of a schedule back to her but she holds up her hands in refusal.
“There’s no mistake, sugar. All the senior classes here are honors. Don’t worry, though. We have some brilliant students who are able to tutor you, and there are some students at the college who help us out with that, too. We’ll make sure you’re taken care of, dear,” she says nonchalantly, as if a tutor is going to somehow magically make me understand complicated math and science. This is going to be a very long year.
“Um…ok.” I sigh and purse my lips. I twirl a lock of my long ponytailed hair as I contemplate this.
Another administrator walks into the office and Claire becomes involved in an immediately heated conversation about how this year’s mock trials should be coordinated. I motion to her that I’m going to go ahead and find my classrooms and excuse myself.
The main hall of the building is unlike any school I’ve ever seen. The floors are carpeted and the walls are painted a warm, khaki color. It’s incredibly inviting. There is no linoleum flooring or fluorescent lighting, which every girl here is sure to enjoy. Fluorescent lighting never made anyone look good. Along the walls are oil paintings of the school’s founders and board of directors, all in gilded frames. Of course, Gregory Meyer is at the helm of this ship. That doesn’t surprise me. I have the impression that Mr. Meyer enjoys being at the center of everything. Even his portrait creeps me out. It’s like the ones at the Haunted Mansion at Disney where the eyes follow you.
Further exploration down the hall leads me to the library where my schedule indicates Study Hall is held. I pass through the heavy, solid wood door and the room is instantly like a dream. There are elegant sofas and the room is filled with rich mahogany furniture. A fireplace has wingback chairs strategically placed in front of it. The room looks more like a lodge than a library. The smell of old books fills the air, and I inhale deeply several times. There are two rows of tables with green banker’s lamps like the kind you see in movies. It’s wonderfully overwhelming and I have to make myself leave before I find a book and a corner and am never seen again.
I find the east wing easily. Each room is marked with a simple “E” and the number of the room. There are six classrooms on each floor. The science and math rooms are on the first floor, which means my English, civics, and Spanish classes are upstairs. All the rooms are the same so I decide that I don’t need to go upstairs to locate my other classrooms.
Walking back down the long hall toward the main building I see a gold-plated sign pointing to the dining hall. Dining hall? Why don’t they just call it a cafeteria? As I come within reach of the doors I see why. This is no cafeteria. The room is filled with large round tables covered with white linens. Each table has ten high-back chairs, and there are small floral centerpieces on each table. With four huge silver chandeliers hanging from the high ceilings, the room is more like a hotel ballroom than a high school eatery.
I don’t see an entrance to where the students pass through the kitchen and receive their lunch from the industrial size pot it’s held in, only a set of swinging double doors. No…it can’t…they couldn’t actually have wait staff here! I’m in shock at the mere thought. I’m used to packing my lunch and I certainly don’t want to draw any more attention to myself than I already will, so I better find out from Claire if I’m absolutely crazy, or not.
“I’m sorry I didn’t show you around the school. Did you find everything ok? What do you think?” Claire asks as we pull
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