by Chessy Prout
I couldn’t find Logan and was searching for any friendly face when Owen Labrie approached and asked to take a picture with me. I’d smiled at him a few times on the school paths since Ecofest but had never had a real conversation. He was wearing mustard-yellow pants and a blue-and-red sweater. It was too much color at once. I clenched my jaw and smiled as Owen put his arm around my right shoulder in that same tight grasp as at Ecofest.
I was about to turn around to find my friends, but Owen asked if I could take a photo of him and Andrew Thomson and a short girl named Gwen. They thought the height difference between Gwen and Andrew would be funny.
“Sure,” I sighed as Andrew handed me a camera.
Later that night, I was in my room looking at Facebook photos from the party. Another senior posted the picture of me and Owen. Malcolm Salovaara was one of the first to like it. Malcolm had graduated from St. Paul’s the year before, and he had a reputation for scoring lots of girls.
A few other kids liked the photo, so I gave it the thumbs-up too. As conflicted as I felt about St. Paul’s, I was still trying to find ways to embrace this community, to have this community embrace me, to go along to get along. That’s what you were supposed to do at St. Paul’s. You liked the things that happened even if you didn’t enjoy them at the time. Everything was perfect.
I was browsing through the rest of the photos when I noticed the one of me and Brooks together. Some jerk commented that Brooks was moving on to the next sibling. It was so disgusting. They thought Brooks was going to leap from Lucy to me? I felt like a piece of raw meat in the lion’s den. Before I even talked to Lucy, she attempted to take back control of the conversation with her own comment.
Lucy: We try to keep them in the fam.
I wanted to hurl my laptop at these idiotic boys and knock them out cold. Instead I called up Mom in Hong Kong, crying. She told Dad, and he exploded when he saw the photo. A few minutes later, Lucy was howling at me through the phone.
“Why did you take that picture with Brooks?” Lucy yelled. “You know how upset I am at the way he’s treating me and telling all my guy friends to stay away. Dad just screamed at me, as if this is my fault.”
“Lucy, I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t want to take a picture,” I said. “I was literally grabbed and pulled away! I just want that photo down. These boys are so stupid!”
“I don’t know what I can do,” Lucy said in a huff, and hung up.
My ears burned with anger as I threw myself on the bed. It wasn’t fair for Lucy to be mad at me. She was hot and cold with Brooks, and I never knew where they stood. Did she really expect me, a little freshman, to push away her ex-boyfriend? She understood that wasn’t how things worked here. I hadn’t asked to take the photo with him and I wasn’t the one who posted it. Lucy should have been pissed at Brooks and his friends, not me. But the boys were never at fault at St. Paul’s.
I was trying to keep my distance from the seniors, but Andrew Thomson, who roomed with Owen, couldn’t help himself and sent me a single rose for Valentine’s Day. The card was blank except for a heart. I tried to give Andrew the benefit of the doubt because I liked his younger sister, Haley, who was on the varsity volleyball team and in my music class.
Besides, I had other things on my mind—mainly the winter formal. I was going with Blake, who was a year older, and Ivy had said yes to his friend Raymond. The boys had called us outside in the middle of a snowstorm to invite us.
The winter formal was one of many important social events at St. Paul’s. Guys sometimes asked out dates months in advance. Having a boyfriend didn’t make things any easier. In fact, it was the opposite. Girls rarely got asked to go to dances by their boyfriends. No one could explain why. It was just another warped tradition at St. Paul’s that everyone here accepted as normal.
I didn’t know Blake that well, but he seemed sweet whenever we crossed paths on campus. He was a legacy kid and a total jock, tall with blond hair. I was excited that a boy might genuinely, platonically like me. I was tired of the games the older boys played.
In the weeks leading up to the dance, Ivy fretted that our dates didn’t match her social-climbing ambitions. Her sister said she could set us up with two seniors instead.
“Are Blake and Raymond really cool enough? Are they popular enough?” Ivy wrinkled her nose.
