That was the only good news in my life. On every other front, it felt like I was unraveling, failing as a mother, as an administrator, as a functional human being. Daniel and Margaret knew I was depressed, and they were picking up the slack with Sophia, who’d been staying with them for the past couple of weeks. I felt guilty about that, but it was a lifesaver to come home to an empty house and just be able to collapse, not have to worry about meals or homework or trying to be a good parent.
I didn’t have anything to spare. I woke up tired in the morning, and the feeling never lifted. It was all I could do to drag my body to the places it was required to go, because I was stubborn and didn’t want to admit defeat.
So of course I went to the Welcome Dinner. I didn’t have a choice. I got dressed, trudged out to my car, and drove to the Terminal, the railroad-themed restaurant they’d built in the old Green Meadow train station. And then I summoned everything I had and walked into that banquet room, standing tall and smiling brightly, because I was a leader and needed to act like one.
Kyle Dorfman
Tracy was a few minutes late to the dinner. Marissa had been worried about her—she wouldn’t tell me why—and had asked me to check on her well-being. But Tracy seemed fine to me, standing in the doorway with her usual ramrod posture and that chipper smile on her face. I waved her over and introduced her to Vito.
“Vito, this is Dr. Flick, our Assistant Principal. Tracy, this is Vito Falcone, our guest of honor.”
Vito stood up—he was wearing a silver blazer and an open-collared shirt—and offered his big hand to Tracy. He was bulkier than he’d been in high school, but less imposing somehow—gray at the temples, a little anxious around the eyes.
“Hello, Doctor.”
“One of our two guests of honor,” Tracy corrected me. She nodded at Front Desk Diane, who was sitting in the middle of the long table, next to Charisse Turner, across from Jack Weede and Ricky Pizzoli.
“Of course,” I said. “Props to Diane as well.”
Tracy had to crane her neck to meet Vito’s gaze.
“Thanks so much for joining us,” she said. “You’re such a role model to our students.”
“Tell that to my kids.” Vito smiled sadly. “They’re not too impressed with their dad these days.”
“That’s the way it goes,” I told him. “No man’s a hero in his own house.”
There was an empty seat next to Buzz, and Tracy figured it was hers. She started to pull out the chair, but I stopped her.
“That one’s reserved,” I said. “You’re over here.”
I took her gently by the arm and escorted her to the far end of the table, where Nate and Lily were sitting, along with Lily’s plus one.
“I didn’t realize there was a seating chart,” Tracy muttered.
“There’s not,” I said. “It’s just, Vito has a friend coming, so…”
She shrugged, like it was all the same to her. Then she smiled gamely and sat down with the kids.
Jack Weede
Diane looked up from her menu.
“Alice didn’t feel like coming?”
“She’s away for the week. Visiting her brother in Vermont.”
“Oh.” She reached for the wine bottle. “Good for her.”
She filled her own glass, then offered some to me.
“Not too much,” I said. “Some of us have to work in the morning.”
Diane didn’t have to worry about that. She was taking the day off to prepare for the Induction Ceremony, getting a deluxe spa treatment with her sister—massage, mani-pedi, blowout, facial—the whole nine yards.
“You could always call in sick,” she suggested. “I won’t tell the boss.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” I said. “Maybe I’ll join you at the spa.”
She nodded, as if she was open to that possibility.
“I’m sure you could use a pedicure. No offense, Jack, but your toes were never your best feature.”
I glanced around to see if anyone was eavesdropping, but our neighbors were busy with their own conversations. We were an island unto ourselves.
“I bet yours are still cute, though.” I lowered my voice. “Prettiest ones I ever saw.”
We’d had a whole foot thing for a while. She’d come to school in open-toed shoes every Friday, her toenails painted whatever color I’d requested. I got down on my knees and sucked on them a few times—I enjoyed the earthy, slightly funky taste—but it just made her giggle.
“You should put that in your speech,” she said.
“I did,” I told her. “It’s the whole second paragraph.”
Lily Chu
It was actually kind of fun at the restaurant. Clem and I were holding hands and eating off each other’s plates, and it wasn’t as big a deal as I thought it would be. Nate was surprised at first, but he was cool about it, and the adults pretended not to notice.
It was such a relief, after all the playacting at my house. We were being super cautious around my parents, making it very clear that we were just friends-from-camp, sleeping in separate rooms, keeping some space between us when we sat on the couch. Even so, I could tell my mother was worried—my father was clueless, as usual—probably just from the way Clem kept looking at me, like I was the best movie ever, and they didn’t want to miss a second of it.
Kyle Dorfman
Vito had been fine when I picked him up at the airport, and he was still in a good mood when I’d left him in the guest house. Something must have happened after that, though, because he seemed moody and distracted in the restaurant, almost to the point of being rude.
“Who’s better?” Ricky asked him. “Brady or Manning? In your personal opinion.”
Vito grimaced, like the question caused him pain.
“I’m talking about Peyton,” Ricky said, in case there’d been some confusion. “Not Eli. I mean, that goes without saying, but—”
“Brady.” Vito spoke the name through gritted teeth, then reached up and tugged on his earlobe, really hard, almost like he was trying to yank it off his head. “Oh, fuck.”
“You okay?” I asked.
“Just a headache,” he muttered. “I get them sometimes.”
“You need a Tylenol?”
“I already took some. They don’t always work.”
“Is it a migraine?” Charisse asked.
“Nope.” Vito winced again. “I just played a little too much football.”
He pressed his fingers to his temples, like a psychic communing with the dead. I was about to ask him if he wanted to go back to the guest house and lie down, but I didn’t get a chance, because right then, Larry Holleran burst into the room with his arms spread wide, like he wanted to embrace the world.
“Hot damn,” he said. “You are a bunch of good-looking people!”
Tracy Flick
I’d had a bad feeling the minute I walked into that room. Kyle was nervous and wouldn’t meet my eyes. Buzz looked even more smug than he had at our interview. I didn’t understand why Charisse Turner and Ricky Pizzoli were even there—they had nothing to do with the Hall of Fame—and I couldn’t ask anyone, because I’d been exiled to the Siberian end of the table, as far from the action as I could get.