“And if you need any extra cash, don’t hesitate to give me a call,” his father added.
Someone else who hadn’t read the rule-book. Andrew didn’t remind his father that boys in their first year at Hotchkiss were only allowed ten dollars a term. It was spelled out on page seven, and had been underlined in red by Miss Nichol.
No one spoke again during the short journey to the station, each anxious in his own particular fashion. His father brought the car to a halt next to the station and jumped out. Andrew remained seated, reluctant to leave the safety of the car, until his mother opened the door on his side. Andrew quickly joined her, determined not to let anyone know how nervous he was. She tried to take his hand, but he quickly ran to the back of the car to help his father with the cases.
A blue cap arrived by their side pushing a trolley. Once the cases were loaded, he led them onto the station platform and came to a halt at car eight. As the porter lifted the cases onto the train, Andrew turned to say goodbye to his father. He had insisted that only one parent accompany him on the train journey to Lakeville, and as his father was a Taft man, his mother seemed the obvious choice. He was already regretting his decision.
“Have a good journey,” his father said, shaking his son’s outstretched hand. What silly things parents say at stations, Andrew thought; surely it was more important that he worked hard when he got there. “And don’t forget to write.”
Andrew boarded the train with his mother and as the engine pulled out of the station he didn’t once look back at his father, hoping it would make him appear more grown up.
“Would you like some breakfast?” his mother asked as the porter placed his cases on the overhead rack.
“Yes, please,” replied Andrew, cheering up for the first time that morning.
Another uniformed man showed them to a table in the dining car. Andrew studied the menu and wondered if his mother would allow him to have the full breakfast.
“Have anything you like,” she said, as if reading his thoughts.
Andrew smiled when the waiter reappeared. “Double hash browns, two eggs, sunny side up, bacon and tomatoes.” He only left out the mushrooms because he didn’t want the waiter to think that his mother never fed him.
“And you, ma’am?” inquired the waiter, turning his attention to the other side of the table.
“Just coffee and toast, thank you.”
“The boy’s first day?” asked the waiter.
Mrs. Davenport smiled and nodded.
How does he know? wondered Andrew.
Andrew munched nervously through his breakfast, not sure if he would be fed again that day. There had been no mention of meals in the handbook, and Grandpa had told him that when he was at Hotchkiss, they were only fed once a day. His mother kept telling him to put his knife and fork down while he was eating. “Knives and forks are not airplanes and shouldn’t remain in midair longer than is necessary,” she reminded him. He had no way of knowing that she was almost as nervous as he was.
Whenever another boy, dressed in the same smart uniform, passed by their table, Andrew looked out of the window, hoping they wouldn’t notice him, because none of their uniforms were as new as his. His mother was on her third cup of coffee when the train pulled into the station.
“We’ve arrived,” she announced, unnecessarily.
Andrew sat staring at the sign for Lakeville as several boys leaped off the train, greeting each other with “Hi there, how was your vacation? And good to see you again,” followed by much shaking of hands. He finally glanced across at his mother, and wished she would disappear in a cloud of smoke. Mothers were just another announcement that it was his first day.
Two tall boys dressed in double-breasted blue blazers and gray slacks began shepherding the new boys onto a waiting bus. Andrew prayed that parents were banned from the bus, otherwise everyone would realize he was a new boy.
“Name?” said one of the young men in a blue blazer as Andrew stepped off the train.
“Davenport, sir,” said Andrew, staring up at him. Would he ever be that tall?
The young man smiled, almost a grin. “You don’
t call me sir, I’m not a master, just a senior proctor.” Andrew’s head dropped. The first words he’d uttered, and he’d made a fool of himself. “Has your luggage been placed on the bus, Fletcher?”
Fletcher? thought Andrew. Of course, Fletcher Andrew Davenport; he didn’t correct the tall young man for fear of making another mistake.
“Yes,” Andrew replied.
The god turned his attention to Andrew’s mother. “Thank you, Mrs. Davenport,” he said, checking his list, “I hope you have a pleasant journey back to Farmington. Fletcher will be just fine,” he added kindly.
Andrew thrust out his hand, determined to stop his mother cuddling him. If only mothers could read thoughts. He shuddered as she threw her arms around him. But then he couldn’t begin to understand what she was going through. When his mother finally released him, Andrew quickly joined the flow of boys who were jumping onto the waiting bus. He spotted a boy, even smaller than himself, who was sitting on his own looking out the window. He quickly sat down beside him.
“I’m Fletcher,” he said, reverting to the name bestowed on him by the god. “What’s yours?”