Chapter Nine
“Are you not getting anything?” I asked, reluctant to be the only one to load up my plate.
“Oh, I already ate.” Had the guy not heard of a snack?
As we sat down, I noticed the dining hall was practically empty; most students had moved into the full swing of their days.
A few kids stuffed fruit and cereal boxes into their bags, hoarding snacks for between classes.
When Porter had devoured his second breakfast in eight bites and one big chug of his juice glass, I suddenly felt self-conscious that there was somewhere else he might want to be, like in the library, studying or hanging out with his friends rather than keeping me company while I ate.
“I grew up on a farm in South Carolina, so I eat early.” True to his word, once Porter had wiped his mouth before I had even had three sips of coffee, he started digging into his backpack to pull out our assigned reading.
“I had chores to do before school, so I guess I’m a practiced sun-riser and fast eater.
” He retrieved a flagged and annotated volume of Plato and grinned like he’d harvested gold.
“Chores like what?” I asked, biting into my egg sandwich.
He gave me a look of confusion when I asked yet another question rather than reaching for my matching copy.
Porter hesitantly put the book down next to him on the long oak table.
He rested his right hand on top of the cover, ready to read at a moment’s notice.
“Mornings are the best time to set fence posts. Gets too hot later on.” Porter’s viselike grip when taking notes must have come from the daily work he grew up doing that I’d only ever seen on episodes about rural America on CBS News Sunday Morning with Charles Kuralt, which my parents religiously watched.
“So tell me what happens on the Beaumont farm,” I toss out flirtatiously, flipping my thick chestnut-brown hair behind my shoulders to show off my neck.
“We grow things.” This guy was making me work for every word of this conversation.
“I assumed as much. Like, what things do you grow?” I sensed Porter wince as he shifted his body on the hard bench.
I thought I was merely making small talk, but I may have leaned too far into personal territory too soon for this reserved mountain of a man.
I rolled my lips in on each other to keep myself quiet, hoping I hadn’t blown it.
“Soybeans and corn, mostly. Some peanuts. Used to be cotton a long time ago,” Porter said with a slight dare in his glance at me. I was smart enough to keep quiet. “Where I grew up, we are kind of known to have the sweetest corn.”
“And what do you like to do when you’re not working on your family’s farm?”
“Read, mostly.” There was no way this guy had that body by reading mostly. Plus, being well read described pretty much every student at Princeton, so there had to be more to the Porter Beaumont résumé.
“That’s all?”
“I’m also good at football.” Porter sheepishly smiled at me, clearly understanding what I was wondering and would never ask. When you are one of the chosen few to make it to Princeton, everyone wants to know how you got it done and how you stack up compared to them.
“I’ve been to a few football parties with Charles Street; I don’t think I’ve seen you.”
“Charles Street’s a good dude.” Porter tells me what I already know. “I show up occasionally with my teammates, but I usually don’t stay too long.” With his hand still resting on Plato, it’s not hard to guess what Porter would rather be doing than drinking crappy beer.
“A farm boy from South Carolina who loves literature and plays football. That’s not your average Ivy League story. You must be talented.”
“I’m okay, I guess.” Porter bit his lower lip and diverted his eyes from me to gazing around the dining hall, like he was embarrassed to divulge his skills, or ready to be done with our conversation.
“Being okay and being modest are two things that do not get you into Princeton. Have you met most of the students here?” I laughed and circled my left arm around to indicate our surroundings, wanting to refocus Porter on our conversation. “I’m sure there’s more to your story.”
Porter looked back at me with his previous intensity from the classroom, mixed with soulful confidence. “I also got a perfect score on the SAT.”