I was deprived.

When I read A Separate Peace or Prep or The Headmaster Ritual (all books about the glories of boarding school) I feel very sorry for my middle-class, non-distinguished self. When I was in eighth grade, I became convinced the reason I wasn't popular was because I went to a (yuck) public school, and no one there could possibly appreciate my braces-ridden smile or shaggy haircut or Old Navy denim shorts. But for some reason, my parents weren't feeling it. They preferred not to mortgage their house for the $20k a year tuition, for reasons I will never understand. So my dreams of ivy-covered brick dorms and kindly old professors and yacht-owning boys and pastel Lacoste polos never came true. Sad. Very sad.