by Chessy Prout
while the thought of my name in your inbox makes me blush perhaps more than it should, there’s something i want to share with you and my evenings left to do it are growing fewer by the evening. there’s a door here that’s been locked since before we were born, but in a moment of divine intervention the night before last, its hinges swung open in my hands. if you want a definition of the word bittersweet, think of me spending three years trying to open it, yet now only having three nights to remember the view. i want to invite you to come with me, to climb these hidden steps, and to bask in the nicest view millville has ever had to offer. i hope you’re all right with heights.
if you’re not otherwise engaged, mull it over. i ask only that you let me know soon--these days they’re not making time quite like they used to.
yours,
owen
I burst out laughing. I could feel the pretension dripping off my phone.
“Oh my God, Ivy, look at this,” I said. “Owen sent me a Senior Salute.”
“That’s sooo funny,” Ivy said.
“Lucy has to see this,” I said.
We agreed that this called for a meeting of the sisters. I read the email again and concluded that the “nicest view” Owen referenced must be the chapel bell tower. It was undoubtedly one of the coolest places on campus, and only the bell ringers were supposed to have a key.
I was conflicted. I wanted to see the top of the chapel and take awesome pictures. I loved having Instagram cred. But I hated the idea of the Senior Salute. I’d never had a real conversation with Owen. Everyone knew that he was smart, an intellectual type. Owen was not outwardly macho like the hockey boys, which probably made him more attractive to the ladies.
I had heard rumors recently that he’d scored Mallory and Whitney, both girls in my grade, and that he could be pushy. I didn’t want to be just another notch in his belt. Of course, there was Lucy. Owen and Lucy had dated briefly when they first got to St. Paul’s, and they’d hung out again earlier this year. I definitely needed Lucy’s help.
Later that afternoon, Ivy and I walked over to Kehaya. I plopped down on the megabed and passed my phone around so everyone could read the message.
“Look how stupid this is,” I said.
“Ivy, did you get one from Owen?” Georgina asked.
“No,” Ivy said.
“Are you sure?” Georgina asked, raising her sculpted eyebrows. “Check your phone again.”
“I didn’t,” Ivy insisted.
“Can you believe this?” I snickered.
“You don’t have to reply,” Georgina said. “You can just ignore it.”
“Yeah, don’t answer,” Ivy echoed.
“Maybe I could get a good Instagram picture and that will be it. I could be the one using him,” I suggested. “It doesn’t have to be anything else.”
Lucy shook her head. “Just don’t engage,” she advised.
“No, I have to reply to this,” I said as my voice rose with indignation. “This is the second Senior Salute I’ve received. These boys just think it’s okay to do this stuff and it’s not. I don’t want some other girl to get the same copy of this message. I have to make sure he knows that it’s stupid.”
I crafted a response on my iPhone with Lucy’s help and read aloud some choice lines.
But I refused to show Lucy the final version, because I feared she would try to talk me out of it. I knew the stakes were high to rebel like this. I had bitten my tongue all year because I was insecure and afraid of what would happen if I called out the almighty boys. But the school year was ending and I was tired of holding back.
At 9:09 p.m., in the safety of my room, I emailed Owen a big fat rejection:
owen,
while the thought of your name in my inbox gives me a sense of dejavu, (Lucy and I are very close sisters,) and although I would like to climb those hidden steps with you, I have to decline.
I would like to climb that, not the list of third formers that have spent quality time with you.
Chessy
One minute later, Lucy texted and asked me to show her the final cut. I chuckled but didn’t send her the note.
Me: I sent it as is . . . I have to stick up for myself!!
Lucy: Chess you made my evening
I woke up the next morning to another email from Owen in my inbox:
probably one of the sassier emails i’ve ever received, my sweet lord. and minus chavez and macintyre, i’m afraid that list is slimmer than you might think. pretty much nonexistent this term, even, but do as you please, mon chere, i’d have taken you either way.
He ended the note with a line in French. All I could understand was that it was something about a queen.
Oy. I felt bad. Maybe I’d been too harsh. Either way, I needed to focus on more important things.
