The stretch of red dirt disappeared into a stretch of trees like Van Gogh’s painting. ‘Hilary was right. Gay. Michelle had charitably taken to sitting with Lucy during Lunch Period, where she assumed a station at the outer edges of the Cafeteria, the crowd diffusing in concentric orbits, the middle tables reserved for only the most prestigious castes. ‘I had no need of the place, and there was no money, of course. Looked like them statues of the Holy Mother I see about the place. She recognized him as the man who had blundered into the wrong room. Even the teachers were getting restless, the seniors gnawing hard at the bit as graduation teased. But there is need for the proof that I am me, and that is what I look for.
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