They Wish They Were Us(76)
“Oh, Jill. Un instant, s’il vous pla?t.” Madame Mathias stretches her head up from her turtleneck, even though it’s springtime and her classroom is about one million degrees. “Headmaster Weingarten would like to see you in his office.” The lines around the edges of her mouth deepen as she speaks. “Au revoir!”
This can’t be good. My backpack suddenly weighs a ton and my stomach sinks. I trudge toward Weingarten’s office, with its dark cherrywood doorframe and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. The waiting area smells like varnish and mint, as if this place is greased down at the end of every day. I sink into a thick wood chair in front of his secretary, Mrs. Oerman.
She looks up, her round gray eyes and a matching bob giving her a grandmotherly air. Her jaw trembles as she acknowledges me. “Miss Newman, of course. He’s expecting you.”
I’ve only been in Headmaster Weingarten’s office one other time, the first day back after Shaila died. It was the last day of school, so humid and sticky that my skirt stuck to the back of my thighs even when I walked. I felt like a dog, sweating in the heat. He had summoned me, Nikki, and Marla into his chambers and sat in a circle with us, bringing his chair out from behind his desk.
“Girls,” he said. “Your time at Gold Coast will never be the same.” He was blunt but kind, which was actually sort of refreshing. Everyone else treated us like we were made of glass. The other teachers would barely look at us, just offer tepid shoulder squeezes, knowing head tilts, and sad, sleepy eyes. Those poor girls.
Nikki started crying and wiped her snot on the back of her sleeve, leaving a neon green trail slithering up her wrist. Marla clasped her hands together and her shoulders heaved up and down. I wondered just for a second if he knew what had happened to us, not Shaila. If he would bring it up, and if he did, how would we respond?
But then Weingarten spoke.
“I had a friend die when I was about your age,” he said. “A boating accident in Connecticut. Connor Krauss.”
I stared at the crystal-blue centers of his eyes. They looked warm and generous.
“It was the single most important event of my young life,” he continued. “It shaped me in every way. His death taught me that life is short and every moment is important, worth it.” He held his fist up for emphasis. “I learned to love fiercely and use my time wisely. I wished more than anything that he had stayed alive, but I would not be who I am without that loss.” Weingarten looked at all of us intently, his focus jumping from Marla to Nikki to me. “This will mark you. Shaila’s absence will change you. But it does not have to define you. Do not let it.”
The whole meeting was about ten minutes, just enough time to show he cared, but not enough time to ask too many questions or uproot real issues. He didn’t ask about why we were all together that night, or what had happened just before. He didn’t want to know.
After that he let us go back to our homerooms, where we packed up our stuff and left Gold Coast Prep for three months.
I forgot all about that meeting until today. Nikki, Marla, and I never spoke about it. I don’t even know if Quentin, Henry, and Robert had one, or if they did, why Weingarten chose to separate us by gender.
Now I wonder what version of Weingarten I will find. The intimate one who spoke to us then. The formal one who addresses the school every week in Monday morning assembly. Or someone else entirely, the stern authoritarian I had only heard about through whispers in the halls from the bad kids. The ones who got detention and were in danger of not graduating on time. The ones who got suspended, whose parents donated hundreds of thousands of dollars just to keep them here semester after middling semester. Graham was summoned after the Spring Fling debacle. But he never mentioned what was said.
“Miss Newman, please come in.” Weingarten stands up from behind his desk and motions for me to take the chair across from him. “Shut the door behind you.”
I perch on the lip of the seat and wait.
“Well, well, well.” He smiles, baring all his teeth. “I have to admit I never thought I’d be calling you in here. But it seems like we have something to discuss, young lady.”
My legs are heavy and I try my best to cross them, but they stay still. I am paralyzed completely.
“I have to ask you, Miss Newman. You’ve been digging into the past. Why?”
Weingarten leans back in his chair and his eyebrows shoot up, like he’s waiting to be dazzled.
My heart stops. “What do you mean?”
“You’ve shown great promise while at Gold Coast. Nearly a ninety-six average three years in a row. Well past the requirements of your scholarship. Captain of the Math Olympiad team. Science Bowl champion. Early acceptance into Brown. The Women in Science and Engineering program. Oh, how delightful!” He sucks in a gulp of air then lets it out in one whoosh. “Then why, dear, are you on a mission to ruin the integrity of this school?”
“What? I’m not,” I stammer.
Weingarten raises one finger and wiggles it. “But of course you are,” he says. “Pointing fingers at Mr. Beaumont. Digging up your dear friend, Miss Arnold, from the grave.” He leans in and I can smell his breath. Musty, like an old towel or the inside of a shoe. “This school was almost destroyed when Miss Arnold was killed. Did you know that? We almost lost our donors, our investments. It could have been a disaster.” My stomach sinks. How does he know I had anything to do with Beaumont?