Echo Bridge

Chapter 11

On Monday after the dance, Hugh wasn't in school, though the grapevine was buzzing with news: he was fine and would have a hearing with the disciplinary committee on Tuesday. Those were closed-door meetings, with parents, Farnsworth, and the two senior faculty members (Mr. Churchill, who appropriately taught European history, and Ms. McGovern, who taught Latin). In Hugh's case, Coach Jessup would probably be in attendance, but we didn't have public disciplinary hearings like in Scent of a Woman (Al Pacino's single Oscar win). Nonetheless, the tension was palpable in the halls between classes, and knots of students whispered on the landings of the stairwells. Everyone was dividing up loyalties among the various theories of what had happened, guessing at what the disciplinary committee's ruling would be. By lunchtime I'd heard that a junior named Rory Swanson had started taking bets on whether Hugh's sentence would be detention, suspension, or expulsion.

I sat in Thistleton Hall, nibbling a bagel, listening to Melissa and Hilary chatter. They were high on all the drama. Ted sat next to me with an arm around my shoulders. I still felt a little strange when I thought about the strip tease in his living room—it wasn't exactly how I'd have scripted the scene. But he'd been so gentle on the couch, as if he'd known that I needed him to be as different from Hugh as possible, and it was easy to forget my unsettled feelings about a little dance. And since that night, he'd been so affectionate, almost needy. It felt good. Even if I knew, deep down, that it was his concern for Hugh motherfucking Marsden that was causing Ted to cling to me.

"I wouldn't be surprised," Melissa said lightly, "if he had some ecstasy he was saving for later, and he just took it by accident, thinking it was a breath mint or something. I mean, Hugh has never been the sharpest guy."

"Shut up, Melissa," Ted said. His arm tightened around my shoulders. "You're not exactly a National Merit Scholar yourself."

"Suck it, Parker," snapped Melissa.

"God, both of you, chill. We're all worried about him, okay?" Hilary snapped her gum.

"Yeah, well," Ted muttered. I saw his eyes lock onto something across the room. "Most of us, anyway. I'll be right back." He pushed up off the bench.

In the sophomores' alcove, I noticed Molly Winslow, who wore a grave expression and was surrounded by a flock of girls, the kind who act all concerned and sympathetic in order to worm their way into the center of whatever scandal is the most interesting that week. Molly was a natural drama queen, which, as an actress, actually made me like her more, in spite of the fact that Hugh was her current inspiration. I dropped my head back against the paneled wall behind me and wondered what we'd do if Molly kept dating him even after he got kicked out of Country Day.

"Oh, crap, Court!" Melissa clutched my wrist. I snapped out of my reverie and followed her gaze to the juniors' alcove: Ted had a guy pinned up against the side of the fireplace, with Jake Hobart standing behind him for back up. I assumed this was Rory, the bookie. Everyone in Thistleton Hall was craning to watch the action, although the crowd didn't press too close, and Ted was speaking quietly. Fights did not usually erupt in the halls of Belknap Country Day; our grudges were rarely settled physically, and if they were, it was at a party away from adult interference.

"You're kidding me." I leapt off the bench and pushed through the crowd. "Ted," I said quietly but firmly, stepping up beside Jake. "It's not worth it. Let him go."

Ted had one forearm pressed against Rory's throat, and as I watched, he shifted his muscles just slightly and Rory gasped, his eyes bulging. Rory was an art kid and more fine-boned than Ted, with shaggy black hair that was sticking to the wood paneling with static electricity. If you didn't know the circumstances, the scene would have looked like the worst high school cliché: the big jock busting on the slightly effeminate painter. I cringed.