by Chessy Prout
She didn’t balk at “dirty dinnering,” which meant showing up at the Upper without taking a shower first. It was a big no-no among third-form girls, but Catie didn’t buy into most of the social norms at St. Paul’s.
“Who gives a shit what I look like at the Upper?” Catie said. “I’m there to eat.”
“Amen,” I agreed.
Catie and I bonded over our shared ability to finish an entire pizza by ourselves. That girl had an appetite like me. She’d text late-night snack orders for Tuck:
Catie: mozzarella sticks ice cream and a lemonade ooh and a burger
Me: Got u burger but i want 2 mozzarella sticks
We were more interested in eating food and having fun than pursuing boys. I found her lack of social ambition refreshing. If we ever took photos, we were usually giving each other silly, weird looks. Catie was adorable, with bright, mischievous eyes, wavy brown hair, and an upper lip that disappeared whenever she smiled. Which was often.
Catie was constantly buying fun stuff online or at the Target in town. I was pumped when she showed up one night with two scooters.
“Oh my God, these are fantastic. I used to have a Razor scooter that I’d ride to school in Tokyo,” I said wistfully. “I’d race home through all these alleyways.”
“Let’s race then,” Catie said as she took off down the hallway of the dorm.
I loved this girl.
When we were up late at night, too hyper to sleep and way past check-in time, we’d have high-speed chases inside. Mr. Callahan, the head of house, would roll his eyes at us as we whizzed by.
One night Catie confided that her shopping binges were funded by guilt money from her dad, a Wall Street financial executive, over serious problems in her parents’ marriage. Catie was one of the few people who let on that her life was not perfect. She was open about how hard it was to live in the shadow of an older sibling at St. Paul’s.
Lilly, a girl down the hall, shared her struggles with me when I spent hours in her room and we divulged our life stories. When we were alone, Dylan sometimes admitted that St. Paul’s wasn’t living up to the fairy tale he’d imagined as a child growing up there.
There were rampant rumors of kids with substance abuse problems and their miserable parents who cared more about their reputations and vacations than their own children. I was surprised to learn that boarding school was filled with so many teenagers from dysfunctional homes.
But most students at St. Paul’s would never fess up to real problems. I’d been seeing Buzz Whalen, a counselor at the health center, since I started at St. Paul’s. She was my new Dr. Sloane to help me with the transition to boarding school.
Buzz wore her whitish-blond hair in a ponytail and talked in a soothing voice that rolled out of her mouth like ocean waves. Buzz, like most of the adults at St. Paul’s, juggled multiple responsibilities: coaching the varsity girls’ field hockey team, serving as a dorm adviser, and working as a counselor at Clark House.
I confessed to Buzz that I still struggled with low moods and felt like I couldn’t escape my past trauma. I knew I was lucky to be at St. Paul’s, but I also expressed frustration that no one showed any vulnerability on campus. I certainly didn’t think I could; if I did, people would believe I was weak.
It was exhausting trying to be perfect all the time, and I felt that pressure when I was with Ivy. Sometimes, I could let my guard down with Catie and Dylan and be my goofy, weirdo self. They were my partners in crime and loved exploring the campus at night.
For my fifteenth birthday near the end of October, we decided to go stargazing. We walked over to the soccer fields and spread out near the center line. It was chilly, so I covered myself in a blanket I’d brought from the dorm.
I lay down on the grass and sipped in the crisp fall air. I saw my first shooting star that night diving across the oily black sky. I watched in awe when fourteen more soared above, as if the sky was putting on a show just for me. I turned my head to each side to smile at Dylan and Catie. Somehow, this night felt perfect.
It was mid-November and I was overwhelmed by upcoming exams and a volleyball tournament. I was having a tough time sleeping and adjusting to my medications for anxiety and depression. I had recently rehashed the earthquake with a school-referred psychiatrist, and it left me in a funk.
Mom, Dad, and Christianna felt so far away in Hong Kong, and I really worried about my little sister. It was the longest I’d gone without smushing her in a koala hug. She was the best remedy for bad moods.