My eyes nearly rolled into the back of my head. At first I felt sorry for Ivy, because her sister seemed to thrive on making her younger sibling insecure. But then I got annoyed by how shallow Ivy could be sometimes. She was my fun friend, but she needed to stop obsessing over social expectations.
I talked Ivy off the ledge and assured her we’d have a good time no matter what. We both bought dresses online for the dance and got ready together in her room. I wore a backless turquoise-blue velvet dress. Ivy had a sparkly champagne-colored dress with the sides cut out.
We went out to dinner with two other couples to O Steaks & Seafood in downtown Concord. I was nervous about one of the other girls, Sally. She was a status seeker like Ivy and loved being the center of attention. In group pictures, Sally was usually in the middle with her tongue sticking out.
After dinner, we waited near the entrance of the restaurant for our cabs. Sally blocked me out of the group with her body, making it impossible to join the conversation. I didn’t like having to insert myself, so I just checked my phone. My date, Blake, saw the slight and gave me a warm smile, which helped to ease the anxiety creeping up my throat.
The winter formal had a gambling theme, so it looked like a WASPy Las Vegas. Green felt poker tables were scattered around the wood-paneled ballroom. The boys were dressed in sport coats and ties, and the girls had donned glitzy cocktail dresses.
I ran into Harry, a third former from Manhattan who was close with Ivy and Catie. Harry was short and kind of dorky but already influential in the larger prep school world. He knew how to secure coveted invites to the annual Gold & Silver Ball, a super-selective dance around Christmas in New York City for private school students. I hadn’t been able to attend this past December because I was home in Florida, but Harry promised I’d stay on the list.
We grew closer over the winter because we both did recreational skiing and were chairlift buddies. He even helped coax a terrified Christianna down the slopes when she visited—bribing her with a cookie. Harry wasn’t an alpha male like a lot of the St. Paul’s boys, but he still did their dirty work and twice asked me if I wanted to score older guys. I felt bad rejecting them outright so I told Harry I didn’t know.
The small talk at school social events bored me, so I ditched Harry and headed with Ivy to the dance floor and got so sweaty that the sticky boob cups I was wearing to keep everything in place slipped off.
I asked Ivy to come and help me, but she preferred to hold court on the dance floor. I ran to the bathroom to wipe myself down and adjust the cups. These were the perils of fancy dresses with no backs. I was embarrassed walking to the bathroom by myself, let alone having to hold my dress to my chest. Luckily, I ran into an older volleyball teammate who kept me company.
Later that night, while I was looking at pictures from the dance, I noticed Sally and Ivy had photobombed me and Blake, jumping up behind his shoulder with their tongues sticking out.
I wasn’t sure if Blake actually had a good time until I got a text from him after one in the morning:
Blake: Assuming you’d like to hang out more
Me: We’d like that haha
Blake: Hahaha I’m glad As long as you come I’ll be excited
We hung out a couple of days later in his room with a mutual friend, and then Blake walked me back to Con20. He was easy to talk to and look at. But I was not going to make the first move.
He finally kissed me one night in my math classroom in Lindsay. I felt like I could relax around Blake when it was just the two of us. But I got nervous whenever I saw him on campus with other people. Lucy told me that I needed to say hi when I ran into him at the Upper or on the paths.<
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One night I texted Lucy from the couch of his friend’s room while I was mingling with other boys. I wanted to know if it was a good or bad thing.
Me: Does that mean hes trying to get me in with his friends??
Lucy: Hahaha it just means it’s fun idk Probably to show you off
Blake and I became exclusive, but I wouldn’t call him my boyfriend. I felt like I was walking this tightrope between the norms St. Paul’s foisted on me and what I really wanted.
We agreed to stay together over spring break in March while Lucy and I visited Mom, Dad, and Christianna in Hong Kong. Blake and I would decide whether to keep hooking up when we got back to campus. While sitting on my bed, I gave Tabitha the latest update on my nonrelationship relationship.
“Seriously?” Tabitha asked.
She had an uncanny ability to make you question everything in life with a single word.
