Pearl in the Mist

3

Getting Along

A half-hour before we all had to leave for the main building to attend Mrs. Ironwood's assembly, Abby Tyler and her parents arrived. I thought she was the prettiest of us all. About my height; but slim with dainty features like Audrey Hepburn, Abby had turquoise eyes and thick ebony hair, the strands brushed straight to her shoulders. Her rich, dark complexion was almost mocha, suggesting she had spent a great deal more time than the rest of us at the beach.

She spoke with a soft, melodic voice, her accent clipped and different, with some French intonation, obviously influenced by her mother's side. When she smiled at me, I felt there was something sincere about her. Like us, she was tentative and unsure of herself, being a Greenwood student for the first time.

After she was introduced to all the girls, Mrs. Penny asked her if she minded having some of Gisselle's things in her room. I knew that Gisselle didn't want to appear that she was asking anyone for anything, but Abby was very cooperative.

"Oh, no," she said, smiling at Gisselle. "Come in and use whatever space you want."

"I hate the idea of having to go from room to room to get my own things," Gisselle whined.

"You just tell me what you want when you want it and fetch it for you," I said quickly.

"Or I'll be glad to bring it to you," Abby offered. She glanced at me with an understanding and sympathetic look in her eyes, and I felt an immediate kinship with this soft-spoken, dark-haired girl.

"Sure, I have to go around and beg people to get me my own things," Gisselle continued, her voice shrill. I was afraid that at any moment she would burst into one of her tantrums and embarrass Daddy.

"You don't have to beg. That's a ridiculous thing to say. Asking for something isn't begging," I said.

"I don't mind getting things for you," Abby said. "Really, I don't."

"Why not?" Gisselle snapped back instead of being grateful. "Are you practicing to become somebody's maid?" The blood drained from Abby's face.

"Gisselle! Why can't you be gracious and accept someone's kindness?"

"Because I don't want to be dependent on the kindness of others," she cried back at me. "I want to depend on my own legs."

"Oh dear," Mrs. Penny said, pressing her palms to her plump cheeks. "I just want everyone to be happy."

"It's all right, Mrs. Penny. If Abby is willing to share the space in her room with my sister, my sister will be happy," I said, glaring down at Gisselle.

Frustrated, she turned on Daddy after all our things had been brought in, and she started to complain to him about having to wear a uniform, especially when she set eyes on it: a drab gray skirt and a drab gray blouse with thick-heeled black shoes. The dress code on the second page of our booklet also specified that makeup, even lipstick, was forbidden, as was any ostentatious show of jewelry.

"I'm trapped in this horrible wheelchair all day," Gisselle protested, "and now I have to wear those horrible, uncomfortable clothes too. I felt the material. It's too rough for my skin. And those ugly shoes will hurt my feet. They're too heavy."

"I'll go speak to someone about it," Daddy said and rushed out. Fifteen minutes later, he returned to tell Gisselle that, under the circumstances, she had been given permission to wear whatever made her comfortable.

Gisselle sank into her wheelchair and sulked. Despite every effort she made to complicate things and make our arrival at Greenwood difficult, someone figured out a way to placate her and make things smooth.

Daddy was ready to say his goodbyes.

"I know you two are going to do well here. All I ask," he said, gazing down at Gisselle, "is that you give it a fair chance."

"I hate it already," she fired back. "The room's too small. I have to go too far to class. What do I do when it rains?"

"What anyone else does, Gisselle. Open an umbrella," he replied. "You're not a piece of fragile china and you won't melt," he said.

"We'll be all right, Daddy," I promised.

"You will," Gisselle snapped. "I won't."

"We both will," I insisted.

"I've got to go and you two have things to do now," Daddy said. He leaned over to give Gisselle a kiss and a hug. She turned away and wouldn't return his kiss, not even a quick peck on the cheek. I saw how sad and unhappy that made him feel, so I gave him a bigger-than-usual kiss and hug.