Catie came up with a great distraction: she ordered food from my favorite Thai place, Siam Orchid. I shoveled pork gyoza and hot and crazy noodles while my friends daintily picked at their meals. They were all talking about their Saturday night plans, and I had none.
I could have gone out with them, but I felt the black blanket wrapping around my brain again. Lucy was busy with her friends, so I checked in early for the night.
Tabitha was gone. I closed the door and turned off the lights. The tears I’d been holding back fell like sheets of rain.
I curled up in bed and closed my eyes. Painful memories were painted on the back of my eyelids: huddling under the desk during the earthquake in Tokyo; my family getting ripped apart; overwhelming thoughts of being a burden to my family; Dean’s brother hurting himself; my first love cheating on me with a classmate.
People thought I was this popular, confident girl, but at times I felt so isolated from everybody at St. Paul’s. No one knew what I’d been through. It was my fault. I wanted a clean slate here and I hated troubling anyone with my problems.
My chest was pounding, my hands sweating. I had so much pain in my heart and my head. I wanted to move the hurt somewhere else. I stood up and let the feelings of hopelessness and exhaustion wash over me.
Without thinking, I grabbed a bottle of nail polish remover from the bottom drawer of my desk. I took a sip and it felt like someone had lit a match inside my esophagus. Oh my God. What had I done? Were my insides going to burn? I didn’t want to die.
I called Lucy and whispered into the phone, “I don’t know what to do. I just . . . drank a little nail polish remover.”
“Holy shit, Chessy,” Lucy said, panic rising in her voice. “What happened?”
“I’m okay, you don’t have to worry about me. I’m fine.”
“I’m coming over and we’re going to Clark House,” Lucy said.
“No, I’m fine, I’m really fine.”
Shit. They were going to think I was crazy and send me home. I couldn’t have that happen. Where was home anyway?
I had soaked up the tears on my sleeve by the time Lucy sprinted into my room. I became agitated when she said an adviser would meet me at Clark House.
“Why would you do that?” I whined, immediately regretting my attempt at self-harm. “This is not a big deal. I’m fine. I’ll get over it.”
“You need Mom and Dad,” Lucy said, and led me to Clark House with her roommate Zoe.
I wanted to go back to my room to sleep, but the health center insisted I stay overnight. The next day lots of friends stopped by, but I didn’t want anyone to see me weak like this, so they left notes instead. Ivy wrote a nice message but somehow tried to make my sadness revolve around her.
Dear Chessy,
You are my best friend and sister. . . . I’m beyond sorry if I did something I never want to hurt you. You can talk to me tom. if you want I’m always here.
Love you more than life,
Ivy
Catie texted repeatedly, but I didn’t answer at first. Eventually, she sent an offer I couldn’t refuse.
Catie: I have no sports and I was wondering if you need a buddy I can bring the kardashians and gummy bears
Me: Aww wanna watch tv with mee??
Catie: yeah I’ll come
Catie snuggled with me in the health center bed as we watched television together. Later that day I had a meeting with Buzz. By now, I was used to the therapy thing, so I didn’t hold back in tell
ing Buzz what was going on in my head.
“I honestly wasn’t trying to kill myself,” I explained. “I just wanted to feel the pain somewhere else.”
She nodded her head sympathetically. “It’s a lot of pressure here being away from home,” Buzz said gently. “Everybody needs a break sometimes and I think you could use a break. Don’t worry about your schoolwork. We can get that all figured out.”
I resisted at first but ultimately agreed to go on a health leave. A lot of kids took them at St. Paul’s, so I knew it wasn’t that big of a deal. We’d been planning to celebrate Thanksgiving together in Florida, so Dad booked an earlier flight from Hong Kong so he could pick me up at St. Paul’s and take me to Naples.
Before I left, Ivy stopped by and gave me a gold signet ring with her family crest on it. She and her sister both had one, and they wore them all the time.
“Keep this over the break. It will help protect you,” she said. “I love you, Chessy.”
“Thank you, thank you,” I gushed. “I’m so lucky to have you as a best friend.”
Lucy was relieved I was going home. I thought it was the right thing too. I knew my big sister couldn’t be the only one to take care of me.
