Boarding School Read Online Free PDF Page B

Ulster Hall.
    “We’re at table one, Mr. Stuart’s table,” Matt read out this information once he had found our names. “Who’s he?”
    “He’s the headmaster around here. Didn’t you meet him yesterday?” I was a little surprised that I knew who Mr. Stuart was, but Matt didn’t.
    “No, some woman from the office checked me in when I got here.”
    “Oh,” I replied blankly.
    The kitchen and dining room were both located at the end of the north hallway in Ulster Hall. As we passed by the opened door to the kitchen and made a right turn to enter the dining room, we found that this unremarkable-looking room with a wood floor, was roughly the same size as the library, and just like the library, had large windows which looked out the rear of the building toward the lake.
    Table one was the first table we came to once we were standing in this room. And as other kids began to file in for breakfast, we moved quickly to find empty seats and sit down together. Each table in this place was round, made from wood and seated six guys comfortably or seven uncomfortably. We had arrived a couple of minutes early, so my roommate and I watched as the rest of the student body and the faculty sleepily walked in and fillied the tables in only the front half of the room. When we were all finally assembled and sitting down, I counted sixty-two students and ten faculty in a dining room which was built to hold one hundred and thirty people.
    Next, like an emperor entering his court, Mr. Stuart walked into the room quickly and then stood behind the chair we had left empty for him at our table. Once he was still, the rest of the room stood up, apparently knowing that this was their cue to do so. Instantly Matt and I stood up as well. A moment later, once the room was quiet again, Mr. Stuart spoke.
    “For what we are about to receive, may the Lord make us truly thankful. Amen!”
    “AMEN!” came the refrain from everyone else in the room, and then we were all seated again.
    The tables had been set for us in advance, and in the center of each one stood a tower of bowls and a meager assortment of individual boxes of cold cereal. I didn’t know it then, but this was to be our meal for nearly every breakfast we were to have for the rest of my days at the Academy. And though I liked cold cereal at the time, to this day I have refused to touch the stuff ever again because of how often we were given it then.
    While I ate, I was eager to get a good look at the other kids with whom I would be living for the next three seasons. Right off, I noticed something that I thought looked odd. At every table there seemed to be a random assortment of ages among the students seated, but at our table nearly every kid was first year. At this stage in my life, I was still pretty much blind to the shortcomings— real or presumed—of the adults I encountered, so I shrugged my observation off as an attempt on the part of a sympathetic headmaster to make young boys, who had probably never been away from home, feel more secure by seating them with the Academy’s father figure. Then about halfway through the meal, Mr. Stuart stood up and tapped his empty glass with his spoon to get the attention of everyone else in the room. As soon as he had the room quiet, he spoke again.
    “Good morning and welcome to another fine year at Ulster Academy. By now you should all be settled in your rooms and have your schedules. Classes begin at eight-thirty this morning, so make sure you’re on time and where you belong when the bell rings. If any of you don’t know where you’re supposed to be, come by the office right after breakfast and see Mrs. Wellesley, my secretary.” He then paused for a moment to let what he had just said be absorbed by our brains. “Also, let me remind you that attendance at breakfast, and for that matter for all meals except the ones you have on Sundays, is mandatory every day just as it is for all of your classes. The only way you can be excused