Viola in Reel Life by Adriana Trigiani Page A

entirely different category than I have had her in all these weeks. The guys don’t seem to mind the braces, and when I look at Trish from a distance she looks pretty. I see why they like her; she’s easygoing and fun.
    Out on the patio, we see the clumps of freshman boys. They wear gray slacks and navy blue blazers with red-and-gray striped ties. I’ll have to get a shot of Mrs. Zidar with them—as they look like pilots on the airline for which she wears plaid. Andrew will get a kick out of this back home. The entire concept of uniforms and mandatory dress codes is lost on him.
    “Hi,” a boy says from behind me. I turn around to see a tall boy with a nice face. He wears glasses and his bangs are long and pushed forward, but the back of his black hair is short. There must be rules here about haircuts. I look around. Most of the boys here have short hair; nobody has long hair like Andrew or Tag Nachmanoff.
    “Hi,” I reply, suddenly shy.
    “What kind of camera is that?” he says.
    “A Canon XH A1,” I answer.
    “Me too.” He holds up the same camera hanging around his neck. “I’m Jared Spencer.”
    “I’m Viola Chesterton.” I smile.
    Behind Jared, Suzanne, Romy, and Marisol give me athumbs-up and head for the sliders. Now I have to talk to this new boy.
    The first thing I notice about Jared is that he’s massively cute (a good but prominent straight nose, nice lips, and long neck—necks are not something you notice unless one is absent—but his is nice). The second thing I notice is that he’s comfortable. He doesn’t seem rattled at all by this strangely formalish dance, or clumsy when it comes to meeting new people. It’s all very natural to him, which puts me at ease. (I kind of can’t believe it. A total surprise.)
    “So, would you like something to drink?” Jared asks.
    “Sure.”
    As we walk to the punch bowl, I can feel a bunch of eyes on us. And I don’t mind it.
    “What are you going to film tonight?” he asks.
    “I was going to play it by ear, just have some fun with it.”
    “Me too. Have you made a film yet?”
    “Not exactly. So far, I keep a video diary. My parents are doc makers.”
    “Really?”
    “Yeah. They’re in Afghanistan right now doing some work for a network news division. They’re part of a team filming a movie about Afghan women.”
    “That’s really cool.” Jared smiles. He has a wide smile and good teeth. I wonder if he wore braces. It sure looks it. Jared pours a glass of punch and gives it to me. At the far end of the party room, I see Suzanne holding court, introducing Romy and Marisol to a group of boys. “Are those your roommates?”
    “How did you know?”
    “You came in together. That’s pretty much the way it goes at boarding school—on field trips you stick with your posse.”
    I laugh. “A field trip?”
    “Well, it’s a dance—but to me, anyplace they take us on a bus is a field trip.”
    “Good point.”
    “Where are you from?”
    “Brooklyn, New York.”
    “That’s cool. I’m from Milwaukee.”
    “What are you doing here, at this school?”
    “Every man in my dad’s family went here. I didn’t want to, but I didn’t have a choice.”
    “Me either. I never wanted to come to boarding school and I sure didn’t want to come to boarding school in Indiana. The good news is I only have one year of this and then my parents will be home and I can go back.”
    “A year isn’t so bad,” he says.
    He’s right. It’s not the end of the world like it was back in September. Soon it will be Thanksgiving and then Christmas and I figure the spring will go quickly. “No, it’s not.”
    Suzanne, Marisol, and Romy are now on the dance floor. Some guys join them—they actually seem like they’re having fun.
    “Would you like to dance?” Jared asks.
    “I guess so.”
    As Jared and I set our cameras on a shelf that is filled with trophies, I think of Tag Nachmanoff. Whenever I imagined my first dance, he was always the boy who would