Connor, as it turns out, is well-trained in the art of vintage shopping; his mom is also a connoisseur. He spent a lot of his childhood trailing around after her at this very flea market.
“You two would get along great,” he assures me as I sling two denim jackets across his waiting arms.
“I’d like to meet your mom. I bet she has a lot of embarrassing stories about you.”
“Millions,” he agrees.
This flea market is even bigger than I realized. When we finish outside, he points toward the doors and says it extends all the way into the cafeteriatoo.
Before we get inside, though, someone hails him, and Connor turns.
“Young Mr. Reid. We haven’t seen you in a while,” the man says, standing from behind his stall and reaching out to shake Connor’s hand. He is in his sixties, maybe, with a huge salt-and-pepper mustache.
“I haven’t been here in a while,” Connor admits. “How are you, Mr. Shaw?”
“I’ve got something for you,” the man says, hunting through the stack of records in front of him, eventually brandishing an album withTalking Headsemblazoned across the front. Really, it’s for his mom; she sold off all her old records years ago,regretted it instantly, and has been painstakingly rebuilding her collection ever since.
Connor agrees this is a find, and the two merrily haggle back and forth until the man cracks a huge smile and says: “Only for my best student.”
“This was one of your teachers?” I ask, as Connor counts the cash out of his wallet.
“One of hisfavoriteteachers,” Mr. Shaw amends. “I taught him science in that room right there,” he says, pointing up to a window in the building behindus.
“Oh my god,” I say, looking around me with renewed interest. “This is your school?”
“It is,” Connor confirms.
The flea market is forgotten. Mr. Shaw is now the most interesting man in the world. I beg him to tell me stories about Connor, peppering him with questions until the tips of Connor’s ears burn brightred.
Mr. Shaw reveals he was not just a science teacher; he was also the supervisor of the chess club. A club that Connorfounded.He was also, Mr. Shaw tells me grandly, a very active member of the computer club for several years.
Connor looks ready for the ground to swallow him whole. I have never been happier.
“OK, and that’s enough,” Connor says, turning me away from the stall by the shoulders. I protest immediately—Mr. Shaw was just remembering something about a seventh-grade winter formal.
“Mr. Shaw, it was great to see you, I’ll see you soon,” he says, waving off his former teacher. “Annie, the exit is that way, you’re fired, you know too much.”
I cackle, and move toward the school’s back entranceinstead. Two enormous doors have been propped open to let people in and out and I’m determined to keep exploring. Connor follows with a resigned sigh. Secretly, I think he’s also lovingit.
“I’ve never played chess,” I muse, as we pass through the doors. “You’re going to have to teachme.”
“Not sure you’d be able to sit still long enough to learnit.”
I am riveted as we make our way down the hallway. It’s lined with vendors, and most of the school is closed off to visitors, but I can see down a long corridor covered in red lockers. He walks me right up to the metal shutters, pointing at a bank of red lockers beyond it, and the one that used to be his. I would kill to slip under the gate and check it out for myself.
The cafeteria is basically like any other, the pillars covered in huge murals proclaiming what I assume must be the school’s stated values: determination, honesty, inspiration, bravery.
“Kind of intense,” I say, pointing at one of the pillars, which simply saysdream.
He looks at it, then looks back at me, his mouth quirking.
“Am I going to tell you this?” he muses, as if he’s handing me a classified state secret. “It’s a school for gifted kids.”
I burst out laughing at the revelation. Of course. Ofcourse.This day just gets better and better.
“I’m so surprised,” I tell him. “But also not surprised at all.”
Connor being gifted makes perfect sense to me—he has a certain intensity that reeks strongly of getting his homework done before he’d even consider going out to play with the neighborhood kids. All things considered, he’s turned out to be quite normal.
