Martin Hartman stood up from the couch and squared his shoulders. His expression said that he had endured about enough of this bullshit, thank you very much. He was still the man around this place, and that still counted for something. No bitch was going to throw him out of his own home, daughter or not. “I’m going nowhere, understand that? Absolutely fucking nowhere.” His thick arms, still hard with muscle after all these years, flexed beneath his shirt. He took a step toward her.
Melissa didn’t move. “I called the police three minutes ago, Dad. When I was upstairs. They’re on their way now, but if you’re gone when they arrive, I don’t think they’ll bother arresting you.”
Martin’s eyes goggled. “Arrest me? Arrest me?” He shook his head quickly, as if he had the shivers from eating something spoiled. “I’m your father, Melissa. Your FATHER, get it?”
Melissa smiled. “You remembered my name, Dad. That’s good.” She looked out the front window, as if watching for someone. “Don’t come back, okay? They’re going to change the locks, and the real estate agent will have you thrown in jail if he finds you here.” She picked up her suitcase. “Good luck.”
Martin didn’t move. He was frozen to the spot. His face trembled with rage. “And just where the fuck do you think you’re going?”
She turned her back on him. “College, Dad. Dartmouth College.”
“Oh, that’s perfect,” Martin said. The door closed, and he was left standing alone in the room. He could hear the sound of an approaching siren. “That’s just jack-piss perfect!” He hurled his almost-empty beer bottle at the door, and it shattered into a hundred caramel-colored pieces. “You’re a mistake!” he shouted. He walked to the door and threw it open. “You’re nothing but a big, shit-covered MISTAKE!”
A cab was waiting at the curb. Melissa put her suitcase in the trunk, then paused briefly before getting into the backseat. She spared one last look for the house and her father.
“Okay, Dad,” she said. She gave him a little wave. “Bye, Dad.”
The cab pulled away.
Students
1
Lea Redford had known she was going to Dartmouth since the age of nine.
Both of Lea’s parents were ecstatic when she was born. They had been told they might not be able to have children in the first place, so Lea had always been their little miracle. No one ever called her a mistake. Growing up, Lea’s responsibilities at home were limited to making her own bed each morning and taking out the trash on Tuesday nights. Lea’s father didn’t drink, except for maybe half a beer on New Year’s. Her mother was seldom sick, and she didn’t usually cry unless something sad or painful happened.
If Melissa Hartman had known Lea before college, she would not have recognized such a life as anything close to normal.
Charmed was more like it.
Lea adjusted her glasses and checked her hair. She told her parents to wait in the minivan. Tom and Mary Redford exchanged a look and a smile, but they didn’t protest.
“We’ll be right here,” her father said, hands on the wheel.
“Don’t be afraid to introduce yourself in line,” her mother added.
Lea rolled her eyes and hopped out. Parkhurst Hall was about fifty yards away, just across the main quad. Other students were cutting across the green as well, all of them converging on the same building. Most of them, Lea saw, had left cars and parents waiting in the street, exactly as she had. Some had probably made their parents park two or even three streets away, so that it would appear as though they were already on their own.
Time for a new life, Lea thought, quickening her pace.
The wait inside was long, but no one seemed to mind. Lea was in heaven. She felt surrounded by smart, motivated people, and every one of them seemed open to meeting… everyone. She could see it on their faces, the way they were all nodding and smiling at one another. That tall boy there: his body posture was open and relaxed. And that small, energetic-looking girl just ahead: her expression was unabashedly friendly. There was not a clique to be found.
Good.
Forty-five minutes later, Lea walked back across the green towards her parents and the family Windstar. She was giddy from the sheer potential of the place. An Ivy League college. Freshman year.
There was a girl walking towards Lea on the path. Another freshman, she supposed, since upperclassman registration was not until tomorrow. But this girl didn’t look like a freshman. She looked older. As though she had experienced things. Life things. There was real confidence in her walk.
Physically, the girl reminded Lea of some of the popular girls at her old high school, at least in the superficial, boy-obvious ways: tall, gorgeous, built like a swimsuit model… all of it. Then again, this girl was nothing like that, somehow. Her eyes had more behind them. Much more. And there was none of the jittery excitement that had been so clear in the other freshmen’s faces. In fact, she looked almost sad.
Unlike the other students streaming towards Parkhurst Hall, this girl was carrying a suitcase. One suitcase. As if she had arrived for her first day of college on a bus. But no, that was impossible. Her parents had to be around here somewhere.
The girl slowed slightly as she neared Lea, and her eyes brightened a little. But Lea put her head down and quickened her pace.
As soon as she was past, Lea regretted it. The girl wasn’t from her old high school, after all. And she had been giving Lea an obvious “hey-what’s-up” look. Lea could have read that expression almost with her eyes closed. Still, she hadn’t been able to pick her head up and say hello. She had been frozen, somehow. Or maybe she had been misreading the situation. Because the girl wasn’t a freshman at all, but some world-weary senior who would never bother chatting with a wet-eyed first-year.
That’s not true. I was just scared, that’s all.
Lea wondered what she must have looked like to such a girl. Inconsequential, probably. Thin, geeky, and irrelevant.