“I’m sorry I got mad at you for bringing me to the health center,” I said. “I know you were scared and just trying to help.”
“Chess, I love you so, so, so much,” Lucy said, holding me tight. “You mean the entire world to me. It physically hurts me to think that something bad could happen to you.”
I reveled in my new life at boarding school: decorating my dorm room (first image, above), signing my name into the school ledger (second image), playing volleyball with Lucy (third image), and bonding at Ecofest in our flannel shirts (above).
FIVE
Traditions Begin
I returned to St. Paul’s after Thanksgiving break, and the girls in Con20 smothered me with love. There were constant hugs, kisses on the forehead, and invites for heart-to-hearts. Even some of the boys in my grade swung by to welcome me back. We didn’t talk about what led to my health leave, but I could tell they were being more thoughtful. It was all very sweet, though I hated having the attention on me. I wanted to go back to normal.
I assured Mom and Dad that I was feeling better, but they were worried. I was afraid they would go into protective mode and try to bring me to Hong Kong. Lucy never gave them any inkling about how tough things could be at St. Paul’s, and I certainly didn’t want to make them concerned.
We had spent Thanksgiving huddled as a family in Florida. I devoured Dad’s turkey and gravy and Mom’s pumpkin chiffon pie. Mom literally latched herself onto me at the airport. They spoke with Buzz, who promised we’d meet regularly. My doctor also adjusted my medication again. I was still processing the tumult from the last several years, and I knew I’d have to take things one day at a time.
I tried to pray every night like Mom had taught us growing up. Praying helped me focus on the things I was grateful for in my life. I’d cuddle up in the dorm bed with Bearsie, my pink stuffed Build-A-Bear, which I’d had since I was six, and clasp my hands at my chest. I faced the wall as I silently recited the same prayer: “Dear God, please bless Mom, Dad, my sisters, and me. Please bless Uncle Tom with good health. Keep Grandpa safe in heaven. Thank you for blessing me with a wonderful home, family, life, and thank you for making me healthy.”
These little moments helped ground me. And so did Lucy. She was hanging around a lot, keeping a watchful eye on me. I’m not sure if Mom and Dad suggested this, but to be honest, I didn’t mind. Lucy was a safety blanket I wanted to wrap myself in. We ate sandwiches for lunch on my bed between classes, took long walks to the docks, and studied together at the Works, a cozy sandwich shop in downtown Concord.
Lucy confided that she’d been having a hard time too. Since she’d ended things with Brooks over the summer, her guy friends at St. Paul’s had ditched her in obnoxious ways. Recently, she’d been catching up with Andrew Thomson near the senior couches outside the Upper. But when Andrew spotted some guys approaching, he abruptly cut Lucy off.
“Oh, never mind,” Andrew said. “I forgot I’m not supposed to talk to you.”
Lucy’s jaw dropped. She’d been friends with Andrew before she started dating Brooks. Part of the reason Lucy broke up with Brooks was because he was too demanding. Now his possessive tentacles were trying to strip Lucy of any meaningful relationships. It was a disgusting display of social power.
To make matters worse, the senior boys were flirting relentlessly with me as a way to piss off Lucy. Before my health leave, Andrew and Duncan emailed me and Ivy an invitation for a “secret snuggle.” I wasn’t sure what a secret snuggle entailed, but Ivy and I agreed it was creepy and weird.
By this point, I knew how much power the senior boys had, and I didn’t want to do anything to come off as a bitch or provoke them into targeting me more. So I tried to banter over email without committing to anything or rejecting them.
Duncan: secret snuggle?
Me: is it even a question?
Andrew: yeah im more than down
Duncan: secret snuggle. time and place?
Me: Your call boys
Andrew: My lap tonight at 9pm
Gross. Conversation over. I wasn’t interested in casual relationships, and all these guys wanted was to score. Kiss. Touch. Go all the way. Scoring covered any and all of that. I’d later learn that if you scored a lot, you were known as a slayer. This was all so foreign and scary, because I’d only kissed before I got to St. Paul’s. I didn’t want to have sex. It wasn’t even on my radar as a fifteen-year-old.
