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I think he liked the idea of me following in his footsteps. He had attended Culver Creek, the same boarding school to which I was headed, as had both of his brothers and all of their kids.

Mom was not particularly keen on letting me go to boarding school and had made no secret of it. This was not the first time she had posed the question. I mulled it over for a moment, careful not to look at her. Is this why you want to leave, Miles?” Mom asked.

I could feel their pity as they scooped artichoke dip with chips intended for my imaginary friends, but they needed pity more than I did: I wasn’t disappointed. I could feel them both looking at me, waiting for me to burst into tears or something, as if I hadn’t known all along that it would go precisely like this. They left, and so I sat with my parents and stared at the blank TV and wanted to turn it on, but knew I shouldn’t. The only thing worse than having a party that no one attends is having a party attended only by two vastly, deeply uninteresting people. Have fun at boarding school, Miles.” Thanks,” I answered, relieved. Finally, Will said, “Well, we just dropped by to say goodbye. “A lot of people came, I guess.” Marie was the sort of person to guess a lot. My mom, however, can talk small for hours, and so she extended the awkwardness by asking them about their rehearsal schedule, and how the show had gone, and whether it was a success.

I might have asked a question about Jesus Christ Superstar, except (1) I didn’t know what it was and (2) I didn’t care to learn, and (3) I never really excelled at small talk. That’s cool.” I nodded knowingly, and that about exhausted our conversational topics. Said cavalry consisted of exactly two people: Marie Lawson, a tiny blonde with rectangular glasses, and her chunky (to put it charitably) boyfriend Will. and patiently awaited the arrival of the Goodbye to Miles cavalry. And when that final Friday came, when my packing was mostly done, she sat with my dad and me on the living-room couch at 4.56 p.m. She bought two dozen champagne poppers and placed them around the edge of our coffee table. She festooned our living room in green and yellow streamers, the colours of my new school. She cooked a small mountain of artichoke dip. Still, my mother persevered, awash in the delusion that I had kept my popularity secret from her all these years. the ragtag bunch of drama people and English geeks I sat with by social necessity in the cavernous cafeteria of my public school, I knew they wouldn’t come. Although I was more or less forced to invite all my “school friends”, i.e. To say that I had low expectations would be to underestimate the matter dramatically. Before One Hundred and Thirty-six Days Before The week before I left my family and Florida and the rest of my minor life to go to boarding school in Alabama, my mother insisted on throwing me a going-away party.

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