Under the Same Stars(97)
“Thank you.” I smiled back but felt my cheeks warm. Last week at our all-school meeting, I had been announced as this year’s salutatorian. It was an honor, but I was also dreading it. Because while the valedictorian had the main stage at graduation, the salutatorian spoke at the senior class dinner the night before and was supposed to give a humorous address instead of a serious speech. The goal was to make your fellow alumni-to-be laugh.
I wasn’t exactly known for my stand-up comedy routines.
“Okay, be cool, be cool,” my mom stage-whispered once we’d crossed the covered bridge that led to campus. We slowed our pace to a casual walk. Beautiful brick, clapboard, and cedar-shingled academic buildings and dormitories rose in front of us, and students were everywhere. Some were on their morning runs while others had clearly just rolled out of bed to drag themselves over to the dining hall for breakfast. I overheard a group of girls giggling about their upcoming freshman formal.
“Yeah, Ross asked me last night,” one girl said. “It was super sweet. He asked for help on our math homework, and under the final question, he wrote ‘Will you go to formal with me?’”
“Good for you, Ross,” my mom murmured, smiling. Her students didn’t just talk to her about grammar and The Great Gatsby. She had a way with them, a way that encouraged them to truly open up to her. Insisting they call her by her first name instead of “Ms. Hopper” was always an effective first step. She was a beyond-tough grader, but they adored her.
The freshmen soon noticed us. “Leda, guess what?!” they shrieked, and while she got all the exciting details, I pretended to listen along but really thought back to my own freshman formal. He’d called me, introduced himself as if we weren’t already acquainted, and then asked if I wanted to go with him in a nervous rush of words. “Yes, that would be nice,” I’d replied, and several weeks later, my gold dress had been splashed with salt water and sand by the end of the night. While walking me home, he’d raced me barefoot along the beach and I’d kissed him as soon as he’d caught me up in his arms. His lips had been warm despite the wind. “Tag,” I remembered whispering afterward, my smile so wide. Both of us were breathless.
“You’re it,” he finished for me, then laughed before I kissed him again and took off into the darkness, hoping he would follow.
I wish we could go back, I thought, the words a murmur in my mind. I wish we could go back to the very first night…
“Lily?” I blinked to see my mom looking at me. The freshmen were gone; they must’ve migrated toward the dining hall, but we hadn’t strayed from our route to the historic Hubbard Hall. My mom held the door open and ruffled my hair as I walked through it.
With soaring white columns, distinguished brick chimneys, and innumerable windows, Hubbard Hall looked like a mansion that once belonged to the last great American dynasty. It had a rooftop balcony and housed the Alumni Relations, Financial Aid, and College Counseling departments on the upper floors, but Ames’s student center ruled the ground floor. Leather couches and wing-backed armchairs and an array of Persian rugs created a lounge-like lobby, and every time you looked at the cream walls, you noticed something new. There was a rotating gallery of student artwork and Ames memorabilia from the library’s archives: old newspaper articles, photographs, and even antique school flags.
Beyond the lounge, the hall’s huge limestone fireplace was flanked by built-in bookcases and study nooks. To the left were the newspaper and yearbook offices and the mail room, and to the right was what everyone simply called “the Hub.” The little restaurant was the student center’s main attraction. Vintage nautical lanterns hung over each booth, and the white beadboard walls held an impressive collection of black-and-white photos featuring generations of fishermen showing off their catches.
Oh, and the mouthwatering diner food. Everyone was always trying to squeeze in a quick bite between classes or during their free periods.
But only seniors and faculty were allowed to eat breakfast here. We pushed through the door to find the place packed. “Well, it’s a good thing I made special arrangements,” my mom said, leading me to a table in the back. I’d wager it was only empty because of a folded piece of paper that read, RESERVED!
My mother plucked it off the warm wooden table and slipped it in her tote bag, but the Hub’s head honcho was on us the second we got comfortable in our teak chairs. “Reservations are not allowed,” Josh said, all deadpan with a pencil tucked behind his ear.
“I will have cinnamon roll pancakes,” my mother replied brightly. “Please do not skimp on the vanilla frosting.”
Josh gave her a look. “Leda.”
She tilted her head and smiled. “Josh.”
I glanced around the Hub, not interested in listening to my mother and her boyfriend flirt today. It would sound like bickering to anyone else, but Leda was the ray of sunshine to Josh’s seriousness. Any true romantic would agree that they were a perfect match.
Half the boys’ lacrosse team had jammed themselves into a booth and were rehashing their recent playoff loss, cradling invisible balls in their invisible sticks. At the next table over, Zoe Wright caught my eye and threw up her arms. You lost! she mouthed. Get over it!
I smiled and shook my head, then spotted Tag Swell and Alex Nguyen sitting together at the counter. Alex was talking a mile a minute and taking colossal bites of his waffles while Tag strategically squirted ketchup all over his scrambled eggs.