"Your son has great talent, Mrs. Moeller. I am pleased to extend to him the opportunity for a full scholarship to our college."
The businessman stood up, finished with his tea, and procured a letter-sized slip of paper from his coat pocket.
"You can stop by anytime, and we will give Lon a tour of the campus. See you soon."

Lon sat on the top stair, listening for a few minutes after seeing the businessman leave. He had never heard of a college representative making a house call for a tour invite, but was thrilled at the idea of a free ride. His slippered feet tapped rapidly up and down on the step, and then he checked himself and calmed down a little. He would be noticed if he started to make too much noise. And then the familiar creaking of his mother walking down the hall let Lon know that he had to beat it before he was discovered.

Lon thought it was strange, sometimes, that he was a high-school senior and still had such a rigid curfew. While none of his friends stayed out that late, he knew of a lot of kids who had a nightlife. "Curfew" to them was only a guideline for when to return to the house, if anytime at all. For Lon, "curfew" meant that he had to be in his own room, in bed, with the lights out and the door open at precisely 9:13. For almost two decades now he had submitted to that rule without thinking of it. Now that he was looking forward to leaving the house, he could see a lot of the obvious truths around him that he never noticed before. 'The house has high ceilings, and the runners will gradually change height if you look at them, and there are so many books in my parent's library that I've never read or even looked at.

And why isn't there a single television in the house?

Lon raised and dismissed a dozen more observations before realizing that he was ruminating. His head fell on his pillow at last, and sank deep into the downy depths where he would always find peace if he were angry or hurt. Here is his head again in this place, this time in need of slowing down. He was still thinking too fast to sleep. College. From atop his pillow he could see everything. He was already at college, there the classrooms with tall chalkboards covered in the best knowledge around, there the fraternities prowling the campus bearing their slogans and colors and esoteric handshakes, there the statues of men who had built the whole thing. He stood beneath one for awhile, looking up at the stately and ancient figure, the clouds behind his marble head. And back in his house once more, Lon fell asleep.

The next morning was an ordinary day in ordinary time. The day before the day before official school events went largely unrecognized for how special it was. Lon awoke to the smell of hotcakes on the griddle, and realizing how late he was, burst out of bed and prepared hastily for school. He would have to be there on time if he wanted his day to stay as special as it should.

Lon liked days like this one because he could see obligations being lifted. Since there was an event soon upon the school, everyone relaxed. The day before is no good because everyone needs to prepare and there's no sense in doing any prep work for silly, random school events a long time before they come. This time, night-before syndrome strikes out of reason instead of sloth. That was another thing; Lon could see the teachers and faculty struggling to get things done right on the day before, and he could sit back and watch them behave nervously before that. The day before the day before. Eve's eve.

Pockets of students stood outside the school doors and on the school grounds at fifteen minutes before the bell as Lon approached. Social clusters caused students to behave like electrons around an atom: each finding a number it liked, students feeling compelled to move elsewhere or coalesce here. Lon's crowd was sitting on the concrete bench in front of the west entrance to the main hall, leaving him, late, to stand up front until bell. So he was in good enough time to speak but not good enough time to sit?

"Hullo, Lon." Penny.
"Hi. Where's Zito?"
"He'll be late again. If he's not at band practice then he'll be late. Honestly I don't know how he does it, I mean with the bus and all. It's like he has some hidden agreement with the bus driver to miss a turn down a one-way street, and then it's all done, you know?"
"If you ask me, I'd say he just likes torture." Gemall.
"What do you mean?"
"You've seen how he gets when the bus drops him off late and he misses band. He's sour and cross the rest of the day. When he had the choice of whether to ride bus 37 or bus 10, he picked 10 because he knew it would run late a lot, and so he could steam and be furious all the time. I said he likes torture, but I should have said he likes torturing us!"
"Give him a break, G. He's never as cross as Steve."

At the mention of Steve's name, Gemall throws his head up in a melodramatic sigh, and lets it fall back down with a grumble, shaking his head.

