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seemed to change when she discussed her father. I could sense they were close, much closer than she was to her mother.
    “It was a really big argument when I told him I wanted to leave private school and go to Stanton. It was like my entire future was over for him. But I threatened to live with Mother full time on Long Island, and that’s all he needed to hear before he relinquished. But that’s my dad. Very possessive and controlling. And my mother, the free spirit. How does anyone control a free spirit?”
    The F-Train was in Manhattan, and I asked her where she lived.
    “Upper West Side, I have to change to the number two at Times Square. What about you?”
    “I’m in Astoria, over the 59 th Street Bridge,” I replied.
    “That’s not what I meant. How about your parents?” she inquired.
    “It’s just my father, brother, and I. My mother died when I was eleven.”
    “Oh, David, I’m so sorry.”
    “It’s okay. We’re surviving without her.”
    “What happened, if you don’t mind me asking?” She seemed concerned.
    I really didn’t want to get into it. “Let’s just say that your mother is a free spirit, and my mother’s spirit is free.” Delancey exited the train and waved good-bye. I stayed on, and headed home. The double doors closed, and through vandalized windows I watched her walk up the platform as my train pulled away.
    “Delancey!” I called out, but there was no answer.
     
     

Chapter 3
    A hard, cold October rain fell on the first day of the month. October is such a great month. Gone were the summer strolls, now replaced with brisk walks. The brightly tinted treetops dripped with the changing of colors, signaling autumn in New York. The girls on the subways looked better in the fall. They wore sweaters and fashionable full length clothing, but they weren’t covered up with coats. It was a great time to be a boy in high school, and although I liked baseball and basketball, girl watching was my favorite sport.
    There was only one month to go before the SATs, and it became easier to study when the weather was dreary. Studying was all on my own, nightly, with books borrowed from the local library in Queens. The absence of part time employment meant I did not have the money for SAT prep classes. Studying for the SATs was difficult and slow going. I consistently put in three hours a night, in addition to my normal workload of five hours of studying and homework daily. Math was my strength. The reading and vocabulary parts were more difficult.
    My body had acclimated to the lack of sleep and coffee was my elixir. Stanton students learn early that sleep is a luxury. Sleep can be taken with short naps on the subway, to and from school, whether sitting or standing. Many of my deepest sleeps occurred when I was standing on a crowded subway train in morning rush hour.
    The truth, deep down inside, was that I dreamed of becoming a professional musician. I loved playing guitar and singing. If I had attended a normal high school, one less academically intense, I may have been more inclined to pursue my musical aspirations. In reality, Stanton and its students frown upon idyllic notions like musical careers. College was not optional at Stanton; it was required, and instilled within each student’s psyche from the beginning. We were all expected to be future engineers, doctors, scientists, etc., not musicians. A lot depended on my scores on the upcoming SATs. I felt the pressure to do well weighing on my shoulders and aching in my joints. Bile from anxiety filled my digestive system.
    My work on the school newspaper was about the football team. Our football team was having a winning season, suffering only one loss thus far. My articles were a little grander than reality, as I painted a picture of heroes winning battles with my stylistic writing. The football team’s record was deceiving. If you are unfamiliar with high school football in Brooklyn, you would think that our team was fantastic. In