“You don’t really like him, do you? He’s like the quintessential white boy.”
“But he’s really sweet,” I explained. “It’s nice just having somebody nice. It’s enough for right now.”
Tabitha ended our conversation with her trademark eye roll.
I appreciated that she was honest and blunt like Arielle back home. I’d felt more comfortable confiding in Tabitha since my health leave. Late at night, we’d turn off the lights and talk for hours. I shared my darkest moments: my attempt to hurt myself and the earthquake trauma.
Tabitha told me about her own struggles with self-harm and anxiety. She confided that she’d been sexually assaulted when she was younger, and her parents had downplayed what happened. I’d never known anyone who’d gone through something like that. It made me feel sick.
Tabitha said she refused to be used by anyone ever again. She tried to make sure I wasn’t either by calling me out on my bullshit, usually when I went running down the hall to help Ivy with her latest boy drama.
I was attempting to steer clear of that land mine. At night I’d walk with Ivy and my friends on their way to Tuck, but then I’d ditch them halfway and head into the music building so I could practice piano. I was taking music theory and piano instruction and needed all the extra playing I could get.
Sometimes I’d close the shades so that no one could see me from the outside. I had saved some sheet music from Tokyo and rehearsed songs that I’d been learning before the earthquake. It was my personal oasis, where I could be alone and lose myself in classical music, my fingers dancing on the keys. Once in a while, Dylan, Lilly, and Catie stopped by to hear me play. I didn’t mind sharing my secret hideaway with them. Sometimes we all needed a refuge from St. Paul’s.
When we came back from spring break in early April, Blake and a bunch of guys in his dorm were supposedly busted for weed. His punishment was early check-in, which meant we stopped hanging out.
Me: We need to talk tonight. I can’t drag this out, I need to know where we stand.
Blake: I’m in tuck quickly if you wanna come over but I have to leave soon.
I walked briskly over to Tuck with Catie around seven fifteen p.m. and found Blake outside.
“It’s not fair to you to keep this going now that I have to check in at seven thirty every night,” he said.
“Okay, is that what you really want?” I asked.
“It’s just not fair to you,” he responded.
It sounded like a cop-out, but I wasn’t going to argue with him. I met Catie downstairs in Tuck after Blake left so we could eat our feelings. We loaded up on pints of ice cream, pizza bites, chocolate icing, Ritz cheese crackers, mini Reese’s peanut butter cups, and Airheads candy.
“Put it on my credit card,” Catie said, flashing a smile.
“You’re the best,” I said. “You always know how to make me feel better.”
My fling with Blake was fun while it lasted, and I was thankful that he never tried to go beyond my comfort zone of kissing. I got so grossed out when Ivy told me that a friend had recently given a guy a blow job in a classroom in Lindsay. I was instantly nauseous whenever I thought about a boy’s private parts. I didn’t want to see that. I worried how I’d ever have children, because the idea of sex repulsed me. Sometimes I pretended with my friends that I was cool discussing this stuff, but in reality, it made me shudder.
Lucy had been accepted to Georgetown—Dad’s alma mater—so you’d think she’d be coasting through the rest of her senior year. But no, she had a full load of classes, an independent study project, and events to plan for the Japanese Society. She kept breaking dates with me and shooing me away as if I was an annoying fly. She acted like a pretentious senior imposing the St. Paul’s hierarchy.
I vented to Mom that Lucy was being a jerk. Mom said Lucy was stressed about her schedule and friends. She suggested that I give Lucy some space to enjoy her last few weeks of school. I was going to be on my own in the fall, Mom said, and needed to find my way. A few minutes after we hung up, a new message arrived.
Mom: I love you Chess - and want to see you navigate all that’s tricky about SPS/boarding school life. If you lash out at Luce re what I shared with you I will be very unhappy. This is her time to feel good about her work thru HS. Please recognize that. She’s also trying to be there for you the best way she knows how - never will be perfect, but I know she sincerely tries.
