Excerpt from "Before the Flood," my new novel (2023)

I won’t bore you with what our Headmaster had to say when he took the podium, but suffice it to say he claimed Kennedy as one of our own. Nothing profound or emotional, just bolstering the myth of our preparatory school system’s supremacy.

By that afternoon the rain had stopped and I decided to walk out across the playing fields and past the football stadium, which was visible across a river in the distance, instead of my usual route, perhaps to mix things up in this strange new world.  Lost in thought, I hardly noticed Ted Merrifield emerging from the other side of the clay tennis courts, walking in the same general direction.  Merry waved, and though I wasn’t looking for company, I nodded in acknowledgement.  He trotted up alongside me.

 “Hi.  Where are you going?” he asked.

 “Nowhere in particular. Just going to walk to the other side of the river.”

 “Mind if I walk with you?”

He was so upbeat I couldn't say no. “Okay.  If you want to.  It's not going to be too exciting.”

“Good.  I walk to relax, get away from the dorm.  You homesick?”

The question took me by surprise.  I gave him a look, not a hostile one, but enough to make him feel slightly embarrassed. 

“I-I mean I know you're not anymore.  But your first year here, were you?”

“Yeah, sometimes.” I wasn’t being completely honest.  My first year there, as I said in the beginning, I had been an absolute larval mess. Ten pounds heavier and three inches shorter, barely able to do a pushup, and now I was a lean six-footer and on the varsity basketball team. If only a sub.

“Me too. I don't like this place too much yet. But then it's only been a couple of months.”

I think I nodded.  Merry gestured toward the woods.

“You ever go walking in the woods?  You can, you know.  The Academy owns them. I've got a favorite spot by the river.  You want to see it?”

The school had bred its characteristic wariness into me, but Merry's innocence and open friendliness were so disarming I just smiled. “Sure.”

Two paths diverge in the woods, and Merry took the one leading toward the river.  After three years I knew this trail well enough to walk it in my sleep, but I let Merry lead as if it was my first time. After a few moments a bird sang from a tree somewhere above us.  At the end of its song Merry let out three high-pitched whistles, startling me.  A moment later the bird answered him with three nearly identical whistles of its own.  I looked at Merry in astonishment.

“Pine Grosbeak,” he said. “We have them in Iowa.”

“Wow.  That's really neat.  Do you know a lot of bird calls?”

“Pretty many.  Don't tell anyone in the dorm though.  I'd never hear the end of it.”

I smiled weakly, understanding what he meant all too well.  The bird whistled again, seeming to call to Merry, but we just kept walking. Eventually we came to a narrow, overgrown path off the main trail.

“Here it is.”

I followed him down the secondary path, and we emerged a few seconds later in a small clearing by the river.  The slate-black water was swollen from the rains; it moved swiftly, powerfully, mysteriously by.   

“I like it here,” he said softly.  “Back home my best friend and I used to spend a lot of time in the woods.  We'd pretend we were Indians.”

He turned to me with a sheepish smile, and I smiled back.  With his childlike vulnerability, Merry was an endangered species at Harkness. I hoped he would build a tougher shell, and soon, to withstand the cruelties he was going to endure, but I didn’t feel it was my place to advise him.   

We walked back as the sun began to set, Merry talking, me listening. As we drew within sight of Peabody, I noticed the clique shooting the breeze outside the dorm and I slowed to a halt. 

“What's the matter?” Merry asked, noticing my mood change.

“I...just remembered I've got to pick up a book from this guy in Barrett. I think I'll do it now, before dinner.” I hated myself for being so cowardly.  

“Oh. Okay... Well, I'll see you later.”

I nodded and we went our separate ways.

“I enjoyed the company!” he called.

Definitely an uncool thing to say.  A passing student looked at us curiously.  I gave Merry the briefest of nods, then walked away, casting a sidelong glance toward Peabody.

The four boys had gone inside by the time Merry reached the door and entered. I continued walking for a beat...then turned and headed back toward Peabody. Not only could I not stand up for an innocent boy who knew no better, but I, who did know better, couldn’t even stand up for myself.