"Yeah, and you don't see Steve around, either, but that's because I let him know he can back the hell off."
"Hey, c'mon. Steve isn't so bad. He's almost...cute."
"What!"

Lon and Gemall both give Penny a surprised look at her round face. Lon is amazed. Gemall is offended. Lon waits another few seconds and feels his push to leave, allowing himself a muted chuckle of satisfaction as though he could see the future of his two friends playing out. He wasn't seeing them as high school students on a concrete bench talking about high school crushes. He saw them at the dinner table talking about what their children were going to do with their lives. Lon was sure they would have that, and left them to it, not wanting to interfere with destiny. Another chuckle.

Ten minutes until the bell now. Lon saw Zito walk up to the bench from a distance. Lon did not see anyone on an intercept course.

"Hiya Lon!" Angel-hair.

Angel-hair always spoke a little too loud and wore a lot of clothes. Lon watched her like a ten-year-old watches a three-ring circus. Amazement. Embarrassment. He always had so much trouble talking to her half for the spectacle of her, and half for the inability of anyone in conversation with her to get a word in. Maybe warm feelings, too.

"Aren't you excited about the pep-rally on Friday! It's going to be great. Remember the last one where the band had too many members show up and that entire classroom had to stand up, so they just rushed the step team halfway through! That was awesome. Hey, doesn't your friend play in the band? I was going to, but my parents decided that if I wanted to keep playing I would have to get the money to rent it myself and I was too young to have a job then and too embarrassed to borrow one from the school and anyway I think that's totally nasty how probably a hundred people have used it and they all got sick from the cold night marches and parades and the cold morning practices, don't you think?"

Lon had forgotten her name, choosing the article most of the time, avoiding the address if possible. Mostly he would try to watch the complete spectacle that was Angel-hair. Her hair flowed down her head in two waves, the bottom almost reaching down to touch her round shoulders and back, then curling skyward again at the last moment, bouncing easily with the rapid movement of her head and neck, the second wave looked like it was determined to become the first, but gave up halfway, giving the effect of a tailored dress and maintaining a fully natural image. Throughout both were small and subtle streaks of a lighter brown than the rest, and in the morning sun over the far, smooth hillside, the tips were on fire with a third tone. Lon was staring into nature itself in that hair. Angel-hair.

Her clothes were anything but natural, and most of the students who had any sense keyed into this immediately, and readied shells of smack-talk for a possible salvo in case she crossed some barrier. She never did, but everyone was prepared to rag on her clothes just the same. Today Angel-hair sported a collared blouse buttoned to the top under a solid tee-shirt with generous neck under a spaghetti-string that began at the bust and stopped in designed tatters at the midriff. Below was the same pattern of who-knows-what under solid color sweatshorts under a high-cut skirt. Socks and other socks below. And are those ballet shoes?

"Uh, yeah."
"Exactly, so why would I want to play one of those? I suppose its part of not really wanting to play in the band, but sometimes at rallies it looks like so much fun that I feel like I'm missing out on something really important, like when you know the answer to a practice problem in math class, but you don't want to blurt it out because the last time you did you were wrong and the teacher is totally mean about wrong answers anyway. Did you ever feel like you were missing something important, like there's this other world out there and all you have to do is choose to see it. One choice? Isn't it so easy, but you can't do it at all? Lon?"
"Oh...well yeah."
"See. You totally understand me. And I was just telling..."

The bell drowned her out. Everyone filed inside with mixed anxiety and relief. Everyone was glad to be out of the cold morning and no one wanted to be in class doing work. Angel-hair continued to talk at Lon on their way to first period, which today she explained, would have a professor of archaeology on teleconference for the first half. A relaxing day.

She was the only one Lon couldn't actually see expanding. On days like this, the energy of the future event makes you expand, Lon thought. Not laziness. Not disinterest. Not slouching. You grew.