Mom was right. She was always right. I had to rely less on Lucy. She wouldn’t be here for much longer. So I needed to figure things out on my own. I decided not to bother her when a senior, Tucker Marchese, sent me a corny email asking me out. Tucker was a quiet guy who’d lost a bunch of weight this past year. I’d never talked with him or had any interaction, but I heard he had scored Ivy’s sister.
chessy,
as the days grow longer, so mine here grow shorter. in an effort to enjoy every last one, i’d be delighted to have your presence one of these warmer summer evenings. given the nature of the proximity of our school, my lips are shut if it so pleases you. i promise i’ll show you something cool at the very least. mull it over.
tucker
It was a classic Senior Salute invitation. The Senior Salute was a well-known ritual at St. Paul’s, where sixth formers tried to make out with as many younger girls as possible before graduation. It usually started around May, when they invited girls to a secret spot with the hopes of hooking up. Once in a while, senior girls went after younger boys. Everyone knew about it. The Senior Salute was even mentioned in a scoring dictionary that appeared in the student paper, the Pelican.
Two advisers told us that they were working hard to stop the tradition and not to feel obligated to respond if we got an invite. Before the Senior Salutes started rolling in, Buzz told me to be careful and that she was trying to educate the rest of the school about why this was bad.
I wanted no part of it. I thought it was weird and creepy that older guys were pursuing freshmen so impersonally over the Internet, where they could easily hide. I was pretty sure Tucker had sent the same email to Ivy. It seemed so generic.
We’d heard he was in a competition with Andrew Thomson and Owen Labrie to score the most girls before graduation. Still, I tried to be polite when I sent my rejection. I didn’t want him to think I was rude or bitchy. I wasn’t raised to ignore people, especially those who were older than me. And I knew Tucker and the other senior boys had all the power at the school and they could spread rumors and destroy my reputation in an instant. I wasn’t ready to risk that.
tucker,
although your invitation is tempting, i must decline. I hope you enjoy the last of these evenings, and i will see you around. . . .
Chessy Prout
I was still rolling my eyes over this when I was hanging out a few days later with Catie and Dylan before a school dance. Dylan was my go-to guy at parties. We’d gravitate toward the corner of a room and check in on each other to make sure we were okay. I felt comfortable around him, like he was the brother I never had. Dylan was the opposite of some of the other third formers in our friend group l
ike Owen MacIntyre, who was always flirting with girls and mansplaining.
Dylan had stolen vodka from his dad’s liquor cabinet and asked me to bring empty water bottles. We walked past the soccer fields to the edge of the woods and started taking swigs. I should have known better—alcohol didn’t mix well with my meds and getting caught would have landed me in front of the disciplinary committee. But I rationalized that I couldn’t get in that much trouble if I was drinking the rector’s alcohol that his own son had smuggled out of the house.
The vodka hit me hard. I felt a fire in my throat as I sucked in the chilly May air. So much for those warm evenings Tucker forecasted. I ran, skipped, and hopped to the dance but didn’t stay long. Dylan and I were both kind of a mess. I ushered Dylan away from the chapel lawn and walked with some friends halfway to the docks. I barely remembered how I ended up in Catie’s room. It wasn’t a fun night. I realized how stupid it was when I started getting texts from Lucy.
Lucy: Not cool at all chess. I am so disappointed.
Me: I know what you’re talking about, and you have every right to be disappointed. It was only a little, and I am completely fine.
Lucy: I am so disappointed chessy. Hope u think about this. Night.
Ugh. I hated upsetting Lucy. Catie’s room was spinning. I rolled over and went to bed.
The hook-up culture was so pervasive at St. Paul’s that the student newspaper printed this scoring dictionary.
I took a selfie with the rose that Andrew Thompson sent me on Valentine’s Day.
SIX
Another Senior Salute
It was Wednesday, May 28, and I was in the Upper eating lunch with Ivy. I couldn’t believe it was almost the end of the year and my days as a newb were numbered. She was freaking out about how to fit in studying for finals when the weekend was chock-full of graduation activities. I zoned out and checked my phone. An email from Owen Labrie popped up.
francesca,
