Max’S Passage

By Peter D Langerman

Maxs Passage is a coming of age tale set in and around Cape Town and Johannesburg. The Lord Charles Somerset Private School in Cape Town forms the backdrop for the development of the relationship between Deputy Head Prefect Max Long and the enigmatic and beautiful Lily Solomon. The beauty of Cape Town is set against the brutality of Johannesburg as the threats to Max and Lilys relationship threaten to destroy them and those whom they love. In the end, will their love last, or will Lily leave Max to marry Dr Martin Wellman and save her family from financial ruin?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Partridge Publishing Africa
• Release date: Feb 19, 2015
• ISBN: 9781482805192

Peter D Langerman

Peter grew up in Johannesburg, matriculating in 1984 and then studied a B Com and an LLB at the University of the Witwatersrand, Johannesburg. In 1990 he married Sally and they have three daughters. Since 2007 he has been the minister of the Durbanville Presbyterian Church in Cape Town.

Book preview

Copyright © 2015 by Peter D Langerman.

ISBN:      Softcover      978-1-4828-0520-8

                eBook           978-1-4828-0519-2

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Contents

Part: 1 Cape Town

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Part 2: Johannesburg

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Part 3: Cape Town

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Part 4: Johannesburg

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

For Sally, Jaimee, Natasha and Emma, the lights of my life

Part: 1 Cape Town

Chapter 1

T he sun was just rising over Cape Town, a beautiful spring morning, softly illuminating the sweep of the lower levels of Devils’ Peak to the ocean in the bay. The sunlight played on the waters of the Atlantic, which sparkled like diamonds as the light played on the surface. Max Long gazed out of his dorm room window, mesmerized by the beauty of the early morning. As he contemplated the sun rising just to his right and the way in which it gave the morning a magical look, wispy clouds lazily meandered over a flat blue sky. Outside the noises of the city just starting to stir from the slumber of night reached up to him as he breathed in deeply and savoured the feel of that new day.

Cupped in the basin at the foot of Table Mountain, Cape Town is a city like no other in the world. The mountain rises from the sea to a height of some 1000m, so the city looks like it is clinging to the side of the mountain in order to stop sliding into the ocean. Table Mountain faces roughly North with Devils Peak to the east, Lion’s Head and Signal Hill to the west and the Twelve Apostles stretching to the south, towards Cape Point. The approach to the city over Table Bay is one of the most breath-taking sights in the world. But, for Max, there were no such thoughts today. His feelings were a mixture of both excitement and apprehension. This was the start of his third term of the sixth form, the beginning of the end of his school career.

The Lord Charles Somerset Private School in Gardens, Cape Town, situated at the top end of Upper Buitenkant Street, is one of the oldest Private High Schools in Cape Town. Like many others that cater to the educational needs of the children of the wealthy and privileged, it is full of stuffiness and its own self-importance. But, in most other respects, it is very like most schools anywhere in the world. Situated on the lower reaches of Devil’s Peak, the senior dorms - Charles Court – are found on the corner of Wexford Rd and St James St, some two kilometres away from the main school. Transport to school from the dorms for the sixth formers was by school bus or car. For Max and his cohorts, today, for the first time, it was to be by car.

Already too late for breakfast, Max knew he must now hurry or be left behind. After hastily dressing, he rushed downstairs. In the parking lot he met Marco, Steven and Calvin waiting for him at Marco’s new red Mini Cooper. This would be the ride that would herald the start of that first morning of the second last term of their last year together.

Hey, morning all, been waiting long, Max called out to them, cheerfully. They were looking very irritated at both his tardiness and unrepentant attitude at being late, but he wasn’t going to let them get to him, not on this wonderful day.

Why the hell are you so late? Where have you been? asked Marco, the irritation clear in his tone.

Calm down, boet, Max answered, condescendingly, Or you’ll bust a gasket, let’s get in the car and go, please, we’ve wasted enough time already.

So, where were you this morning at breakfast? asked Calvin as Marco swung left into St James Street. They drove past their sister school - The Lady Ann Barnard Private School - and then right into Highlands Rd.

Just overslept, he responded as he squinted against the sun that was a little too bright that day. The traffic was quite light and they whistled at the girls as they drove past. They made it to school in under the customary ten minutes that it usually took by bus.

