“Why?” It was only after I spoke that I realized how impolite and peculiar that must have sounded. But she laughed—a surprising, musical sound. “Because I want to ask you a bit about how you think Chelsea works. Because I want to hear a bit of the history of the place from someone who knows it from … from an unusual perspective.” She paused, then grinned. “Because maybe you’ll share your pudding with me.” I don’t think she meant this last to be flirtatious, only humorous. But I felt a slight swoop in my stomach, a dangerous tightening I hadn’t felt in years.

“Maybe I will,” I said.

We were both silent after that. I was stunned by my own boldness. I couldn’t begin to guess what she might be thinking. She just studied me briefly, a thoughtful look on her face. “Let’s go, then,” she said. We walked out of the lounge together.

“I’ve been a teacher for fifteen years, but never anyplace like this,” she said, her voice frank and a little loud. “I lived in Cleveland for all that time, teaching in the public schools. It was … it was fulfilling in some ways, but it was tough, too. Always having to scratch. And the kids needed so much. I got divorced about four years ago—I have a daughter who’s eighteen. She’s finding herself, I guess.” She laughed a bit, thinly. “She goes to my alma mater. Smith. But it’s so different from when I was there. There are almost no black students. And a lesbian affair is practically a requirement of graduation.” She laughed. “I have no idea why I’m telling you all this.” But she didn’t look particularly embarrassed. I was startled but charmed, I guess I should say. “Anyway,” she concluded, “ so that’s me. What’s your story? As much of it as you care to tell, anyway.”

We had talked, as she asked to, of the school’s history, the pros and cons of an all-male education, our views of the headmaster and various students. She was bright and full of sharply stated opinions. She used her hands constantly, pushing her hair back, cutting her food with quick, deft motions, pausing to brush something away from the corner of her mouth. I found that I was slightly discomfited by the more personal tone the conversation had taken but didn’t want to appear too flustered. “Oh, there’s not much to tell. I’ve taught here for … oh, more than twenty years. I enjoy the boys, the rigorousness of it. I help with what I can—the debate team, assistant coaching on the cross-country team. But I lead a quiet life. Never married. No children. I run a bit—don’t compete, though.”

“Long-distance or short?”

“Long, I suppose. I do about six or seven miles a day, more on Saturdays. I take Sundays off.”