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hallway, calling, "Good night."
    "In the future, I expect you to receive flowers and chocolates from boys you meet at the Friday mixers," said Ellen, wagging her manicured index finger at me with a stern look.
    I smiled and said, "Maybe I
will
show up at one of the mixers and surprise you. Good night, Ellen, and thanks for bringing up the flowers and always thinking of me." I drew in a deep breath of the deliciously fragrant air, picturing my stroll along the stream with Sarah and Jimmy.

Chapter Six
    It was quarter to five, and I was rushing to make it over to the dining hall. This semester, for scholarship work, I had been assigned to waitress the dinner shift from five to eight Sunday through Thursday. On these evenings, our school had formal, candle-lit dinners with a strict dress code. All the girls were required to wear dresses, high heels, and gloves.
    I darted into the little locker room that was reserved for the kitchen staff, and changed into my uniform, a white starched blouse, black straight skirt, and low patent leather pumps. As I tore into the dining hall to sign in, Peggy Stone said, "Sookan, you can slow down. You're the first one here again." Peggy was a senior and the captain of the thirteen waitresses. She asked me to begin setting the tables and to place candles on each one.
    Promptly, at ten minutes to six, we were told to light the candles. I loved this part of the evening, when the wicks sizzled in defiance before taking flame, then filled the room with the smell of warm wax. As usual, when all the candles were lit, I stood by Peggy as she dimmed the big chandelier. Though we did this day after day, it was always a wondrous moment for me. The dining hall was suddenly transformed into a magical place, warmed by the dancing pools of flickering candlelight. I embraced this peaceful moment in my otherwise hectic day.
    Through the picture window, I could see the students walking toward the candle-lit room. They all looked so elegant in their high heels and gloves. I pictured myself all dressed up, walking with them in a leisurely way, and chatting about the last mixer. But I could not daydream long, for it was time to pick up my tray to begin serving.
    I was assigned to serve the four tables near the front of the dining room. Fortunately, my section was nearest the kitchen counter, and I didn't have to carry the heavy serving platters far. Ellen always tried to sit at one of my tables, and once in a while, we could share a few words or a quick glance as I rushed back and forth.
    "Sookan," Ellen said as she entered, "why don't you try to leave the library a bit early tonight or wake me up tomorrow morning before you tiptoe out of the room?"
    "All right. Why? Anything special happening?" I asked as I motioned for her and her friends to sit down.
    "Well, I miss talking to you! That's all." Ellen smiled as she carefully eased off her white gloves. I hurried back to the kitchen to pick up the appetizers.
    Later that evening, after clearing the tables and sweeping the floor, I signed out and began the slow walk back to the library. Once the students left, I always ran around as fast as I could hoping to finish up early and have a little more time to study. But I was always so tired afterward; my legs felt wobbly, and my arms and back ached.
    That evening, instead of walking across the lawn, I took a shortcut through The Castle. As I was passing through the dimly lit corridors, I saw Marci hunched over a book in a corner chair. She had on a comfortable sweater, her blue wool pants, and penny loafers. Marci never came to dinner in the dining hall. She had once told me she thought the dress code and the formality were "ridiculously pretentious" and a waste of time. She ate at the snack bar, where the senior scholarship students made delicious hamburgers, sandwiches, and french fries until all hours of the night. It was strange to find her here.
    "I thought you might come this way," she said. "We haven't seen much of