Abdi Nazemian - The Chandler Legacies

If you take the interstate from New York into Connecticut, you might notice the pollution that has started to infest our highwayssoda bottles, packs of cigarettes, gum wrappers. You might notice the red of the trees in the fall, the green of them in the spring. If youre very observant, you will probably notice the hidden police cars, covertly stationed near the off-ramps, waiting for speeding luxury cars they can teach a lesson toConnecticut being the capital of traffic violations.

Mom, theres the exit, Beth Kramer tells her mom, Elizabeth, pointing to an unmarked off-ramp. Beth and her mom share a name and theyre both redheads with freckles, but they share very little else.

Its so confusing, her mom says. Cant they just put up a big old sign like normal people?

No, because this isnt a place for normal people.

Heres the thing. In 1958, when the interstate was first built, the Headmaster of Chandler Academy and the Headmistress of Plum School (they were still separate institutions then) petitioned the state for their very own interstate exit. Exit 75. The only catch is that they wanted it to be a hidden exit with no signage. Beth doesnt say any of this to her mom, who hates everything Chandler represents and would bristle at the whole concept of a hidden interstate exit. Her mom would understand, like Beth does, that the whole point of Exit 75 is avoiding townies.

Beth is one of those townies, and yet here she is, arriving for her sophomore year. A second chance at convincing them, and convincing herself, that she belongs here.

Beths mom takes the unmarked exit and drives down the half mile of New England foliage that separates road from school. Theres nowhere to pull off and stop the car until they get to campus. Beth thinks of all the buried secrets in these woods. Trees carved with lovers initials. Decades of cigarette butts buried under leaves and dirt, because what happens here tends to stay buried.

But anything can be unburied.

As soon as her mom pulls into campus, Beth hauls her giant backpack out of the back seat. Okay, thanks Mom, she says.

I could come help you settle in, her mom offers.

Im not a third former this time, Beth says. It would be pretty embarrassing for a fourth former to have her mom help her put a comforter on her bed.

Whats a third former again? her mom asks.

Its a freshman. So that makes me a fourth former this year. A sophomore.

Her mom shakes her head. I dont know why this school cant just use the same words as the rest of us.

Beth could say again that its because this place isnt for normal people, but she doesnt.

I see other mothers helping.

Those are nannies, Beth says, half smiling.

Okay, her mom says with a sad shrug. I dont know the rules of this place like you do.

Beth throws her backpack onto the ground outside the car. She leans into the car, stretches her body until shes able to give her mom a kiss on the cheek. Love you, Mom.

Are you gonna be okay? her mom says. A loaded question.

She nods instead of answering. She knows that if she engages in this conversation, her mom will use it as one more opportunity to suggest therapy. Okay, shes a little anxious sometimes. But shes not see-a-therapist anxious. Will you be able to find your way back to town? Beth asks.

I think so. They make getting out a lot easier than getting in.

Beth slams the car door shut. She waves until her moms Volvo is out of sight. It stood out like a sore thumb among all the luxury cars. She imagines her mom weaving her way back to the highway. Beth thinks about how shes a little like that hidden exit herself. No one notices her.

And why would they? Look at these kids pouring into campus. New haircuts. Freshly pressed summer dresses purchased from the racks of fancy New York City boutiques. Bright whitened smiles. Stories about summers in the south of France, internships at banks and magazines and movie studios. All the markers of belonging that Beth still hasnt achieved because, well, she cant afford to.

She smiles at the fellow fourth formers she remembers from last year. Amanda de Ravin. Sarah Sumner. Rachel Katz. They all look right past her like shes made of cellophane.

As Beth gazes around the campus, she marvels at how much she knows about it. Shes basically a Chandler encyclopedia, her lifelong obsession with the campus having resulted in useless trivia about it filling her brain. Probably taking up space that could be occupied by more important things. She couldve at least volunteered to be an orientation guide this year, but she was too scared. Too committed to staying invisible.

In the distance, she sees Sarah Brunson guiding a new family across campus. Her wavy brown hair and forced smile bring Beth right back to rooming with her last year. Brunson wears a rust-and-gold