It was a warm and balmy spring day as they drove through the main gates that morning. There were two imposing stone columns on either side of the road at the main entrance. The road weaved its way up to the main administration building, which was a Sir Herbert Baker designed double-storey edifice that was built out of red brick and covered in ivy. They parked in the visitors’ parking area. They were not supposed to park there, but it was almost the end of their time at the school and it was doubtful that anybody would object. The four alighted from the Mini, and walked through the archway that passed through the main building and emerged out into the quadrangle. The entrance through which they had just come was at the northern side of the quad. To their right and behind them was the library with the Dining Hall to their right on the Western side and the chapel on their left. Right in front was the fountain, situated in the middle of the quad. They sauntered over to the concrete benches that faced one another adjoining the fountain and shed their suitcases. This was their customary position from which they could survey all the happenings of the school just emerging into the reality of another normal school day, but for them the beginning of the end. They had gathered at this point every morning for the last three years

To look at them on this day, you would struggle to find anything too special about them. Perhaps they are a little loud, perhaps they are a little too cocky, too sure of themselves, but we can forgive them for this. They have their whole lives ahead of them and they still believe that they will change the world. They are all full of the optimism and naiveté of youth. Today there is only promise, today there is only potential, today there is only the present and the future. Not for them, yet, the regrets, the missed opportunities, the moments of what might have been and the endless if-only’s. Right now they are in love with life and it is life that pulses through them like fire.

They are enamoured with the golden magic of youth and vitality. They believe they can do anything and go anywhere, they believe that the future holds only good for them. One day they will know better. If we were to look into their faces from this vantage point, much later and wiser, as they stand frozen in this moment before our eyes, and we search back and forth for some sign of where and how the heaviness and gravity of life will touch them, we will not easily find it. But, there is not a trace of pain and sadness there now.

Marco Pentz is the tall, dark one; Calvin McCullum, the slightly built redhead; Steve Coulter, the one with a smile in his eyes. As they laugh and joke with one another; they have the easy familiarity of those who have known each other for a long time. They have been in the same class for the last five years and have been close friends for the last three. For them, this is an eternity. Pierre Long, nicknamed Max is the tall blond one in the middle of the group. Dimly in the distance Max hears his name being called.

Max, what do you think?

About what?

Focus, Max, focus, said Marco impatiently, Try and stay with us.

Max scowled at Marco. I was right here all the time, he snapped, irritated.

But your mind was far away, said Calvin, the small red-headed boy, What were you thinking of?

I was thinking of the wind blowing through the willows on a hot summer’s night and the rain thundering down on a tin roof in Gauteng in summer. I was thinking of a hailstorm so severe that you are not sure if your house will survive. I was thinking of all the women that I would like to share these moments with instead of the likes of you three.

I knew there were women involved, said Marco, triumphantly. He had dark hair that looked like thatch and a bad skin. He was the most romantically cynical of them all.

Oh, don’t be so negative, said the red head, Max here is a dreamer and he dreams of things other than women sometimes. Don’t you Max?

Yes, Calvin, I do sometimes dream of the sea and the mountains and what our lives will be like once we are finished with this place, but for now, I dream of women, mainly.

Steven stretched himself out in the longish grass and looked up at the sky in its flat blueness. Steve didn’t dream of women, he had no need to for they found him irresistible. He always had two or more at his beck and call at any particular time. But, despite all the others, there was always Melissa, the love of his life.

When we finish in this place - what then? he asked wistfully. It was a common question and usually elicited little response, but not today.

Today Marco answered this non-question by becoming animated. It took them by surprise. Steven sat up on one elbow and even stopped chewing his piece of grass for a moment. When I get out of this place, I am going to fly. I shall take to the skies and get away from all this trouble on the ground. They will never catch me. I’ll be free to be… What is the matter with you?

Marco’s passionate outburst had caught them off guard and they were all grinning at him. It was strange to see Marco, usually so reserved and a bit sullen, so passionate, so animated and so excited. They all knew that he longed to be free of an alcoholic father and a broken home, but they had never heard of his dream to fly until now. They guessed that the holiday must have been particularly difficult and that Marco must have made a decision never to go back home if he could help it. Max’s attention, however, was shifted from Marco’s speech to the stairs behind him and this is what had stopped Marco mid-sentence.

