Sons of Fortune

“James,” he replied, “but my friends call me Jimmy.”

“Are you a new boy?” asked Fletcher.

“Yes,” said Jimmy quietly, still not looking around.

“Me too,” replied Fletcher.

Jimmy took out a handkerchief and pretended to blow his nose, before he finally turned to face his new companion.

“Where are you from?” he asked.

“Farmington.”

“Where’s that?”

“Not far from West Hartford.”

“My dad works in Hartford,” said Jimmy, “he’s in the government. What does your dad do?”

“He sells drugs,” said Fletcher.

“Do you like football?” asked Jimmy.

“Yes,” said Fletcher, but only because he knew Hotchkiss had an unbeaten record for the past four years, something else Miss Nichol had underlined in the handbook.

The rest of the conversation consisted of a series of unrelated questions to which the other rarely knew the answer. It was a strange beginning for what was to become a lifelong friendship.

6

“Spotless,” said his father as he checked the boy’s uniform in the hall mirror. Michael Cartwright straightened his son’s blue tie, and removed a hair from his jacket. “Spotless,” he repeated.

Five dollars for a pair of corduroys was all Nathaniel could think about, even if his father had said they were worth every cent.

“Hurry up, Susan, or we’ll be late,” his father called, glancing up toward the landing. But Michael still found time to pack the case in the trunk and move the car out of the driveway before Susan finally appeared to wish her son luck on his first day. She gave Nathaniel a big hug, and he was only grateful that there wasn’t another Taft man in sight to witness the event. He hoped that his mother had got over her disappointment that he hadn’t chosen Jefferson High, because he was already having second thoughts. After all, if he’d gone to Jefferson High he could have gone home every night.

He took the seat next to his father in the front of the car, and checked the clock on the dashboard. It was nearly seven o’clock. “Let’s get going, Dad,” he said, desperate not to be late on his first day and to be remembered for all the wrong reasons.

Once they reached the highway, his father moved across to the outside lane and put the speedometer up to sixty-five, five miles an hour over the limit, calculating that the odds of being pulled over at that time in the morning were in his favor. Although Nathaniel had visited Taft to be interviewed, it was still a terrifying moment when his father drove their old Studebaker through the vast iron gates and slowly up the mile-long drive. He was relieved to see two or three other cars filing in behind them, though he doubted if they were new boys. His father followed a line of Cadillacs and Buicks into a parking lot, not altogether sure where he should park; after all, he was a new father. Nathaniel jumped out of the car, even before his father had pulled on the hand brake. But then he hesitated. Did he follow the stream of boys heading toward Taft Hall, or were new boys expected to go somewhere else?

His father didn’t hesitate in joining the throng, and only came to a halt when a tall, self-assured young man carrying a clipboard looked down at Nathaniel and asked, “Are you a new boy?”

Nathaniel didn’t speak, so his father said, “Yes.”

The young man’s gaze was not averted. “Name?” he said.

“Cartwright, sir,” Nathaniel replied.

“Ah yes, a lower mid; you’ve been assigned to Mr. Haskins, so you must be clever. All the bright ones start off with Mr. Haskins.” Nathaniel lowered his head while his father smiled. “When you go into Taft Hall,” continued the young man, “you can sit anywhere in the front three rows on the left-hand side. The moment you hear nine chimes on the clock, you will stop talking and not speak again until the principal and the rest of the staff have left the hall.”

“What do I do then?” asked Nathaniel, trying to hide the fact that he was shaking.

“You will be briefed by your form master,” said the young man who turned his attention to the new father. “Nat will be just fine, Mr. Cartwright. I hope you have a good journey home, sir.”

That was the moment Nathaniel decided in the future he would always be known as Nat, even though he realized it wouldn’t please his mother.

As he entered Taft Hall Nat lowered his head and walked quickly down the long aisle, hoping no one would notice him. He spotted a place on the end of the second row, and slipped into it. He glanced at the boy seated on his left, whose head was cupped in his hands. Was he praying, or could he possibly be even more terrified than Nat? “My name’s Nat,” he ventured.

“Mine’s Tom,” said the boy, not raising his head.