The Tragedy Paper by Elizabeth LaBan Page A

would be a few more chances to increase his grade this semester, though none as big as this one. But as the minutes ticked away slowly, Duncan felt worse and worse. What was Daisy’s excuse? And had he done anything to delay her? If he had let her into his room, would that have made a difference? He tried many times to meet her eyes, but she wouldn’t. She was fully engaged in the discussion, taking notes, answering questions, and offering ideas. It became clear to Duncan that she had already read
Moby-Dick
, and yet she was the one playing catch-up here. It didn’t seem fair.
    “Read at least the first two chapters before our next class meeting,” Mr. Simon finally said. And then he paused. Everyone waited, on the edge of their seats.
    “Now go forth and spread beauty and light,” he said, his regular dismissal from class, but this was the first time he was saying it to them. A few kids smiled; a few leaned back in their seats clearly relishing the moment. And then everyone was off. Daisy was the closest to the door, and Duncan was surprised when she bolted. He had expected her to try to offer her excuse again. He grabbed his books and tookoff after her. He had a free period and hoped she would too. Maybe they could take a walk or something. But when he got within reach, he turned and started walking back to his room. What did he have to say to her anyway? And, besides, Tim had just landed in New York. He had to know what happened next.

CHAPTER ELEVEN
TIM
RAIN, SNOW, SNOWBALLS
    Yes, believe it. Mr. Bowersox picked me up at the airport. He stood at baggage claim holding a sign that said MACBETH , as if he might mistake another albino for me. I still had my phone in my hand hoping to channel Vanessa, and as it had been doing for a few hours now, one word kept running through my mind—the simplest word, and yet I had no idea what it meant:
good
.
    In the end, I was glad he had the sign because I spotted him before he saw me. You are probably so used to him by now that you don’t even think about it, but he looked just the way I would expect a headmaster to look—jolly, with a round crown of hair surrounding a shiny bald spot, and a red tartan plaid scarf around his neck.
    “Mr. Bowersox?” I said a little too eagerly, before I had even reached the bottom of the escalator. I was so happy tosee him. Finding a cab and getting to school by myself would have pushed me over the edge, I was sure of it.
    “Tim!” he said, offering me his thick hand. I took it without hesitation and shook enthusiastically.
    “Welcome to New York, welcome to the Empire State, welcome to your new home,” he said, smiling wide. “We are so happy to have you join us at the Irving School this semester.”
    “Thanks,” I said, feeling myself relax for the first time in what seemed like forever. In a weird way, it was such a relief to be in the presence of a grown-up. I could actually feel myself slouch.
    “Shall we?” he asked, folding up the sign carefully and putting it in the pocket of his blazer. “Do you have any bags?”
    “Just this one,” I said, pointing over my shoulder at my big backpack. “Everything else was sent ahead.”
    Mr. Bowersox took a hat the exact same plaid as his scarf out of his other pocket and pulled it over his head, warning me about the cold. All I could think was that he should try hanging out in an igloo. We were quiet while we settled into the car and he started to drive, navigating the winding, complicated ramps of the airport. And then we were on the highway.
    “Let’s get some dinner on our way back. I was thinking we could stop in the city for Italian, if you like,” Mr. Bowersox said. “Or we could head back to Westchester andhave Italian there. There’s a good place in Yonkers that I hear makes a mean gnocchi.”
    “That sounds good,” I said, having no idea what or where Yonkers was.
    He asked about my old school. I told him about my teachers from my first semester of senior year, how