dry I’m not even sure I can speak.
“You just appeared”—she frowns at me over her glasses—
“out of nowhere. We normally don’t even take students mid-semester.”
“It’s hardly mid-semester,” Tyler says. “Midterms aren’t for another few weeks.”
God bless the little POKSI; he’s sticking up for me.
“Okay, well, let’s get you settled, then. Fall semester started three weeks ago. It won’t be easy, trying to catch up, and you’re a junior, so you’ll have to buckle down.” She takes her glasses off and uncoils from her chair. In one hand she cradles a huge coffee cup with the words Born to Party. Forced to Work . She uses it to gesture at a large, imposing oak door down the hall. “That’s the headmaster’s office, Dr. Papadopoulos. He likes to meet all the new boys, so we’ll start there.”
Tyler and I follow her. I notice she has on these beautiful Prada sling-backs in candy apple red. “Cute shoes.”
She looks at me over her shoulder, an incredulous expression on her face. “I’m sorry?”
Cute shoes ?! ! Am I completely brain-dead? What sort of boy meets the school secretary and compliments her pumps? Tyler’s behind me, so I can’t see how he’s taking this, but probably even he knows this isn’t normal.
“I mean, they look new.”
Ms. Honaker’s eyebrows are still akimbo, but she accepts the compliment. “They are, actually. And thank you.” Under her breath she adds, “That’s a new one.”
After a perfunctory knock on the oak door, she swings it open, saying, “Dr. Papadopoulos? We’ve got a new student here. Nat, this is the headmaster.”
I peer around Ms. Honaker at the somber, tastefully furnished office and the man inside. Only his back is visible, but I can see a tall, powerfully built man with the confident, wide-legged stance of a football coach. His hands rest in the pockets of his charcoal gray suit while he stares out the window. He turns his head slightly but doesn’t really look at us. “Hello. Welcome to Underwood. Ms. Honaker will take care of you, I’m sure.”
“Hi, Dr. Papadopoulos,” Tyler says. “I’m showing him around.”
“Excellent, excellent.”
With that, Ms. Honaker shuts the door and bustles back the way we came. Fine by me. The last thing I want is a lot of questions from Dr. Unpronounceable. I’m still pretty freaked out by my “cute shoes” slipup. If I expect to pull this off, I have to get into character and stay there.
Tyler leads me brusquely down the grand stone steps of the main building, back out into the parking lot. It’s still early—my watch says seven forty—but there are quite a few students hanging around in groups, some of them cradling coffee in paper cups, all of them looking crisp and well pressed in their uniforms. I can feel their curious glances, but I’m afraid to make eye contact with anyone. If I see the slightest hint of suspicion in their faces it will totally psyche me out, so I keep my eyes mostly on the ground.
“That was the Hammond House we were just in,” Tyler says brightly. “Most of the classes are in there. We’ll stop by your car and get your bags, then I’ll take you to your dorm and you can change into your uniform.”
“Cool,” I say. “Where do I get my uniform?”
He looks at me. “You mean you don’t have one?”
“Uh, no. Should I?” Scheisse!
“Well, yeah. Most people buy them before their first day.”
Triple scheisse! “I . . . didn’t know that.”
“They are required , you know.” He stops walking, scrunches up his brow at me. “If you don’t mind me asking, what’s your story?”
“Wh-what do you mean?” Oh, God, this is it! He’s totally onto me.
“Why are you starting school so late?”
“Oh! That. My family moved here sort of spur-of-the-moment. Dad got a new job. They heard Underwood’s a lot better than Mountain View High, so . . .”
“Yeah, Mountain View’s pretty scuzzy. You’re more likely to get an STD there
“You just appeared”—she frowns at me over her glasses—
“out of nowhere. We normally don’t even take students mid-semester.”
“It’s hardly mid-semester,” Tyler says. “Midterms aren’t for another few weeks.”
God bless the little POKSI; he’s sticking up for me.
“Okay, well, let’s get you settled, then. Fall semester started three weeks ago. It won’t be easy, trying to catch up, and you’re a junior, so you’ll have to buckle down.” She takes her glasses off and uncoils from her chair. In one hand she cradles a huge coffee cup with the words Born to Party. Forced to Work . She uses it to gesture at a large, imposing oak door down the hall. “That’s the headmaster’s office, Dr. Papadopoulos. He likes to meet all the new boys, so we’ll start there.”
Tyler and I follow her. I notice she has on these beautiful Prada sling-backs in candy apple red. “Cute shoes.”
She looks at me over her shoulder, an incredulous expression on her face. “I’m sorry?”
Cute shoes ?! ! Am I completely brain-dead? What sort of boy meets the school secretary and compliments her pumps? Tyler’s behind me, so I can’t see how he’s taking this, but probably even he knows this isn’t normal.
“I mean, they look new.”
Ms. Honaker’s eyebrows are still akimbo, but she accepts the compliment. “They are, actually. And thank you.” Under her breath she adds, “That’s a new one.”
After a perfunctory knock on the oak door, she swings it open, saying, “Dr. Papadopoulos? We’ve got a new student here. Nat, this is the headmaster.”
I peer around Ms. Honaker at the somber, tastefully furnished office and the man inside. Only his back is visible, but I can see a tall, powerfully built man with the confident, wide-legged stance of a football coach. His hands rest in the pockets of his charcoal gray suit while he stares out the window. He turns his head slightly but doesn’t really look at us. “Hello. Welcome to Underwood. Ms. Honaker will take care of you, I’m sure.”
“Hi, Dr. Papadopoulos,” Tyler says. “I’m showing him around.”
“Excellent, excellent.”
With that, Ms. Honaker shuts the door and bustles back the way we came. Fine by me. The last thing I want is a lot of questions from Dr. Unpronounceable. I’m still pretty freaked out by my “cute shoes” slipup. If I expect to pull this off, I have to get into character and stay there.
Tyler leads me brusquely down the grand stone steps of the main building, back out into the parking lot. It’s still early—my watch says seven forty—but there are quite a few students hanging around in groups, some of them cradling coffee in paper cups, all of them looking crisp and well pressed in their uniforms. I can feel their curious glances, but I’m afraid to make eye contact with anyone. If I see the slightest hint of suspicion in their faces it will totally psyche me out, so I keep my eyes mostly on the ground.
“That was the Hammond House we were just in,” Tyler says brightly. “Most of the classes are in there. We’ll stop by your car and get your bags, then I’ll take you to your dorm and you can change into your uniform.”
“Cool,” I say. “Where do I get my uniform?”
He looks at me. “You mean you don’t have one?”
“Uh, no. Should I?” Scheisse!
“Well, yeah. Most people buy them before their first day.”
Triple scheisse! “I . . . didn’t know that.”
“They are required , you know.” He stops walking, scrunches up his brow at me. “If you don’t mind me asking, what’s your story?”
“Wh-what do you mean?” Oh, God, this is it! He’s totally onto me.
“Why are you starting school so late?”
“Oh! That. My family moved here sort of spur-of-the-moment. Dad got a new job. They heard Underwood’s a lot better than Mountain View High, so . . .”
“Yeah, Mountain View’s pretty scuzzy. You’re more likely to get an STD there
Similar Books