This was the moment when it all began to change for Max. The moment that Max would never forget; the first moment that he saw her. She had walked along the corridor and was ascending the steps of the junior block on the eastern side of the quad, behind his friend who had just told them of his dream to fly. When he first saw her, he was not sure whether she actually existed or whether he had made her up. He wanted to run to her and make sure she was real. He wanted to stop this moment in time. Yet that was not to be, for time did not stop; she did not stop. She carried on walking and Max felt like there were only two people in the world, yet she did not know that he existed. She took his breath away. She seemed to move like one who did not have contact with the earth - she seemed to glide above the earth. She seemed to not be of the earth; he wondered again if she was real. She was small and looked as if she had been hand made from the most fragile porcelain. At once, Max wanted to protect her from all the evil in the world, but he knew that she did not need his protection; even he could recognize that there was strength about her. She was dressed all in white and as the early morning sun stroked her brown hair it fell about her face like a halo. She looked like an angel. Her skin was soft and clear and even though he was too far away Max knew that she smelled like a spring day in a rose garden. All that the others saw at that moment was his face and his wide-open mouth. We seldom recognize the moments when change takes place, but Max knew it instantly. He knew that that this was the point where it all began for him, where it all began to end. This was the point at which Max was in limbo. And it looked that way to his friends.

Slowly the others turned to see what had captivated his attention. They saw the same person before she was taken from their sight, but they did not hear the music that Max heard. They did not see a bright light from heaven or hear the angels sing at that moment. Like the companions of St Paul on the Damascus road, they experienced the same thing outwardly but missed its significance. Suddenly, jarringly, the bell rang to signify the start of the day. The other three began to make their way to their classroom to begin the day, but Max merely tagged on behind, his mind a whirl of thoughts, ideas and emotions.

During the course of that day, Max discovered that her name was Lily Solomon and that she was a new teacher who had started at their school on that fateful day of their last year of school.

From that day, Max invented ways of making sure that their route to some of their lessons took them past her classroom. Max lived each day just to catch a glimpse of her. Together with the others, they would assemble at the foot of the stairs every morning and they would wait for her to walk by. It became their daily ritual, the observance of her pilgrimage to her classroom from the staff room, past their little group of worshippers, of which Max was the high priest, at that fountain. The ritual gave meaning and purpose to his life; it was a religious act for him. If for some reason he missed it, he felt somehow incomplete. He never spoke to her, he never allowed her to see that he was watching her, but he was captivated by her as she moved to her classroom. He longed to be the air that surrounded her, he longed to the sunlight that kissed her, he longed to the wind that brushed the silky softness of her skin. He longed to run his fingers through her hair. He longed to tell her that he would do anything for her. He knew it could never be, but the sheer magic of the ritual was enough. He revelled in the distance between them and the impossibility of it ever being crossed because he could make her be whoever he wanted her to be. It did not matter that his creation bore no relation with the real person. He reasoned that the reality would only be a disappointment, so he was happy to worship her from a distance.

Needless to say, his friends found it amusing, this schoolboy crush. They teased him and he ignored them. He felt no compulsion to explain himself to them. But he knew it was much more than a crush. Instinctively he knew that some men get married to women for whom they have never felt as he felt for her, as he felt from that first day he ever saw her. He knew from that very first moment that he loved her with his whole being. The feelings that he had for her were not only physical, but he was drawn to her essence: he was drawn to her. She represented to him the absolutely most beautiful truth that life can offer: the potential to love and be loved. She represented that for him and she came to embody that for him, but he knew that he could never speak to her about it, for then it would end. The dream would be gone. Like a person who wakes up from a good night’s sleep and resents being awake, he was happy to sleep, and to dream.

So he lived in this private torture chamber for the most part of that term. Despite his fears, he longed to speak to her. He wanted to promise that he would do anything to make her world a better place, that he would gather the moon and the stars together for her if she should just ask. He longed to speak to her about the truths that were deep in his heart and he felt sure that she, of all people, might understand. Yet he knew that this was impossible. Besides being too inaccessible for him even to consider how to go about such a thing, he dreaded that she might laugh at him and shatter his carefully crafted illusions and elaborate fantasies. So he went on in silence, enduring the laughter of his friends. Their laughter he could bear; hers would be the end of him and that he did not want to even think about.