She kept walking, and focused on getting to her parents’ Windstar. It didn’t matter, she told herself. That girl wouldn’t have any trouble meeting people. The whole campus would want to get to know her. No one looking like that would care weather or not Lea Redford paid her any mind.
Even from a distance, Lea found Melissa Hartman intimidating.
She reached the minivan. Before opening the door, Lea turned and looked back along the path. The gorgeous girl with the suitcase had climbed the short flight of stairs at Parkhurst Hall, and was heading inside. She really was a freshman, then.
Lea wondered what the other students in the registration line would make of her.
“All set?” asked her father, as she stepped into the Windstar.
“Yes.”
“Meet some cute boys?” asked her mother.
Lea rolled her eyes.
Melissa saw that there would be a long wait in Parkhurst Hall, and she put down her heavy suitcase with a sigh of relief.
She noticed, as Lea Redford had before her, that the atmosphere in the building was festive. As if this were a dorm party rather than a registration line. She could smell freshly applied makeup, deodorant, perfume, and even some cologne. Underneath those, there were more subtle scents: the warmth of hot breath from small-talk, the cool sweat of excited eighteen-year-olds meeting each other for the first time.
Melissa Hartman saw the world with her remarkable nose.
The line continued growing behind her, and new conversations filled the space like water from a hydrant. The two girls ahead of her had already begun talking like old friends – it sounded as though they happened to be from the same town in Connecticut – so she turned around, in search of new acquaintances.
The boy behind Melissa was already occupied. He had seen her walking a few steps ahead of him as he entered the building, and he had felt his chest tighten up. He had hoped he would run into girls like this at college, but he hadn’t expected to be standing right next to one in line. Not on the first day. He didn’t have a social routine rea
dy for someone like this. She probably wasn’t even a freshman. Couldn’t be. She was too beautiful.
So before Melissa could turn around, the boy panicked. A little. There was a short, plump girl behind him who looked friendly. He turned to her quickly and asked what dorm she was in. The girl looked surprised.
“Me?”
“Absolutely, you. My room’s in Ripley, across from the gym. I’m Nick. What’s your name?”
“Jennifer.”
“So what’s up, Jennifer?”
Jennifer looked puzzled by the question, or maybe by Nick’s unsolicited enthusiasm, but she responded gamely. “Um. This is a long line.”
“Damn right it is!” Nick was relieved. He was having an animated conversation within sight of the hot girl. He would, therefore, be able to talk to her later without fear of being judged a loser on sight. You couldn’t just approach a girl who looked like that. She would eat you for lunch. And then you’d be finished. Your request would be officially denied, and you’d never be able to talk to her again. Not until you had won some sort of statewide sporting event. Or been nominated for a cabinet position. Or something.
Melissa Hartman looked hopefully past the couples immediately behind and ahead of her, searching for someone to talk to. But no. Everyone seemed to have found a friend instantly, and there was no room for interlopers. She adjusted her heavy Samsonite bag, which was wide and tall enough to make a passable chair, and she sat down. She glanced at her watch.
Every few minutes, the line shifted forward. Melissa moved her suitcase when this happened, and then she sat down again. She kept her eyes and ears open, in case there might be a pause in the chatter around her.
In the thirty-five minutes it took for the line to work its way up the stairs and through the hall to the registration table, no one dared speak to the gorgeous girl with the strong eyes and the big suitcase.
Surrounded by her future classmates, Melissa Harman waited alone.
2
Jason Bell, former starting left wing on the Dartmouth Hockey squad, opened the calculus book without much hope. The book’s cover had a large picture of an airplane on it. There were streams of red and yellow-tinted gas flowing around the wings, as if the plane were flying through a rainbow. Jason had failed calculus last year, and he couldn’t remember seeing any problem sets about planes and rainbows. Not that he had actually attempted the homework. He had been too busy training. And skating. And getting ready for the NHL.
But all those things were finished now. One blind-side hit on the ice, one perfectly placed knock to the head – and he was through.
He did remember being capable in math once. Long ago. When he was in fifth grade. There had been some tricks with fractions that he had learned to do well. And the teacher, Mrs. Hawes, had told him he was the only student who remembered all the formulas she put on the board.
Well, of course he remembered the formulas. He remembered almost everything. But that was before his hockey career started to pick up. In sixth grade his mother had entered him into the club leagues. Because the school athletic program wasn’t giving him enough chances to shine, she said.
And so math was pushed aside. Along with all his other subjects. He had passed his high school courses, but that was high school. He was able to memorize everything the night before the tests and squeeze by. College was different. Calculus was different. There were things in calculus that had to be studied. Understood.
Learned.
While he was in the hospital, recovering from the concussion in his head and the hairline fracture in his neck, his mother told the doctor that he couldn’t learn anything new. Not now. “You’ve got to fix him,” she hissed.
“He’s had too many concussions, Mrs. Bell. It wouldn’t be a good idea – ”
“It’s Ms. Bell, and I’m not interested in your opinion. Your job is healing, not career advice.”