Angel-hair broke all Lon's rules, and for that, he kept hanging around. Natural curls, natural highlights, natural eyes. Unnatural clothes, unnatural speeches, unnatural attitudes. There was a passage of the I Ching that she embodied perfectly, but he couldn't remember which one. Instead of expanding with everyone else and watching the waves of fulfillment wash over the class, Lon turned his attention to Angel, now seated next to him near the back of the large classroom trying to keep her voice down enough to only disturb Lon. Lon tried to study her without noticing her.

"Ouf!" Lon was loud.
"Do you have something to add, Mr. Moeller?"
"No." Embarrassing.

"Gee, sorry Lon. I didn't know you would shriek like a woman."
"Yes, you did."

Angel went on. That was another trick she had of getting Lon irritated. She had discovered in their freshman year that poking him in the side had a tremendous effect, and he never got used to it. She apologized and giggled for a week. Her giggle was smooth and easy and flowing without the faintest hint of guile or sarcasm.

Lunch, and she was still there. It was growing harder to ignore her negative effect on his studying the great social experiment, and the poor quality of the food made lunch the greatest inflammation of Lon's peeves. He thought for a solid minute on nothing but returning Angel a sentence that would shush her for five. There had to be a way to strike her dumb. With each chew another idea. The distance from his food made Lon feel better about eating it, the usually swill soup and french fries were unusually acceptable, maybe even tasty, and aha!

"I've been accepted to Memorial."
"What?"

Five seconds. Fifteen. Lon produced a pamphlet that the college rep had given him the day before. For four minutes Angel read and ate and remembered. Suddenly the fries were done just right and Lon supped each lick of salt and light, unknown oil and steamy, rich potato with the same satisfaction he had felt that morning next to the bench. Gemall and Penny had settled their argument and arranged themselves tardily at the same roundish table where Angel sat marveling at the gorgeous pictures of the campus where her friend had been accepted. Neither Penny nor Gemall found a reason to break the silence and shrugged. Lon felt truly warm inside.

"Wow, this place is so pretty! Where is it?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well they have a lot of pictures of parks and fields and buildings and empty classrooms, but I don't see a campus map or travel directions of anything. What state is it in?"
"Oh. I guess its not that kind of pamphlet. It's about five hours south of here."

Gemall and Penny look at Lon quickly and quizzically, and then drop it.

"What?"
"Nothing."
"No, c'mon, what?"
"It's nothing. I've heard that Memorial is a good school."
"Yeah, you're lucky."

Lon finished his milk, unsure of what about his answer has made Gemall and Penny react. Maybe they knew that five hours south of here was the edge of the world, and he was going to slip right off and write them letters from oblivion telling them about how the food there is a cut above the old cafeteria. Zito slid in at the last open seat with enough to occupy all the free space at the table in food and playing cards. This was another reason Lon was looking forward to today. The gang always played poker on Wednesdays.

"We'll start once I finish with this." Zito.
"Why do you always take people's food, Z?" Gemall.
"Hey, I don't take it, people give it away. I don't want it to go to waste. Do you?"
"Now that you mention it, no I don't"
"Hey!"
"Oh, like you don't have enough already. Besides, we'll never get one hand if you're stuffing yourself all period."

A full period for lunch. It's like the school board wanted the kids to play hold 'em on Wednesday afternoons. The teachers got valuable recuperation time during the middle of the week, the kids got extra time to socialize. No one missed the lesson plan time lost, and no one complained. Of course, if Officer Warburton saw the gang playing cards again they would all be in hot water. He didn't want to have to break up another fight like when Zito took a swing at Lon for making that four-of-a-kind on the river that once. Really none of them knew why Officer Warburton didn't like them gambling. He played poker with his friends on the weekends, and he liked breaking up fights. Lon thought that wearing a uniform made a person conform to duty beyond where he would anyway. Then he would think of Angel's outfits as uniforms, conforming to chaos. His head spun.

"Hey, are you in or not, Lon?" Zito.
"Hnuh? Oh. I fold."

Wednesdays.