When he was alone with his thoughts, he would wonder about her. What did she think about, what did she worry about? What were her dreams and aspirations? All these and many more were the questions that he longed to ask her. He longed to be able to watch her; see her walk and sit and sleep. Watch her in the morning, afternoon, evening. He longed to be with her every moment of the day and to share with her the beauty of the world in which they lived. But, each time he thought that he might speak to her sometime, he dismissed the thought as impossible and became, again, a worshipper from a distance.

Chapter 2

M ax knew that she might hear of this schoolboy crush and he wondered what she might make of it if she did. It happened in a way that surprised them all.

The School Leavers’ Ball was to take place that Friday evening, a week before the end of that third term. It was Friday afternoon, the second-last period of the day. The Accounting lesson was not progressing well. They were too excited, too wound up and it was a time when someone was likely to do something stupid. Mrs. Collingswood, rather stern and strict, had been their teacher for the last three years. They got on well with her and, on this day, they were killing time waiting for the period to end when there was a knock at the door.

Come in, called out Mrs Collingswood, cheerfully.

Watson, a small, timid second former stepped into the classroom.

Yes, Watson, said Mrs Collingswood, And what can I do for you today?

Afternoon, ma’am, answered the small boy in a mouse-like voice, Ms Solomon asks whether you could sign these for her.

Hey, Max, called Calvin from the back of the class, Why not send a message to Ms Solomon? Then, before Max could intervene, Calvin called to the younger boy, Hey, Watson, tell Ms Solomon, Long here sends his love.

The class, which up until this moment had been a hive of idle chat and excited banter, became deathly quiet. Mrs Collingswood looked up in surprise, a smile on her lips. Watson looked like a bush baby caught in a car’s headlights.

Why, Long, I had no idea that you carried a torch for our Ms Solomon.

He’s mad about her ma’am, quipped Marco, He makes excuses to walk past her class five times a day.

Max blushed scarlet and wished that the floor would open up and swallow him at that moment. Watson just gaped at him open-mouthed.

Mrs Collingswood signed the sheet that Watson still held in his hand and then said, Go on, Watson, you’re catching flies.

As the younger boy left the class, Max felt the blood rush from his face. Mrs Collingswood looked at him, a smile playing at the corner of her mouth. What is all of this, Long? she asked, looking intrigued. Max had recovered some of his composure.

Pay them no heed, ma’am, Max answered, They are just full of nonsense.

Oh, come on, Max, said Steven from the other side of the room, Be honest, you’re crazy about her.

Max scowled at him and glared at him to shut up, but he just grinned.

Don’t listen to them, ma’am, Max pleaded, desperate now to contain some of the potential fallout from this disaster, but knowing that it was impossible. Mercifully the bell rang and Max fled from the class. Their final lesson for that day was Latin and, as they stood outside the classroom, Watson came up to Max, tapped him on the shoulder and motioned him to one side.

Yes, Watson, what do you want? Max demanded, expecting some facile remark, but nearly fell over when Watson responded gravely, Ms Solomon says that you are to come to her class immediately this period is over. She will wait for you. With that, Watson turned and walked away.

Max felt his chest constrict as he looked at the retreating form of the second-former until he disappeared from sight. Max struggled to catch his breath, too shocked to say anything, too numb to think. Eventually, he turned, picked up his bag, walked into the class and collapsed at his desk. Marco leaned forward and asked him as he sat down, Well, what did he want?

To tell me my life is over. I have to go and see her once this class is finished. Marco just whistled through his teeth and passed the message on to Calvin, who sat next to him. Max folded his arms on his desk and dropped his face into his folded arms. He hoped that the period would go on forever, but after what seemed like an instant, the bell rang.

We’ll wait for you, said Marco as they left him alone, contemplating his fate outside their Latin class at the end of that day.

Max stood there, alone, feeling as if the end had come. He knew that Watson must have told her the story and that, being a notorious gossip, Mrs Collingwood had probably done the same. Now she knew about his infantile behaviour. Max knew that she must have decided to tell him to grow up and he knew that she was right. But, he felt a desperate sadness deep in his stomach as he contemplated the interview in her classroom. He felt like a condemned man who had been given the verdict and was awaiting sentence. He knew that his fantasy, which had been so much part of his life for the last few months, was about to crumble in a heap. He knew that once he spoke to her the perfect image that he had created of her would be shredded. He feared that she might be cruel and harsh with him, but he knew that it had to be faced. The greatest fear that Max had, however, was that she might laugh at him; cruelty would be hard to take, mockery would be unbearable. So, as the final bell went that day Max prepared himself to enter her classroom like the condemned man that he was. He knew he was guilty and he knew that he had to face up to his punishment. He had decided that he would apologise to her unreservedly and get out of there as soon as possible.