“Perhaps we should have this conversation in another room…”
“Oh, he can’t hear us,” she said dismissively. Nevertheless, she began whispering: “He’s been out for hours.”
But that wasn’t true. Jason could hear everything his mother was saying.
“He’s useless without hockey,” she whispered, her frustration giving way to worry. “What will he do?”
Now, in his dorm room, Jason frowned and bent his head over the book. The position made the pain in his still-healing neck bones flair up, but he didn’t care.
It was the first official day of classes. Jason sat in the second row and wrote down everything Professor Braden said. Everything that he put up on the board. Jason had questions – so many questions – but the professor did not pause during the hour-long class. Jason looked behind him once, at the endless rows of seats in the lecture hall, and saw only scribbling hands and shining eyeglasses. No confused faces. No expressions of dismay. Apparently he was the only one having difficulty.
“Assignments are on the syllabus I gave you,” Professor Braden said, wrapping up. “Homework number one is due Tuesday. We have a T.A. – Lea, could you stand up? – who will be available for tutoring tonight from seven to eight.”
The girl at the end of Jason’s row stood and faced the class. She looked so young, Jason thought.
How can she be the teacher’s assistant?
“Could I have a show of hands?” the girl called out. Her voice was surprisingly strong. “I know it’s only the first night. Is anyone planning on coming for extra help?”
Jason held his hand up high.
The girl scanned the hall. Jason cleared his throat, and she turned and saw him. She looked annoyed. Jason smiled sheepishly, but the girl continued frowning. Behind her glasses, her eyes were cold.
She looks like the smartest girl on the planet, Jason thought. And she looks mean.
“You’re late.”
Jason hurried into the now-empty lecture hall and unzipped his backpack. “Sorry. I was doing some reading for History, but I forgot that I was supposed to – ”
“What’s confusing you?”
Jason hesitated. “What?”
Lea Redford took off her glasses slowly. She was pretty, Jason saw with some surprise. Thin, yes. And young. And clearly not nice. But very pretty. “What’s confusing you about math?” she said. “That’s why you’re here, right?”
“Right. Yes. Um.” Jason opened his notes from the day’s lecture and flipped through the pages. “Oh, here.” He pointed to his notebook. “Limits.”
“Fine. One problem in particular, or the whole concept?”
“Uh, both. I think.”
The girl sighed and stood up. She took a piece of chalk and went to the board. “What’s your name?”
“Jason.”
“Okay, Jason. I’m Lea. Let’s talk about limits.” She began to write.
He sat down in the first row and watched her.
An hour had passed, and Lea Redford’s expression had not thawed. She put the chalk down on the desk and stared at the big kid sitting in front of her. He was bent over his notebook, writing.
Lea had wanted to go out tonight. She had been thinking about investigating frat row. But instead she was stuck here, teaching first year calc to some underachieving junior.
At least he’s trying, she thought.
Yes, he was. Trying hard. If she hadn’t been so annoyed about the wasted time, Lea might have thought he was cute. Clearly nothing but a jock, but still cute. It was endearing, somehow, the way he kept insisting that he couldn’t learn this stuff. Actually, he was doing fine. And he had been scribbling in that notebook without a break for over an hour.
“Okay, wait a minute,” Lea said. “Stop. Come over here.”
Jason held up his hand while he finished writing something. Then he got out of his chair and walked to the board. “It’s still weird…” he began.
“Be quiet and listen.”
Jason stopped and looked at her. She didn’t seem angry anymore.
He’s a big one, Lea thought. Str
ong.
“Do you understand this?” she said, pointing to a spot on the board.
Jason nodded. “Sure.”
“And this?”
“Definitely.”
“Good. And this over here?”
Jason considered. “Um. Yes. That’s okay, too.”
Lea threw up her hands. “Then we’re done. You understand limits.”
Jason shook his head. “No, no. I don’t pick up new ideas well, and – ”
Lea Redford snorted. It was a sudden, involuntary reaction, and it startled both of them. Jason looked uncertainly at her. Lea smiled for the first time. “Jason, that’s not true. You pick up new ideas perfectly well. Limits are the basis of calculus, and you obviously understand the concept.” She grabbed her backpack and threw it around her shoulders. She looked at him seriously, like a coach giving a pep talk. It was a look Jason had seen before, but never from a girl. “You’re smart,” she said. Her voice was stern. “And you learn quickly. Come to class. Do the homework. You’ll be fine.”
Jason felt like laughing. This pretty girl with the amazing brain had told him that he would be fine. That he was smart. And that he learned things quickly.
She turned and left him there, standing by the blackboard. He watched her go, and he didn’t return to his seat until she was out of sight.
3
Garrett Lemke’s first day as a Dartmouth senior did not go the way he had planned it. He did avoid running into his ex-girlfriend, but that small piece of luck was the one bright spot in an otherwise abysmal afternoon. Everything was awful. He was awful. It wasn’t just the headaches; there was something unbalanced, something wrong with him. His rhythm was off.
Way off.
A friend on the football team had given him a half-full bottle of Tylenol codeine caplets for his head. He gulped down a few that morning, and in half an hour the pain at the base of his skull had retreated slightly, to a level that was just bearable.
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