Days earlier, Mom had arrived so she could spend time with Lucy and plan graduation festivities before all the relatives descended. Mom’s mom (aka Grandma Prusaczyk) was coming, along with Uncle Bernie, Aunt Blair, Aunt Frannie, and cousins Cameron and Katie. Dad’s cousin Ken—a chef in Boston—was preparing a sushi feast for all of Lucy’s friends on Saturday night. It was the first big celebration for our family since the earthquake three years ago.
Before I plunged into graduation mode, I needed to help Catie finish a poster for her physics class. I was getting dressed to go to the lab at the Lindsay building when I saw an email from Duncan with a cryptic-sounding Senior Salute.
Duncan: . . . running out of sunsets
Ugh. Duncan was a nice enough guy, and I still felt a little bad about what I’d written to Owen, so I refrained from sending any more feisty emails. Instead I kept it simple.
Me: . . . Too true
It was chilly out, so I put on a long-sleeved black-and-white-striped shirt. I found Catie in her room, grabbing a pink sweater. I looked around the room—about double the size of mine—and yammered about how fantastic life would be in the fall when we were roomies. Catie and I were planning to get a couch, shelves, and maybe a hammock. It would feel like a real home instead of a prison cell with DJ equipment.
Catie and I wandered over to Lindsay and found her physics lab on the first floor. The rooms all looked the same, with rectangular wooden islands with shiny black countertops. The teachers were gone for the night, and it was just me and Catie at first. She plugged her phone into the classroom speakers and blasted music. After she turned off the lights, I used my phone as a strobe light and swirled it around. I was climbing from table to table, ecstatic that our study hour had morphed into a procrastination party.
Other kids arrived, and so it was time to settle down. Owen MacIntyre and two other boys in my grade came over to where I was sitting. I’d been friends with Owen—or O. Mac, as people called him—since the fall, and sometimes we’d studied together in the library. But he’d gotten more annoying in recent months. O. Mac was a wannabe hockey bro and acted cocky like the guys on his team. We tried to keep him grounded by poking fun at his highlighter-yellow polo shirts and flat-brimmed baseball hats. Tonight he had on a blue-and-white T-shirt with his hat turned backward.
“So I heard you got an email from Owen Labrie,” he said.
I stared at him without saying anything. I knew they lived in the same dorm, but why was this anyone’s business?
“Yeah,” I finally said. “I’m not going to go.”
“Oh, he’s a nice guy,” O. Mac said. “And he has the keys to a building. Wouldn’t it be cool to see the place?”
“Yeah, but he’s been with all these other third formers like Whitney and Mallory. I don’t want to be another girl on his list.”
“The Whitney thing is not true at all. She has braces,” he said. “And the Mallory thing happened earlier in the year. Don’t be a bitch.”
Ouch.
“I just want to see the view,” I said.
“Owen’s not going to pressure you or do anything to hurt you. He’s a nice guy,” he said. “He just wants to spend time with you.�
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I sighed. Maybe I’d judged Owen Labrie too harshly. I felt bad for being rude when I rejected his invite. He was a golden boy, a dorm leader. All the teachers loved him, and he was going to Harvard in the fall.
Truth be told, I was flattered that one of the most popular boys thought I was special. I didn’t know Owen, but it felt nice to have him take an interest in me. Ivy didn’t even get an invite. More than anything, I was excited to see the chapel spires—something none of my friends had done before.
Looking back, I shudder at the vanity and false confidence that led me to reconsider.
“Okay. Yeah, I’ll go,” I told O. Mac. “But make sure he knows all I want to do is go up to see the view. I don’t want him gloating to his friends or Lucy.”
When I got back to my dorm, I emailed Owen in French, apologizing for my first email. Then I said yes to his invitation.
Me: Only if its our petit secret
Later Catie turned to me and asked, “So, how far would you be willing to go with him?”
I laughed nervously, my reflex in uncomfortable situations. I wasn’t totally naive.
Catie knew how inexperienced I was sexually. But I didn’t want to sound like a baby. Even with Catie, I couldn’t fully let my guard down sometimes.
