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trying to pull herself up. We were only on the first floor, but the window was a good five feet off the ground. She climbed, lifting herself quietly and holding on with tremendous discipline. I felt the strain on her face on my own face. She rose up and hung along the edge of the window like a hand puppet at rest. Careful to stay out of Mr. Guy’s line of sight. As she leaned over into the classroom, I knew she’d be unable to land without crashing and calling attention to herself.
“Do you have it all written down now? Excellent. Let’s use it in a sentence, shall we?” Mr. Guy paused. “Due to an error in judgment regarding his capabilities, Leslie was forced to supplement his own shortcomings by using a—”
Our shouts and laughter saved the girl. They were the perfect cue for her to enter, and we carried on long enough to cover the sound of her landing. Mr. Guy stayed focused on staring Race down. He didn’t notice the girl slide into the chair beside me and pull her bag out from underneath my desk. Her knuckles were scraped and torn. She brought her hand up to her lips and brushed the blood away. I waited for her to glance over and thank me. She didn’t. Scanning the classroom, I caught Chester’s eye. He wasn’t laughing at Race but staring at the girl and me. Chester shook his head.
For the remainder of the class, Mr. Guy went through the syllabus and explained what we would be covering that semester. The girl took notes using a thin brass fountain pen. Eventually, a long, dull buzzer signaled the end of the class period. She stood, gathering books and arranging them in the leather bag. I studied the print on her skirt, the unruliness of her hair. It was the girl from the beach. I’d only seen her in profile before. This time, she did not smile or thank me. She left the classroom quickly and headed down the hall.
Most of the girls I considered to be pretty had soft, rounded features. Small eyes. Creamy skin. This girl was different. Her features called attention to the high planes of her cheeks and forehead, the sharp angles of her lips and eyes. Unlike Bristin’s or Diana’s faces, which begged and invited “Admire me,” her face had a quiet authority. A frontier quality that said, “I am not to be put on display. I am not here to be looked at.” She stood tall. Had I not seen her crawling through a window, I might have mistaken her for a teacher. Even then, I was certain of her beauty, but I was also certain that a person could miss this about her.
It should have been the most natural thing for me to ask someone in the class about the girl, but it wasn’t. She’d come in through the window like some sort of changeling, and no one had bothered to notice her.
    I went from history to physics and then calculus. My father had drawn up a four-year plan for me, and I was sticking to it. The same courses he had taken as a boy. After prep school, Dad had gone to Princeton, as had my grandfather before him. My brother Riegel, who claimed to be smarter than all of us, would be graduating from Princeton in the spring. I used to be expected to attend as well, but, over time, my father had decided that I didn’t have a chance of getting in. It was good enough that his eldest son had ensured the family legacy. A generational hat trick. Dad had given me college catalogs from schools like Hamilton and Union and Lake Forest. It made me sad to know that he had such little faith in me. Lake Forest College. L.F.C. Last Fucking Chance. At the time, I didn’t care where I was headed, but I wanted an acceptance letter from Princeton. I wanted to show my father that I could belong anywhere.
    After third period, there was a free block of twenty minutes on my schedule. I’d planned on hanging out in the Fishbowl, an atrium near the mailboxes. As I’d passed through the corridors, I’d seen other kids flopped down on sofas, hanging out in between classes. We weren’t supposed to return to our rooms during the school