"Don't worry," I whispered, my arms still clinging around his neck. "I'll watch over her and make sure she doesn't drop the potato too fast," I added, which Daddy knew was an old Cajun expression for giving up. He laughed.

"I'll call you two in a day or so," he promised. He said goodbye to the other girls and left with Abby's parents, who had spent most of their time talking with Mrs. Penny. As soon as they were gone, Vicki declared that we had to leave for the main building and the assembly. That started Gisselle on her tirade about the distance she had to travel from the dorm to the main building.

"They should provide a car for me and drive me to and from the school," she declared.

"It's really not that far, Gisselle."

"Easy for you to say," she countered. "You can run if you want to."

"I'll be glad to push you along," Samantha volunteered. Gisselle glared at her.

"Ruby pushes me," she said sharply.

"Well, if there's ever a time when Ruby can't, I will," Samantha volunteered happily.

"Why? Does it amuse you?" Gisselle fired.

"No," Samantha said, taken aback. She looked quickly from one of us to the other. "I only meant . . ."

"We'd better get going," Vicki said, looking nervously at her watch. "No one comes late to one of Mrs. Ironwood's assemblies. If you do, she screams at you in front of the whole school and gives you two demerits."

We started out, Abby walking alongside me and behind Gisselle.

"What brought you to Greenwood for your senior year?" I asked her.

"My parents moved and they didn't like the school I was supposed to attend," she explained quickly, but she shifted her eyes away too, and for the first time I felt she wasn't being completely honest. I thought that whatever her real reasons were, they were probably painful ones like ours, and I didn't pursue it.

"That's a very pretty locket," she said when she turned back to me.

"Thank you. My boyfriend gave it to me this morning before we left for Greenwood. His picture and mine are in it. Take a look," I said, pausing and leaning over.

"Why are you stopping?" Gisselle demanded, even though she had been listening in on our conversation and knew very well why.

"Just a moment. I want to show Abby Beau's picture."

"What for?"

I snapped open the locket, and Abby glanced quickly at the pictures.

"Very handsome," she remarked.

"Which is why he's probably with someone else by now," Gisselle said. "I told her to expect it."

"Did you leave any boyfriends behind too?" I asked, ignoring Gisselle but pushing her forward.

"Yes," Abby said sadly.

"Well, maybe he'll come to visit you and write you and even call," I suggested.

She shook her head. "No, he won't."

"Why not?"

"He just won't," she said. I paused, but she quickened her pace to catch up with the other girls.

"What's with her?" Gisselle asked.

"Homesick, I suppose," I said.

"I can't blame her. Even an orphan could get homesick here," she added and laughed at her clever exaggeration. I didn't laugh. I had come here thinking I was the one who would have the most mysterious background and the most secrets to keep hidden, but in less than an hour I had discovered that that was not to be so. It seemed like there might be more doors locked in Abby's past than in mine. I wondered why, and I wondered if I would ever be permitted to find out.

"Catch up with the others," Gisselle ordered. "You push me like an old lady."

We caught up, and as we continued on our way to the main building, our conversation turned to what we did during our summer, the movies we had seen, the places we had been, and the singers and actors we thought were dreamboats. Gisselle dominated each topic, forcefully expressing her opinions, opinions that Samantha especially clung to, basking in her words and looks like a small flower hungry for the warmth and light of the sun. But I noticed that Abby remained very quiet, listening with a gentle smile on her lips.

When we arrived at the main building, everyone decided to accompany Gisselle up the gangway and into the building, which was something that, I saw, pleased her. She was being treated as if she were someone special, not just someone handicapped.

Two male teachers, Mr. Foster and Mr. Norman, were at the two entrances to the auditorium, quickly ushering the girls inside.

"We go to the left," Vicki directed.

"Why?" Gisselle demanded. Now that she had to accept the fact that she would be here at Greenwood, she would demand to know why something couldn't be white if it was black. As Grandmère Catherine would say if she were here, "Gisselle is determined to be the pebble in everyone's shoe."