“I’d be willing to make out,” I said. “But I won’t go as far as second base.”
Owen wrote back two hours later and attached a picture of the words BELIEVE IN ANGELS spray-painted in white on a brick wall.
Owen: what a golden change of heart. you’ve saved it until the very end--there’s not a lot of time, but I’m sure we can figure something out.
ps your french is amazing. not a soul needs to know
It was Friday, May 30, and Dad and the rest of the family arrived to kick off graduation weekend. I knew it was a dream come true for Dad to see his oldest child receive a diploma from St. Paul’s. Most of the time, I felt lucky to be part of the SPS family. I got the chance to learn Japanese, play the piano, and meet smart, talented people from all over the world. I could stroll around the enchanting campus, wildflowers pushing through the soil, believing it was possible to become anything I wanted.
But all I wanted right now was for the chapel bells to stop ringing in my ears. It was the daily alarm clock telling me I had five minutes to get dressed, pick up my meds, and run across the street for morning services. I was feeling extra lazy this morning. I stretched my arms over my head, grabbed my iPhone resting on the desk, and scrolled through my email. I saw a weird one sent in the wee hours from David, Lucy’s prom date.
David: we should hang out tomorrow.
P.S. im the sexiest asian at the school.
I immediately told Lucy about David’s note, but I didn’t mention Owen. I still wasn’t sure I’d even go. Around lunchtime, Duncan sent me another message.
Duncan: I might be able to make room for you tonight
Might make room for me? Who did Duncan think he was? I’d never said I wanted to hang out. These guys were so condescending and presumptuous. Besides, I had plans. Owen messaged me on Facebook to make sure we were still on.
Owen: it might be a little crazy for the tower but i can take you somewhere else that’s pretty sweet
It should’ve been a red flag. I was disappointed, but I knew there were other interesting spots to explore. Just last week, I’d ventured out with Catie, Dylan, and a few others to the chapel late at night and opened a grate on the floor in the back section for latecomers. We squeezed our bodies through the hole and crawled around the dark underground tunnels.
I wanted to seem easygoing to Owen, so I didn’t press him on the plan.
Me: That sounds perfect haha
I saw Ivy in her room and told her that I was meeting up with Owen after dinner. She looked surprised.
“Do you really want to go?” she asked with a hint of judgment.
“Nothing bad is going to happen,” I insisted. “O. Mac said Owen was really sweet and just wants to hang out.”
I didn’t say much to Ivy when we were sitting together at dinner later that night. Lucy and her friends had organized a dinner with all their families at the Centennial, the fanciest hotel in Concord. I smiled as much as I could and listened to the grown-ups and their small talk. But I had this cloud hanging over me—it always appeared when I kept things from my family.
Back at the dorm, I took off my pale blue dress with pink flower petals and searched my closet for something more casual. I picked out dark denim shorts, a magenta T-shirt, and an oversized navy zip-up sweatshirt that I’d stolen from Dad.
Tabitha shook her head. I knew she was about to take out the bullshit detector. I’d miss this next year when she moved to another dorm across campus.
“Chessy, don’t do this,” she said. “It’s stupid. You know he doesn’t really like you.”
Why weren’t people getting it? I could protect myself. I’d lived and traveled all over the world and I’d been on my own at boarding school for a year. No one was going to disrespect me. And I had the power. Owen wanted to hang out with me, not the other way around. I was using him to get a cool view and impressive Instagram photos.
“This is my choice. I’m going to be fine,” I said. “If I get uncomfortable, I’ll leave.”
At 9:15 p.m., I slipped out the back door of Con20 and met Owen in front of the Schoolhouse. I was reassured when I saw he was wearing a backpack. Phew. He had somewhere else to go after. This would be a quick trip.
The campus was teeming with parents, students, and alumni, and I was nervous about running into someone we knew. But I was also excited: I’d made this decision by myself and nobody else had told me what to do. This was what life was going to be like next year when Lucy wasn’t around.
We headed together toward Lindsay until Owen spotted a security car parked out front and decided we should split up.
