Poseur by Compai Read Free Book Online

the V-Formation
     had no choice but to follow suit. One by one, they dribbled their Doppios, capsized their capps, and slopped their sugar-free
     chais. Their t-shirts steeped like tea bags. Their padded bras plumped like sponges. Together they squealed, each at a pitch
     higher than the last, until they achieved OPTIMUM FREQUENCY, that decibel level unique among girls, though typically reserved
     for ice-cold pools and flirtatious games of “tag.” Still, despite their volume, they might as well have been invisible.
    Melissa stood in the center of it all and clapped her hands to her mouth. She shook her head, not making a single sound.
    But she was the one to watch.
    Glen Morrison stood at the Assembly Hall entrance, strumming James Taylor’s “Fire and Rain” on his buttercup-yellow guitar.
     Students streamed by like salmon heading upriver. On the occasion one deigned to notice him, Glen dipped his head in greeting.
     Then he’d shake his floppy gray hair from his eyes and smile.
    He maybe had to do this twice.
    In 1967, Glen and a bunch of other hippie parents founded Winston Prep as a “non-traditional alternative” to other private
     schools in Los Angeles. They sat in a “non-hierarchical” circle and discussed their “non-biased” vision. In terms of education,
     Winston stressed a “non-stress” approach. Instead of exclusivity, Winston offered
creativity.
Instead of competition, Winston offered
conversation.
Winston nurtured the heart as well as the head. Winston
cared
about
caring.
    Their vision survived about as long as a quart of milk. Forgotten in the back of a van with no air-conditioning. In Death
     Valley.
    Nevertheless, Glen strummed on.
    Assembly Hall consisted of one enormous, ballroom-sized space. Sunlight streamed in through tall French windows, and the leaves
     of the weeping willows shimmered behind the glass. There were no chairs to sit on or desks to hide behind. Everyone, students
     and teachers alike, sat on the smooth, brushed concrete floor. For all appearances, students sat wherever they liked. If you
     paid attention, however, you’d notice everyone sat in the same spot every day. A strict seating chart was in place — and your
     spot on the floor, just like your spot in the lot, depended entirely on your social ranking. But while parking spots had to
     do with what you drove, floor spots had to do with who you were. And who you were was defined by
what you wore
. And, of course, how you wore it.
    The least popular Winstonians sat in the center of the floor, known as “Ground Zero.” The goal was to sit as far from Ground
     Zero as possible. The farther you got, the more popular you were. The most coveted seats on the floor were those at the outermost
     point — in this case, a seat against the wall. A wall seat was a clear sign to the student body that you’d made it.
    Melissa and her friends sat along the sunniest part of the East Wall. East Wallers looked like they spent their lunchtime
     hot-tubbing with Snoop Dogg. East Wallers wore form-fitting, brand-name clothes that sparkled when they walked. East Wallers
     were all sass. Basic Rule: if you can’t match your stilettos to your nail jewels,
sit someplace else.
    Charlotte and her friends sat on the west side. West Wallers were the so-called “indie darlings” of Winston Prep. West Wallers
     looked like they spent lunchtime gallery-hopping with Sofia Coppola and Chloë Sevigny. West Wallers dressed in understated
     yet expensive fabrics: silk, cashmere, sheer cottons. West Wallers were all class. Basic Rule: if you can’t pair vintage capris
     with couture flats,
sit someplace else.
    Janie and her friends sat toward the back, near the middle: this was No Man’s Land. Nomanlanders looked like they spent lunchtime,
     well . . . eating lunch. Nomanlanders wore Sevens jeans and Banana Republic t-shirts — and that’s when they were feeling
really
stylish. Nomanlanders dressed to be ignored, and they were. Basic Rule: