Private

by Kate Brian

  ter of the chapel—Kiran studying her face in a compact mirror,

  black velvet banners, each decorated with the Easton crest and a Taylor scribbling in a notebook. Noelle was nowhere to be seen. It graduating class’s year. Below the year were two names, one

  was odd, seeing them separated like this. I felt as if they were one female, one male. I was about to ask what those names signified entity and should always be by one another’s sides. I took my seat when the double doors to the church closed, darkening the room

  with my dorm-mates near the center of the pews.

  even further. Everyone hushed and faced forward, so I did the

  “We sit according to class. Boys on the left, girls on the right,”

  same. A sense of heavy reverence descended upon the crowd and

  Diana explained as we settled in. Her roommate, a girl named Kiki an anticipatory warmth overcame me. Out from two opposing

  who could have been Diana’s longer-haired twin, but wasn’t, sat doors at the front of the church walked two boys, freshmen from down next to her. I had yet to see Kiki without her iPod. She kept the look of them, carrying candles that they used to light four time to the music with her chin as she slumped down in her seat.

  lanterns near the lectern. These lanterns gave off a surprising

  “Up there are the frosh, behind us are the juniors. and then the amount of light and bathed everyone in a warm, cozy glow.

  seniors are in back.”

  As soon as the lanterns were lit, there was a hard rap on the

  I nodded. So Kiran and Taylor were juniors and Ariana, a senior.

  door. Dean Marcus stood up and walked slowly down the aisle. He I assumed Noelle was as well. But where had she disappeared to?

  stood, regal and wise, in front of the double doors.

  “It’s so archaic, separating us,” Missy said, glancing across at

  “Who requests entrance to this sacred place?”

  the guys. “What are we gonna do, have sex while they’re reading off I might have laughed if I wasn’t in such awe. And if everyone else the morning announcements?”

  wasn’t so rapt with attention.

  “Well, you might,” Lorna joked. She glanced at Missy warily

  “Eager minds in search of knowledge,” came the answer. Missy

  after making her joke, waiting for her reaction.

  mockingly mouthed the words along with the hidden speaker.

  Missy scoffed, but smiled. Lorna looked relieved.

  Lorna gave her a stern look. Missy rolled her eyes.

  Sitting on benches up near the lectern were at least two dozen

  “Then you are welcome,” the dean said.

  adults, including Ms. Naylor, Ms. Ling, and Dean Marcus, whom I

  “They don’t do this every day,” Diana whispered to me. “Only at recognized from his picture in the Easton catalog. Clearly the oth-the first service.”

  ers were teachers, advisors, and deans. Most of them looked stern, The doors swung open and in walked Noelle, chin held high.

  judgmental, sour, and wrinkly. A no-nonsense group.

  Next to her was her boyfriend, Dash. His blond hair was slicked

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  back from his face and he wore a serious expression. He and Noelle I turned and did the same, biting down on my lip and trying

  both carried large, antiquated volumes in their arms and kept their hard not to laugh. There was something about boys being boys that eyes trained directly ahead as they walked down the aisle to the always made me giddy.

  lectern.

  The dean stepped up to the lectern and tilted the microphone

  Noelle looked almost regal and certainly in control. Even though toward him. “Welcome, students, to Easton Academy.”

  hundreds of people were staring straight at her, she didn’t blush or waver or even blink. She was confident, gorgeous, composed.

  The pair placed their books on a table at the front of the chapel.

  “Tradition, honor, excellence,” they said in unison.

  Then they turned to the room and everyone echoed them.

  “Tradition, honor, excellence.”

  Chills rushed over me at the sound of all those voices in unison.

  Noelle and Dash turned and bowed together toward the teachers,

  then each took a seat on opposite sides of the altar, Noelle in front of the girls, Dash in front of the guys.

  I had no idea what all this ritual meant, exactly, but I loved it. It was totally different from anything I had ever known before. I was so enraptured that it took me longer than most to notice the slight commotion and laughter at the back of the chapel. When I turned around, Thomas Pearson was just slipping in as the dean closed the doors. He took a seat in the back pew, where one of his friends gave him a fist bump and laughed. Sunglasses hid his eyes. The dean

  shot him a look of death, but then walked briskly back to the front of the room. I waited for Thomas to remove the glasses, hoping he might search me out as well, but instead he grew serious and

  trained his attention on the stage.

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  coffee filled the room. “This class is American History. In history we have what are known as facts. I teach the facts. We will not be reading opinion or propaganda in this class. We will not be dis-cussing the whining woes of every Tom, Dick, and Harry in every SADIST

  socioeconomic strata of every country around the world. I’ll let your college teachers deal with the gray areas. In the meantime, I will prepare you by having you memorize facts. Dates. Names. Places.

  Facts.”

  I don’t think I had ever known anyone who enunciated as

  “Good morning, class! I trust you are all tickled pink to see me.”

  perfectly as this man. His jaw must have been working more

  The teacher banged the door closed behind him and those who

  muscles than my entire body. The word facts came out like weren’t already in their seats scrambled. Constance sat down next

  “fak-t-ss.” He took a sip of his coffee and placed the cup down to me just as the teacher placed his beaten leather briefcase and a on his desk.

  tall silver Thermos on his desk. He had the straightest posture I

  “So let us find out what you know.”

  have ever seen and seemed to fill up the entire room. Gray hairs Gulp.

  peppered the tight black curls on his head and he wore a blue sport He walked to the center of the room, facing us. “You. What’s

  coat and striped tie over tan pants. He clapped his hands together your name?”

  and rubbed them, surveying the room. I could tell by the expres-

  “B-Brian Marshall,” the towheaded kid in the front row

  sions on my classmates’ faces that none of them were actually

  answered. I was surprised he didn’t pee on the floor.

  pleased to see him. From the sarcastic gleam in his eye, it was clear

  “From Mr. Marshall left is team A. The rest of you, team B.” Mr.

  that he was also aware of this fact.

  Barber said with a dismissive flick of the wrist. He picked up a

  “For those of you who haven’t already heard all the nasty rumors pebbled notebook from his huge wooden desk. “I have here the

  about me, my name is Mr. Barber and I am a by-the-book type of

  class roster. When I ask you a question, I expect an answer within man,” he said, his voice booming from somewhere in the vicinity of ten seconds. Answer correctly, your team gets a point. Answer

  his navel. As he spoke, he twisted off the top of his Thermos and incorrectly, I’ll take a point away,” he said, eyeing us.

  poured himself a cup of steaming liquid. The pungent scent of black A couple of kids smirked. A couple more looked scared. I had no

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  idea what to think. No teacher of mine had ever spoken like this

  “Here,” a chunky guy near the door answered.

  before. This guy had more authority in his little finger than the

  “Mr. Simmons, who was the first woman executed in the United

  entire faculty at Croton High combined.

  States and why?”

  “Let’s get started,” Mr. Barber said. He looked up and down his Okay. That I do not know.

  class list as he approached the board. Every one of us prayed not to I started to sweat.

  hear our name. “Miss . . .”

  “Uh . . . oh. I know this,” Simmons said, clutching a pencil in Crap. Crap. Crap.

  both hands.

  “Talbot.”

  You’ve gotta be kidding me. You do ?

  I glanced at Constance. Her skin grew pale under all those

  “Um . . .”

  freckles. My heart went out to her even as I was flooded with relief.

  “Ten seconds, Mr. Simmons.” Mr. Barber seemed to be enjoy-

  “Yes?” she said with remarkable calm.

  ing this. “And for the record, we don’t say um in my class.”

  Okay. If I knew the answer to this, I would be fine.

  “It’s Mary something,” the chunky kid said. “Mary . . . Surratt?”

  “Which king of England was served with the lawyer’s brief that

  Right. That sounds vaguely familiar. I think.

  declared this country’s independence in 1776?” he asked.

  “Yes. And for what crime was she put to death?”

  Wha-huh? Lawyer’s brief? Since when was the Declaration of

  “Conspiring to assassinate President Lincoln,” Mr. Simmons

  Independence referred to as a lawyer’s brief?

  said with much more confidence.

  Wait. What was the question again?

  “Good. You pulled that one out, Mr. Simmons,” Mr. Barber said,

  “King George the third,” Constance said.

  adding a point under the A. I glanced at my watch, wondering

  “Correct.”

  if there was any possible way I could make it out of here without Constance beamed. Someone behind me said “easy one.” Right.

  getting called on. There were still fifty-three minutes left in the King George III had received the Declaration of Independence. I class and only about twenty students.

  knew that. I just had to focus. I took a deep breath, glad that I hadn’t

  “Miss . . . Brennan.”

  been chosen as the first victim. On the blackboard Mr. Barber

  Oh, God.

  wrote a big A and B with bright yellow chalk. Under the B he added

  “Yes?”

  a point.

  My mouth was entirely dry.

  “Next. Mr. Simmons,” Mr. Barber said.

  “I see you’re new here,” he said with a smirk, looking up from

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  his ledger. Every person in the room turned to look at me. Thanks.

  Mr. Barber was incredulous. He took a few steps forward and

  Thanks a lot.

  crossed his arms over his chest. “I believe the question was fair,

  “Yes,” I managed to say.

  Miss Brennan.”

  “I’ll give you an easy one, then,” Mr. Barber said condescendingly.

  I opened my mouth to respond, but he cut me off.

  I wanted to smack him and thank him at the same time.

  “And why do I believe the question was fair? Because I expect

  Give me something I know. Please just give me something I know.

  my students to think, Miss Brennan,” he said. “I expect them to

  “How many terms did Franklin Delano Roosevelt serve as presi-

  take one moment to consider the options before simply blurting

  dent of the United States?” he asked.

  out the first response that pops into their heads. This is not the Yes!

  set of Jeopardy! , Miss Brennan; this is your education. You should

  “Four,” I said, grinning.

  be more conscientious in the future. Do we understand each

  “I’m sorry. The correct answer is three,” Mr. Barber said.

  other?”

  My eyes and face burned with humiliation even as my brain

  Well. I was officially beaten down. “Ye-yes,” I said, my mouth dry.

  protested. It was four. I knew this. I learned this in eighth grade.

  “I’d like to believe you, Miss Brennan, but perhaps you

  FDR was my favorite president. I loved the New Deal and all the should see me after class so that we can make sure of that fact,”

  acronyms. I memorized them all and aced that quiz. He had served he said.

  four terms.

  I swallowed hard. Tears of embarrassment stung my eyes. Every

  “FDR was elected for a fourth term, but he died while in office single soul in the room was either staring at me or pointedly strug-and therefore did not serve four full terms,” Mr. Barber said.

  gling not to stare at me.

  My entire team groaned as he erased Constance’s one point.

  He wanted to see me after class. My first teacher on my first day Under my skin my blood boiled.

  at the new school that was supposed to change my life wanted to see

  “That’s a trick question,” I blurted.

  me after class. Well, something in my life had changed already. I Mr. Barber froze with his back to us. The students sucked in a

  had never been reprimanded by a teacher before. Ever.

  breath. My body heat was almost unbearable. What had I just done?

  “Okay,” I said.

  “Excuse me?” Mr. Barber said, turning around.

  “Good,” Mr. Barber replied. “Now that we’ve wasted several

  I cleared my throat. “That was a trick question,” I repeated,

  minutes of your classmates’ precious time, perhaps you would allow unwilling to cower. “You didn’t ask how many full terms he served.”

  me to move on.”

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  I felt hot and sick and stupid. I nodded stiffly. It was pretty much all I could do.

  Mr. Barber turned to his next victim and Constance clucked her

  tongue in sympathy.

  Good start, Reed. Really stellar start.

  NO EXCEPTIONS

  I hovered next to Mr. Barber’s desk as he scribbled on a piece of white paper. Everyone avoided eye contact as they filed out of the room, like I was some kind of freak not to be associated with. One class and already I had pegged myself.

  “Mr. Barber—“

  “I know you are there, Miss Brennan. Kindly allow me to finish.”

  My jaw snapped shut. I hated him. Even as I wanted to beg him

  for a second chance. I hadn’t been able to answer a single one of the three questions he had posed to me during his sick little game and I knew he thought I was some little-known breed of moron. But

  what kind of person did that—put students on the wringer on their first day back from summer break? Plus he had humiliated me in

  front of everyone when he knew that I was new here.

  Mr. Barber placed his pen down. He took a long, deliberate sip

  from his coffee cup, then placed that down carefully as well. He was torturing me. He was making me wait here and worry on purpose.

  Finally, slowly, he tore the top sheet from his pad and held it out to me.

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  “Some reading for you,” he said, looking at me over the top of

  None of that.

  his glasses. “I expect you to ca
tch up by the end of this week. You No negativity. No pessimism. I was going to catch up in this

  should know that I don’t take pity on scholarship students. If you do class. I would catch up in everything. Even if I had to work all night, indeed belong here at Easton, you will do the work. No exceptions.”

  every night, I would do whatever it took to stay at Easton. The I took the paper, which trembled in my hand. On it was a list of alternative—going back to Croton a failure and proving my mother’s no less than eight books. I wanted to tell him I didn’t need to read rantings right—was inconceivable.

  all this to catch up. I wanted to tell him that I knew the answers to Instead, I was going to prove to Mr. Barber that he was wrong

  several of his game show questions, but that I had never been good about me. His chagrin would just be an added perk.

  at being put on the spot. I wanted to tell him that his FDR question was a load of shit and that I was fairly certain that he knew it. Most of all, I wanted to tell him that I didn’t want to be an exception.

  But looking into his watery brown eyes, I knew without question that he wouldn’t tolerate me talking back to him again. So all I said was “Thank you.”

  “And I trust that today’s outburst was the last of its kind?” he said.

  “Yes, sir,” I said.

  “Good. You may go.”

  I turned slowly. I could feel him staring at me as I left the room and wondered what he was thinking. I made myself stand up

  straight. I couldn’t let him think he had broken me.

  In the hallway, a couple of girls stood in front of a bulletin board where an orange flyer advertised the Welcome Back Dance, scheduled a few weeks into the semester. I stared at it and wondered if it was even remotely possible that I would be around that long.

  No.

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  Missy groaned as Kiki handed it over. “Your funeral,” Missy

  said.

  Constance pulled her cookie out, bit into it, and smiled at Missy.

  Missy rolled her eyes and turned her back on us to gossip with her FIRST ENCOUNTER

  minions.

  Constance was starting to grow on me.

  “How were the rest of your classes?” she asked sympathetically.

  Translation: “I already know history sucked. Did it get any better?”

  Answer: Definitely not.

  When I returned to the cafeteria, a mere five hours after my first trip

  “Fine,” I said with a quick smile.

  there, my attitude had completely reversed itself. That morning I had Even though my French class had been conducted entirely in