“You go in this way and I’ll walk in another door. Meet me inside near the pendulum,” he said as he bolted to the other side of the building.
I waved to the security guard and opened the door facing the Schoolhouse. I waited under the pendulum for a couple of minutes. Maybe he was going to ditch me. I felt a bit relieved.
Owen eventually arrived and started sprinting up the stairs two at a time. I was having trouble keeping up in my flimsy red leather sandals. They had small wooden heels that kept catching on the stairs.
I was out of breath with wobbly ankles after four flights. Owen took out keys to unlock the door. I felt a pit in my stomach.
“Where did you get the keys?” I asked.
Owen put his finger on his lips and shushed me. Students broke into places all the time. I guessed it couldn’t be that bad. He walked deeper into a dark room. All I could see were blinking red and green lights, and I heard loud whooshing noises coming from machines. I wasn’t sure what this was—a storage closet, an attic, a mechanical room?
“Can I use your cell phone as a flashlight?” Owen asked.
“Sure,” I said, and handed him my phone.
I heard him unlock another door and then followed him up several steps. Finally we were on the roof.
The sky glowed dusky lavender. The wind brushed my face as I dangled my arms over the chest-high ledge. “Oh my gosh, this is really pretty,” I said.
Owen was casing the perimeter of the roof. I wasn’t sure what he was doing and I really didn’t care. I looked down at Moore, the brick building where I took my music theory class, the Schoolhouse, and my favorite willow tree in between the two. The branches bent all the way to the ground, creating a natural fort, and it reminded me of the trees back at Sacred Heart in Tokyo. I kept telling Catie we needed to picnic there.
I inhaled the damp air and fell deep into a nature coma, losing track of everything around me. I felt lucky to be at St. Paul’s, so thankful that my parents had allowed me to attend. We’d been through a lot as a family, and this place would never fail to be beautiful.
Owen interrupted my thoughts, bar
king orders: “Come on, Chessy, let’s go inside. It’s soggy and gross out here. Let’s go back down.”
I wasn’t sure what he meant. There were puddles and some raindrops, but they didn’t interfere with the view. I needed to snap some photos.
“Can’t we stay longer? It’s so nice,” I said, waving my hands in the air. “We’ve only been here a few minutes.”
“Let’s go. It’s getting cold,” Owen said, and walked inside and down the steps.
I followed his white sweatshirt as he meandered through the dark room and then dropped his backpack on the ground. He turned toward me and, without saying a word, wrapped his arms around my waist and pressed me against a wall. He put his lips on mine, sliding his tongue in my mouth. He wasn’t a bad kisser. He’d clearly had practice. But I was still shocked. We hadn’t even had a conversation.
Then he took off my blue sweatshirt and peeled off my T-shirt. His speed and deftness with this was astounding and confusing. By the time I’d processed my sweatshirt on the floor—and the fact that we were moving to second base—Owen ripped down my bra straps and scratched my shoulders.
Oh my God, I didn’t want this. I pulled the straps back up, sending a message. He tried to grab my breasts under the front of my bra but then stopped. Okay, Chessy, this is fine, I told myself. I had this handled.
Owen took out a flannel blanket from the backpack and laid it on the floor. He kissed me and fell to the ground, bringing me down with him. Then he got up again and pushed me against a wall. He pinned my hands above my head. I had seen this in movies, couples aggressively kissing against walls, but this was not romantic. He held on to my wrists, nailing me to the wall. Stuck. I was uncomfortable.
My sandals were off and I could feel the cold, hard concrete under my feet. Owen kept one hand on my arms above my head and used the other to take off his belt. I heard the clanging metal buckle. His shorts fell to the floor.
I began to panic. I thought I’d brought us back to first base, and now the belt. What was I going to do? I didn’t want to offend him or make him think I was an inexperienced little girl. I needed to get out of there.
I tried to relax when he put his hands on my shoulders and started to massage them. But suddenly Owen pushed me to the ground and grabbed my breasts, my shorts, my zipper. He tore my bra down completely. He was shirtless on top of me and then moved me around so I was on top of him. Then he was back on top of me.