Max decided that she should not see how fearful he actually was of meeting her. The whole thing depended, or so he thought, on his being in control of the situation. He would control it, apologize, make sure she understood how badly he felt about the whole thing and leave. It was the only way.

As fellow pupils ran part him, eager to get home, Max dragged himself up to her classroom. On the landing outside her classroom he straitened his tie, pulled his jacket straight and checked to see that his shoes had a bit of polish on them. It’s harder to mock somebody who at least looks smart, he reasoned as he knocked on her door.

Come in

He opened the door with purpose. No use being afraid now, he reasoned, The game is up and it’s time to face the music. Max reflected on this horribly mixed metaphor as he remembered reading somewhere that someone had said that the condemned man should never wear a blindfold in the face of the firing squad. Let them see your face, it’s harder for them to pull the trigger.

Good afternoon, ma’am, he began as he crossed the threshold and strode over to her desk. His intention was to keep the interview as formal and as short as possible.

Good afternoon. Her voice was light and bubbly, and sounded like water flowing over stones high in the Drakensburg. It was soft and confident. Max knew that he was in deep trouble. His legs were shaking and he was having trouble breathing. Although he towered over her in size, she was in no way intimidated as she sat behind her desk. She would control the interview and they both knew it. Then it hit him. She smelled exactly as he imagined she would. It was a fresh, clean smell. Like a rose garden on a spring day, he thought and could not help smiling.

Something amuses you, Mr Long? she asked, frowning slightly at him.

No ma’am, he replied, sheepishly, Not at all.

Her strength surprised him. Although he knew that the next few minutes would be quiet torture, it would at least be bearable, like the swift shot to the heart by an expert marksman: a quick, clean kill. He tried to look relaxed and controlled, but felt quite the opposite. He caught her eye and was surprised to see that there was a smile in her eyes, while a smile played at the corner of her mouth. She was not mocking him as he dreaded and she was not going to be cruel. She was going to be kind and gentle, he knew it. He felt like a drowning man in a whirlpool being sucked under. He wanted to bolt for the door and run as fast as he could, but his legs would not respond to the signal from his brain. Eventually, he pulled back a chair and sat down, afraid that if he did not do so he might collapse.

The hint of that smile still danced over her lips and Max became very uncomfortable as the silence between them grew. He forced himself to focus. You wanted to see me, ma’am. His voice seemed to come from a great distance away. At first he wondered who was speaking and then realised that the words had come out of his own mouth.

There are some issues we need to address. That voice again. Max tried to steady himself and control his breathing. I have heard some disturbing stories from both Mrs Collingswood and Watson. I wondered if you could explain what is going on.

Max knew that there would be no chance of dodging her. She was too sharp, too clever and too astute to allow him to use some nimble footwork around her. The truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth was all that would save him now.

I won’t lie to you, he began, But the truth is that you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Max looked directly at her as he spoke and, noticing that she blushed and averted her eyes, decided to continue on the direct tack. And I have not been afraid to make that known to others. But, I realise now that I have embarrassed you and for that I apologise unreservedly. My intention was never to hurt or embarrass you in any way whatsoever, but my behaviour was deplorable. This whole thing has gone way out of hand and I am sorry for allowing that to happen. If I could, I would make it up to you in whichever way possible.

Max braced himself for her response. Either she would accept his apology and he could leave or she could refuse to accept it, throw him out and report him to the headmaster. Whichever of the two it was, he would soon be able to leave. He felt as if the walls were pressing in on him and he was still having trouble breathing. He removed his blazer and laid it across his legs to hide the fact that he was shaking.

Apology accepted, she said with a smile. Max thought that she had one of the most beautiful smiles he had ever seen. Max noticed her deep hazel green eyes flecked with gold that danced with joy when she smiled. In fact, joy seemed to twinkle and dance in her eyes as she smiled at Max. One again he wondered if she was real or if he made the whole thing up. It was his turn to avert his eyes. She had held his eyes until he had looked away and he felt, not for the first time that afternoon as if the earth was about to swallow him. He gripped tightly onto the side of the chair.

