LITMIR.BIZ

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and nervousfingered, and Martha Wittig, plump and matronly and always wearing a different-colored pair of glasses. Today’s frames were a warm pumpkin shade.

      Sylvie kissed them all on the cheeks. She knew intricate details about each of their lives – Jonathan had bought an eighteenth-century historic Quaker meeting house that had allegedly once belonged to William Penn. He and Stewart, a man he always referred to as his friend, restored it themselves. The house had been featured in a splashy magazine, featuring just one photo of Jonathan sitting on the couch, his hand clenched nervously in his lap. Last year, Dan’s father had unexpectedly willed all his money to charity, meaning Dan was forced to find his first job at forty-four. Geoff and his wife had divorced, and he’d married a much-younger woman named Melinda two months later. They knew about Sylvie, too – that her children had gone to school here, that Charles had attended Cornell, that he’d married Joanna, and that Joanna…well, Sylvie knew that Joanna had held some sort of job before they moved out to the suburbs a few weeks ago, but she could never remember what that job had been, nor did she know what Joanna was planning to do with herself now.

      They knew about Scott, too, though they never asked about him, as if it would be impolite to do so. And they knew about James’s death. They’d paid their respects at his funeral and gone to the luncheon afterwards.

      They had all attended Swithin, and so had their children, those that had them. They’d worked together for years now, planning and debating and deciding. When they considered adding an extra member to the board, they pored over each potential candidate as if they were running for political office, examining tax records, properties owned, extramarital affairs. They didn’t help vote for teachers or staff – which meant, thankfully, they hadn’t had to discuss Scott’s position as an assistant coach – although they did help to choose Michael Tayson as headmaster two months ago after Jerome announced his retirement. That meeting had been only one week after James had died, and Sylvie had felt too shell-shocked to come. Now, she wished she had.

      They sat down, and Martha pressed play on the minirecorder. It taped the meetings from start to finish, and afterwards, Martha’s husband, who was adept at all things technological, would plug the recorder into his computer, press a few buttons to launch the software that could translate the contents of the audio file into a Word document, and voilà, they had minutes without any of them having to feverishly write or transcribe.

      Martha started talking about the numbers and research on the school-wide laptop program, which issued laptop computers to every student to use to take notes and do homework. ‘The thing is, they’re all using them to do non-school-related activities,’ she said. ‘Apparently, the network goes down at least once a week, because everyone’s on their laptops, using all those Facebook sites. And they’re not very careful with them. Seventeen machines have gone in for repairs just this month.’

      ‘Are they encouraging the kids to learn?’ Dan asked.

      ‘It’s hard to say.’ Martha flipped a page. ‘But I mean, it looks good. Having laptops. The way kids are learning isn’t the same anymore. But the teachers are the problem, too. A lot of them aren’t technologically savvy, not nearly as much as the kids are. They’re still making their kids write their papers in longhand.’

      ‘Oh God, especially that Agnes,’ Geoff said, rolling his eyes. ‘How old is she now, eighty?’

      Martha pressed pause on the tape recorder. ‘And still spry as a fox,’ she whispered giddily. ‘There are rumors that she’s dating Harold.’ Harold was one of the guidance counselors. He was quite a bit younger than Agnes, the doyenne of the English teachers.

      ‘Speaking of Harold.’ Dan raised a finger. ‘That daughter of his is back at home. I heard somewhere she was kicked out of Brown.’

      Martha’s eyes widened. ‘Another one?’

      ‘She’s all out of Ivies,’ Geoff sniffed. ‘She’ll have to start on the Seven Sisters next.’

      ‘Because of cheating again?’ Jonathan shook his head.

      ‘I thought she was kicked out of school because of prescription drugs.’ Martha blew her bangs into the air. ‘Poor Harold.’

      Sylvie stared at her fingernails. Nothing seemed amiss. None of them were looking at her funny, indicating they knew about Scott. Maybe Michael Tayson had kept his word, not telling them about the rumors or Scott’s upcoming meeting.

      Martha pressed PLAY on the recorder again. ‘Anyway. Back to the laptops. Should we take them away?

      ‘Laptops do look good, though,’ Dan said. ‘Parents are impressed by that kind of stuff.’

      Geoff stroked his chin. ‘But it’s a big expense. I’ve heard some complaints from the art department. Their supplies are getting more and more expensive, and they can’t buy as much with what they’ve been allotted. A few of the sports coaches have come to me, too, talking about replacing old uniforms and equipment.’

      ‘Which teams?’ Martha straightened her papers.

      Geoff shrugged. ‘It was the basketball coach who spoke to me. And Carla with gymnastics registered a request in the office.’

      ‘We still have a gymnastics team?’ Martha sniffed. The others snickered, too, and just like that, the suggestion was dropped. Basketball and gymnastics weren’t steeped in history and scholarship money the way, say, girls’ soccer was – the team was top in the state, and many girls were recruited by Division I schools – or the way the boys’ crew was – it was Swithin’s first official sport, and the school had sent several boys on to row for Yale and Penn, and from there on to the Olympics. Those were the teams that got the money.

      Sylvie often wondered why her fellow board members invested so much of their time in Swithin. What made them come, year after year, budget after budget, graduating class after graduating class? Did they feel they were part of something? Did it truly define them, as it did her, or did they simply do it because, as people of means, it was their obligation? Take Martha: Sylvie could remember Martha from when they were in school together, though Martha had been a few grades behind her. Back then, Martha had been a bossy, solipsistic field hockey player, always preening herself, always surrounded by a group of cackling girls. When a representative from the New York Public Library Conservator’s office spoke at an assembly about Swithin’s rare book collection, Martha whispered to the girl next to her the whole time, completely uninterested.

      But as a board member, Martha had gotten involved in just as many school projects as Sylvie had. There had been some discussion that Martha had become so involved because of trouble at home – she and her husband wanted another baby, but she had unexpectedly started her menopause. ‘Maybe their marriage is falling apart,’ Sylvie once whispered to James only a few months before he died, after she’d found everything out about him. ‘Maybe the school is Martha’s oasis.’ ‘So the only possible reason Martha could be so heavily involved at the school is because she’s miserable at home?’ James had replied, raising an eyebrow. ‘Of course not!’ Sylvie said quickly. ‘I mean, I’m involved. I’m not miserable.’ James looked at her challengingly. Sylvie looked back. Neither said anything.

      ‘Next up?’ Jonathan said. He leaned over the table and glanced at the list. ‘Hmm. This.’

      Martha tipped forward, now curious. ‘The death.’

      Sylvie’s heart started to pound. She glanced at the recorder, thinking that Martha might hit pause again. Martha didn’t.

      Geoff leaned back in his chair, the springs squeaking. Dan riffled through a few papers on the desk and found a photo of the dead boy, Christian Givens. Sylvie leaned forward. He had elfin features and freckles across his cheeks. His hair was bright green. Acid green, really, a color not found in nature.

      A flutter danced through Sylvie’s stomach. She recognized him.

      ‘What do you suppose they call that color, antifreeze?’ Martha murmured. She covered her mouth. ‘Goodness. Sorry.’

      ‘What

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