Private (Private 1)

“Mr. Barber—“

“I know you are there, Miss Brennan. Kindly allow me to finish.”

My jaw snapped shut. I hated him. Even as I wanted to beg him

for a second chance. I hadn’t been able to answer a single one of the three questions he had posed to me during his sick little game and I knew he thought I was some little-known breed of moron. But

what kind of person did that—put students on the wringer on their first day back from summer break? Plus he had humiliated me in

front of everyone when he knew that I was new here.

Mr. Barber placed his pen down. He took a long, deliberate sip

from his coffee cup, then placed that down carefully as well. He was torturing me. He was making me wait here and worry on purpose.

Finally, slowly, he tore the top sheet from his pad and held it out to me.

50

K A T E B R I A N

P R I V A T E

51

“Some reading for you,” he said, looking at me over the top of

None of that.

his glasses. “I expect you to ca

tch up by the end of this week. You No negativity. No pessimism. I was going to catch up in this

should know that I don’t take pity on scholarship students. If you do class. I would catch up in everything. Even if I had to work all night, indeed belong here at Easton, you will do the work. No exceptions.”

every night, I would do whatever it took to stay at Easton. The I took the paper, which trembled in my hand. On it was a list of alternative—going back to Croton a failure and proving my mother’s no less than eight books. I wanted to tell him I didn’t need to read rantings right—was inconceivable.

all this to catch up. I wanted to tell him that I knew the answers to Instead, I was going to prove to Mr. Barber that he was wrong

several of his game show questions, but that I had never been good about me. His chagrin would just be an added perk.

at being put on the spot. I wanted to tell him that his FDR question was a load of shit and that I was fairly certain that he knew it. Most of all, I wanted to tell him that I didn’t want to be an exception.

But looking into his watery brown eyes, I knew without question that he wouldn’t tolerate me talking back to him again. So all I said was “Thank you.”

“And I trust that today’s outburst was the last of its kind?” he said.

“Yes, sir,” I said.

“Good. You may go.”

I turned slowly. I could feel him staring at me as I left the room and wondered what he was thinking. I made myself stand up

straight. I couldn’t let him think he had broken me.

In the hallway, a couple of girls stood in front of a bulletin board where an orange flyer advertised the Welcome Back Dance, scheduled a few weeks into the semester. I stared at it and wondered if it was even remotely possible that I would be around that long.

No.