Later I will try hard not to think of her there as I try to fall asleep. I also try not to think about the way she looked the day after Oregon. Mostly that day she ignored me. But one time I looked up from my book and caught her looking at me, though immediately she turned away. I only saw her for a second. Even though she looked away so quickly I did not have enough time to tell whether she seemed hurt or angry, still I could not get her face out of my mind. The way she appeared at that moment—it haunts me—and I go over it in my head, trying to figure out what she was feeling. At times she looks mad but at others she seems hurt, and I cannot tell which look is my memory and which is my imagination.

II

The last period bell rings as I hurry out into the courtyard between the rectory and abbey. It is a great asphalt parking lot, covered by black tar so new it shines in the sunlight and smells warm in my nose. The last period bell rings in the classrooms behind me, and I hurry, hearing the crowd of students pouring out of the classrooms. On the front lawn, I wait by a lone sun-withered palm tree, keeping an eye out for my mother, but also a wary one for Eddy Ho’s car. Already, the line of waiting vehicles crowds the curb, their hoods dappled by sun that pours through the overhead trees and sifts over the students who sit on the lawn before me.

Then I feel a woman approach, and I clench my bag strap and try to make out who she is without turning and letting her know I see her coming. As if, that way, she might not come.

But by her movements I can tell it is Cynthia Rowe, the biology teacher and orchestra leader. A former dancer, she has a way of moving through people stiffly but gracefully, her hand touching their shoulders in an absent but proper way that conveys some sort of message. I think about going down the block and waiting for my mother there, but it is too late to avoid Cynthia Rowe now.

I used to wait down at the corner because I did not want people to see Mom picking me up. I used to hate how she wears her huge sunglasses, but ever since Oregon I have her pick me up in front of the rectory, like everybody else. Those glasses still bother me, though I try not to think about them.