Chapter 1 #2
She doesn’t know you’re supposed to come to the counter.
But I decide not to make this an issue. I’ll have to take their order either way.
I grab a couple menus and walk over slowly.
He probably doesn’t even remember me. After all, we’ve only spoken to each other once before.
We must have been ten years old at the time.
Mom told me to stay in the break room, but I went exploring instead.
He was the only boy in the pool. I was standing by the edge of the water when he swam up to me.
“Are you swimming, too?”
I shook my head. “I’m not allowed.”
“How come?”
“Because I’m not a guest here.”
“Oh. So why are you at the hotel?”
“My mom cleans the rooms.”
He didn’t say anything after this. It was as if I had spoken another language. So I just turned around and headed back inside.
Now here we are years later, with me handing him the weekly specials. Judging from the duffel bag under the table, he must play a sport or something. For some reason, Dalton stares at me longer than the others. His eyes slightly widen when he says, “Hey.”
So he remembers me, too.
“Hey,” I say back.
The girl beside him makes a face. “You know him?”
“Yeah. Sort of.” Dalton looks at me again. His eyes are as blue as I remember. “I didn’t know you work here.”
“Just started a few weeks ago.” I point at the blue shield on his sweatshirt. “You go to Bucknall, too. I just transferred there.”
“You go to Bucknall?”
I can’t blame him for being surprised. It’s one of the most expensive prep schools on the East Coast. Reserved for heirs of hotels, not the son of the housekeeper.
Thankfully, he doesn’t question how exactly I’m paying for it.
We chat about the classes we’re in for a second.
Then I take everyone’s order and head back to the kitchen.
No one really acknowledges me after I bring out the food. Not that I’m expecting a conversation. Maybe they’ll treat me differently when they see me in the same uniform. Before they split the bill, I bring over some dessert and say it’s on the house. But Dalton is the only one who thanks me.
“I’ll see you around,” he says before leaving.
“Yeah, see you.”
I watch him disappear through the door with the others.
Dalton Claremont.
I never thought we’d see each other again. At least he was being friendly. Maybe he and I could become friends this time. Especially since we go to the same high school now.
It turns out Dalton is captain of the crew team.
His name was announced over the intercom before the race this morning.
I haven’t seen him around much, but I find his social media and look him up in the school’s directory.
He also plays varsity tennis and ice hockey and is a member of the student council.
You learn quickly that it’s not enough just to go to school here.
It seems everyone’s in five different clubs and plays at least one instrument proficiently.
I spend the first month trying to get involved around campus.
I apply for the Honor Society and join the multicultural club.
I would consider playing a sport if it wasn’t for my work schedule.
I have to close the café twice a week and open on Saturdays.
Maybe I signed up for too many AP classes, because I find myself studying until two in the morning.
But I’ve always pushed myself academically.
Despite some lines under my eyes, I finish with all A’s and one A minus in Spanish. I know Mom would have been proud of me.
To my surprise, Dalton and I take the same class next semester.
He’s sitting in the second row with one of his friends.
We’ve only said hi a couple times in the hallways.
But he smiles at me when I enter the room.
It would probably be weird if I sat right next to him.
So I just wave and take a seat two rows behind him.
His blond hair has grown out over the break, curling down his neck.
I’m usually good at focusing in class, but I find myself staring at him when I should be taking notes instead.
The bell eventually rings. I think about striking up a conversation, but someone else gets to him first. I don’t want it to seem like I’m waiting for him. I just move along and head to my next class. Dalton is already popular at school, so he doesn’t need another friend like me anyway.
A few weeks later, Dalton and I are assigned to a class project together. Mr. Frank calls out random names by two and has us sit together for the rest of class. It’s strange being this close to each other. I sense Dalton looking at me. Then he leans over, sliding his phone across the table.
“Let’s exchange numbers.”
“Yeah, sure.”
My heart flutters a little. This could be our chance to get to know each other.
Of course he has the latest phone model.
Meanwhile, my screen is cracked from dropping it on the subway a few years ago.
Something I learned over the years is that a new phone isn’t an indicator of wealth, but an old phone is an indicator of being poor.
So I keep mine in my pocket while we share our schedules.
Dalton has practice every day, but we manage to find time later that week.
I get a rush of excitement when he texts me his location.
I quickly remind myself this is just for an assignment.
He’s wearing a white compression shirt when I meet him at the library.
He’s definitely grown since my days of seeing him around the hotel.
I’m sure he gets a lot of attention at practice.
We find a table in the corner and open our history books. The project involves choosing a country during the 1700s and writing a paper that we have to present to the class. We decide on Spain and read over the rubric together. Dalton leans back in his chair, biting the end of his pencil.
“It’s not exactly the pool, huh?” he sighs.
“What?”
Dalton smiles. “Where we first met. Unless you . . . forgot.”
I can’t believe he remembers that. I smile back and say, “It might ring a bell.”
“How are you liking Bucknall so far?”
“It’s really nice. But I’m still getting used to the uniform. It kind of robs us of our individuality, don’t you think?”
“Maybe that’s the point,” he says in a whisper. “At least we don’t have to decide what to wear in the morning.”
This makes me laugh a little. We start on the assignment together.
I usually hate group projects, but this is my chance to impress him.
I collected maps as a kid, so history is one of my favorite subjects.
I figure his focus on sports might take away from schoolwork.
But I’m surprised at how much he knows, too.
He’s done all the readings and got an A on our last two quizzes.
How does he find the time for everything?
Eventually, Dalton has to leave for practice. We split the work evenly and agree to meet again next week.
Turns out Dalton has his own private tutor.
It makes sense after learning we have the same grade point average.
He also gets help from his parents, who hold advanced degrees from Princeton, where he wants to go after high school.
He’s already toured the college twice and had dinner with the dean of undergraduate students.
I don’t tell him that’s one of my dream schools, too. The more students I meet at Bucknall, the further away that dream feels. Half already have internships and their own stock portfolios. I use this as motivation to focus on my studies.
Dalton and I present our project on Monday.
We receive a ninety-four and celebrate with a protein bar he splits with me afterward.
I’m a little bummed that we won’t have to work together anymore.
It’s been nice spending some time together these past few weeks.
At least we still text here and there, even if it’s just about the homework that’s due.
Then one day Dalton invites me to a party he’s hosting.
He sends me a link with his address. Dalton lives in the historic district, between Livingston Avenue and Morris Street.
I’ve always wondered about the families who live there.
The party is this Saturday. I’m supposed to be working the café, but I find someone to cover for me.
Sadly, I don’t have anything nice to wear.
I’ve been saving for a new phone, so I haven’t bought any new clothes in a while.
I head to a few thrift stores before the party and put together an outfit.
Then I grab my bike and make my way over.
Somehow, his place is even bigger than I expected.
It’s a two-story colonial home with four columns that hold up the portico.
There are several cars parked in the driveway, which hopefully means I’m at the right place.
The sweater I got is a little scratchy against my skin.
I probably should have worn a shirt beneath it.
But it’s too late to go back now. I leave my bike on the sidewalk and head up the lawn.
Sounds like there are a lot of people here already.
I’m sure most of them have known each other for years.
I’ll have to introduce myself as the new kid from Trenton who moved here after his mom died.
I’ll probably leave that last part out. I hesitate at the door for a moment.
What if I don’t have anything in common with anybody?
It’s not like I grew up fencing and playing the cello on the weekends.
Maybe I should just turn around and go home. I have a lot of readings I’m behind on.