Free Class by Cecily von Ziegesar

the morning, and he would never have to pull an all-nighter in the library to keep from waking his roommate. If he wanted to get to know his fellow students and become a member of the Dexter community, he would have to put himself out there—join sports clubs, try out for plays, become politically active. But he was not a joiner by nature. Even the idea of attending Dexter’s welcome BBQ made him break out into a nervous sweat.
    He glanced at his watch. He was about to miss his second Intro to American Studies class. His professor, Dr. Steve, was one of those great old lecturers who could talk about anything—light-houses, Civil War battles, coal mining—and make it completely fascinating. But it was worth missing class just to be able to sit beside Shipley and breathe the same stale car air that she was breathing. Maybe he’d even invite her home for lunch.
     
    O n the other side of the pumps, Patrick sat behind the wheel of his family’s black Mercedes, watching his old English teacherpump gas into her minivan. She had been his advisor when he was a student at Dexter. When he missed his first scheduled advisor meeting and the first month of classes, she’d shown up outside his dorm room with a tin of Toll House cookies and a copy of The Catcher in the Rye . Patrick took the cookies but told her he’d already read the book, which was a lie. So many shrinks and guidance counselors had given him the same book that he could guess what it was about: alienation, loneliness, lack of interest in school, breaking the rules. People assumed that reading the book might somehow change his life. Maybe he’d feel less alone. Maybe it would give him perspective. Maybe he’d realize that his experience was not so unique. He preferred nonfiction.
    It was great to finally have a car. He’d spent the last few days cruising the old dirt roads and sleeping in the backseat. He’d driven to the shore and swum in the ocean. He’d been to Baxter State Park, where he saw a brown bear, and Moosehead Lake, where he saw a whole family of otters. Now there wasn’t much gas left in the tank, and he couldn’t risk pumping and driving away without paying, because there was a Home Police Department patrol car parked outside the convenience store. He’d been to jail twice—once in Miami for sleeping on the beach and resisting arrest, and once in Camden, Maine, for breaking into an empty condo during a hailstorm. Miami kept him for four months. That’s when he’d discovered Dianetics, by L. Ron Hubbard. He’d read it twice. Maine let him out after five days.
    He started up the engine, deciding to leave the car in the Dexter parking lot exactly where he’d found it last Saturday. Before turning onto Homeward Avenue, he eased up alongside a white VW parked near the curb with its windows rolled down. The people in the front seats looked like they were kissing. All he could see was the tops of their heads. One of the heads was very blond like his sister’s and one of them was very red. He recognized thecar. It belonged to the asshole who’d gotten all uptight outside of Starbucks the other day. He revved the gas pedal and laid hard on the horn as he pulled out onto the street.
    Reluctant to give up the car and the easy freedom that came with it, Patrick took the long way back to campus, driving through town, past the Walmart and the Shop ’n Save. Home High School was just up ahead, across from the on-ramp to Interstate 95. A girl stood beside the road with her thumb out. He slowed down and lowered the passenger-side window. It was the girl from Starbucks.
    “I’m out of gas,” he told her, “but I can take you up the hill to Dexter.”
    “Fuck that.” It was the first day of Tragedy’s sophomore year of high school and she’d left the building during homeroom, already bored to tears. She rested her elbows on the window frame. “I was thinking Texas, or maybe Mexico.” She squinted at him. Patrick was still wearing his ripped