Thank you, was all Max could manage to say, lifting his eyes, again, to meet hers. They sat for a moment in silence holding one another’s gaze. It was a surreal moment. He had dreamt of speaking to her and hearing her speak, but now that it was here he was not sure what to say. He wanted to tell her that she was everything he had ever dreamed of, he wanted to tell her that he would gather the moon and stars in a bag for her if she asked him. He wanted to tell her that he was hers forever if she would have him, he wanted to express the joys and sorrows, hopes and dreams that lay hidden in his heart that spring afternoon. Max could find nothing to say. He felt slightly foolish. He thought he should go.

What are you planning to do next year? The question came as a surprise and Max looked at her, somewhat surprised. He wondered if she had read his thoughts, but she looked innocently back at him. Was she making conversation? It seemed that way.

I’m going to do a B Com and then an LLB, he answered, in a voice that surprised him somewhat.

You’re going to be an attorney then? she asked, genuinely interested.

No, an advocate, he responded firmly, gaining in confidence in an area that he felt comfortable talking about.

Funny, that’s what I always wanted to do, she said, wistfully and sadly, talking past Max as she looked out the window.

So why don’t you? The question came naturally to Max as she seemed to encourage him to speak to her easily and freely. He was surprised at how relaxed he was beginning to feel with her. But Max could tell from the cloud that crossed her face that he had crossed some imaginary line. She smiled at him, the smile tinged with sadness this time and he knew that the interview was over and it was time to leave. Max stood up and put his blazer back on and stood up from her desk, He stood aside to let her walk out the door first. On the landing, they talked about the final year function that night.

Are you going to come? he asked.

No. It’s the beginning of the fast, Martin won’t come with me and I don’t want to come on my own. Max realised two things at that moment. The first was that she was Jewish. That intrigued him, he wanted to ask her questions about her faith, but the second realisation stopped all those questions before they could even start: the realisation that there was a Martin in her life. He felt a stab go through his heart. Was she married? He had looked for a ring, but she was not wearing one.

Martin? he tried to sound nonchalant.

My…significant other. We’ve being going out one together for a year. We might get engaged soon. Max wondered why she told him this. Was it because she sensed his feelings for her and wanted to let him down easy? He watched her eyes closely as she spoke of this love of her life and realised that whatever she felt for him was complicated. Max brought her back to his question.

Why don’t you come tonight, you might enjoy it.

I’ll think about it. Will you look after me if I do? She was teasing him now.

I’ll make sure that you come to no harm, Ms Solomon, Max replied, walking away, See you later? She did not reply and he did not look back

Chapter 3

T he others had waited for Max and he saw them at the car as he walked down the stairs towards the visitors’ parking lot on that Friday afternoon in October. Marco’s new red Mini Cooper was his pride and joy and they all pile d in.

So what happened? asked Calvin as they sped off.

Nothing much, he answered evasively.

Come on, tell us, said Marco as they sped past the girl’s school, even forgetting to whistle at the girls for the first time in a long time.

I apologized, she accepted the apology, we spoke for about ten minutes and I left. That’s all that happened, he said firmly, trying to close the matter.

This only made the speculation stronger.

She’s hot for you, Max, said Marco, sarcastically, This is the romance of the century.

Yeah, quipped Steven, Imagine it: Max Long and Lily Solomon, it has quite a ring to it.

Bloody right, said Marco, driving a little too fast for their comfort as he did so.

Hey, calm down, cowboy Max cautioned as they took a corner with tyres squealing.

Hey, Marco, do you think we’ll be best men at the wedding? asked Steven laughing.

We better be or else, said Marco gravely, looking at Max in the rear-view mirror sternly.

Despite his friends’ teasing, Max sat in the back of Marco’s car staring out of the window wondering what had taken place between the two of them that afternoon. He understood nothing of the interaction as he played it over in his mind. Had she been playing with him, had she been teasing him, had she been flirting with him? What of this Martin? What of the look in her eye and the sound of her voice as she spoke of him? He continued to turn it over and over in his mind, but the more he thought of it, the less sense it made to him. Ten minutes later they were at the dorm.

Charles Court was a nondescript building on the outside: two floors with the fifth formers