A few weeks earlier, Ivy’s sister had dragged me out to Tuck and insisted I get together with her friend Jason. I didn’t buy into the scoring culture, but I wasn’t confident enough yet to renounce it outright.
And I was flattered that Jason liked me and I felt as though I should give him a chance. I was curious, as any teenage girl might be. Jason was nice enough, but I called it off after we kissed twice over the span of two weeks. I didn’t know this guy. I didn’t like that he kissed me in the middle of a sentence.
For weeks I’d been trying to keep at bay two hockey boys who kept messaging me and Ivy, commenting on our photos, asking when we could hang out. Hockey players were at the top of the social ladder at St. Paul’s, and “no” wasn’t a word they were used to hearing. I wanted something special. I wanted a guy who knew me, liked me for who I really was, and most of all, respected me.
But that seemed impossible at a place like St. Paul’s, where everything was about status, tradition, and hierarchy—and guys ruled all three. They ran most of the clubs, dominated class discussions, and determined girls’ worth by whether or not they wanted to score them.
St. Paul’s first began accepting girls in the 1970s, but it might as well have been yesterday. When Lucy earned the same grade as a guy in her modern China class, he remarked that she must have flirted her way to the A. It wasn’t just the students who reinforced this male hierarchy. When we gathered at the oval wooden table for my humanities class, the teacher listened intently to the boys and fluffed their egos while dismissing girls’ opinions as “wrong.” The teacher was so rude a girl once fled the class in tears.
One day after humanities, I accidentally bumped into a male classmate as we slogged through the slippery snow. I apologized and joked, “Oh, well, I’m lucky you can’t push a girl.” Suddenly my friend grabbed my shoulders and shoved me into a snowbank and kept on going.
I was shaking when I pulled myself up and looked around. I tried to laugh it off as I made my way, soaking wet, to the dining hall, where someone would undoubtedly leer at my butt as I passed the senior couches. It was clear the school could not shake its century-plus history as a boys-only institution.
There was only one time a year when the gender dynamics at the Upper were inverted, or perverted, depending on your view. This was at the annual Boar’s Head Dinner, where students voted for the senior boys
they wanted to see shirtless, carrying a ham around the dining hall. It was completely absurd.
I couldn’t believe the school sanctioned this. At the same time, I was amused by the idea of boys being objectified the way we were whenever we walked into that dining hall. This year administrators tried to tone down the Boar’s Head Dinner by requiring the guys to wear tank tops. Still, it didn’t change anything. I refused to vote.
I noticed Logan the first time he walked by Con20. He was wearing a purple-and-blue tie-dyed sweatshirt and was leading a pack of guys. He was the cutest boy I’d ever seen, and lucky for me, he was in my Japanese class. Logan was a year older, a fourth former, with a thick mess of blond hair and a huge grin.
He was sweet and normal—if that was possible at St. Paul’s—and always asked about life in Japan. My stomach fluttered whenever I saw him in the hallway or he asked for help with assignments.
Logan seemed genuinely interested in getting to know me, not just getting in my pants. So I happily accepted his invite to attend the Christmas party at Nash, one of the boys’ dorms.
It was a tradition for guys to escort their dates, so Logan and his roommate picked up me and Faith for the Christmas party. I preferred hanging out with Faith when Ivy wasn’t around. Faith was more relaxed, more herself, if she wasn’t trying to please her roommate, the queen bee.
“You don’t have to agree with everything Ivy says or does,” I told Faith. “It’s good to have your own opinions. We love to hear what you have to say.”
“I know,” Faith said. “I try.”
Everyone was dressed in festive outfits at the Nash Christmas party. I was wearing a red dress with three-quarter-length sleeves that I borrowed from Lucy. I let Logan take my hand as we danced to Michael Bublé’s Christmas hits, and I was surprised at how smooth and self-assured he was, swinging me around the room. I was having fun.
All of a sudden, Brooks swooped in between us and grabbed me and started dancing. I saw the flash of a camera, and just like that he was gone. It was super rude, but I didn’t want to confront Lucy’s ex.
