Thursday afternoon at Hartwell meant freedom.
The final bell rang at 12:30, releasing students into the wild like zoo animals discovering an open gate. Half-days existed for faculty meetings or professional development or whatever excuse the administration invented to give themselves long weekends. Students didn't question miracles.
I walked through the main corridor toward the student parking lot, dodging clusters of classmates making weekend plans. Someone was throwing a party at their parents' Hamptons house. Someone else had courtside tickets to a Knicks game. A third group debated which club to hit in the city, apparently forgetting that most of them weren't old enough to drink.
Rich kid problems.
I pulled it out, expecting Iris asking me to pick up snacks or Harlow sending another seventeen emoji string about nothing in particular.
The name on the screen read: Vivienne Valentine.
Oh good. My favorite person.