"It's where our assigned seats are located," Vicki replied. "It's explained in your packet. Didn't you read any of it yet?"

"No, I didn't read any of it yet," Gisselle said, imitating Vicki's condescending tone. "Anyway, I can't have an assigned seat. I'm in a wheelchair, or haven't you noticed?"

"Of course I noticed. Even so, you should remain with us," Vicki continued patiently. "It's the way Mrs. Ironwood has organized assemblies. We are seated according to our dorm and quad."

"And what else is in this precious packet? When we should go to the bathroom?"

Vicki blanched and turned to lead the way. When we reached our row, everyone filed in. Gisselle remained in the aisle in her wheelchair, and I took the outside 'seat so I could sit next to her. Abby sat beside me. All around us, the girls laughed and chatted, many gazing our way with interest and curiosity. But no matter who smiled at Gisselle, she refused to smile back. When the girl on the aisle seat across from us kept turning toward her, Gisselle nearly snapped her head off.

"What are you staring at? Didn't you ever see anyone in a wheelchair before?"

"I wasn't staring."

"Gisselle," I said softly, putting my hand on her arm, "don't make a scene."

"Why not? What difference will it make?" she retorted.

Jacqueline waved to some friends, as did Vicki and Kate and Samantha. Then Jacqueline began pointing out other girls and giving us abbreviated opinions.

"That's Deborah Stewart. She's so stuck up, she gets a nosebleed every day. And that's Susan Peck. Her brother goes to Rosedown, and he's so good-looking everyone plays up to Susan in the hope she will introduce them to her brother when his school attends one of our socials. Oh, there's Camille Ripley. She looks like she got her parents to give her that nose job, doesn't she, Vicki?"

"I forgot what she looked like," Vicki said dryly.

Suddenly a ripple of silence began to pass through the assembly of girls. It started toward the rear and made its way toward the front, accompanying the arrival of Mrs. Ironwood, who marched down the aisle.

"There's the Iron Lady," Jacqueline said in a loud whisper and nodded in her direction. Abby, I, and Gisselle turned to see her start up the short stairway to the stage at the front of the auditorium.

Mrs. Ironwood looked no more than five-six or seven. She was stout, with gray hair pulled severely back and tied in a thick bun. She had a pair of pearl-framed glasses on a silver chain around her neck, the glasses resting on her bosom. Dressed in a dark blue vest with a white blouse beneath it and an ankle-length skirt, she walked firmly in her thick-heeled black shoes, her shoulders back, her head high, until she reached the podium at the center of the stage. When she turned to face the assembly, not a sound was heard. Someone coughed but quickly choked it to an end.

"How come she doesn't have to wear that ugly uniform too?" Gisselle muttered.

"Shh," Vicki said.

"Good afternoon, girls, and welcome back to Greenwood for what I expect will be another successful year for all of you." She paused, put on her glasses, and opened her folder.

Then she looked up, seemingly turning our way and gazing directly at us. Even from this distance, I could see how steely cold her eyes were. She had thick eyebrows and a firm mouth set in a jaw that seemed made of granite.

"I would like to begin by first welcoming all of the girls who are with us for the first time. I know that the rest of you will do whatever you can to make their arrival and familiarity with our school smooth and easy. Remember, once all of you were new girls.

"Next, I would like to introduce three new faculty members. Teaching freshman English, Mr. Risel," she said and gazed to her right, where some of the faculty were seated. A tall, lean, blond-haired man of about forty rose and nodded at the assembly.

"Teaching advanced French, Monsieur Marabeau," she said in a perfect French accent. A short, stout, dark-haired man with a dark mustache stood up and bowed to the assembly.

"And finally, our new art instructor, Miss Stevens," she said with a little more sternness in her voice than I had detected when she'd introduced the previous two.

An attractive brunette who couldn't be much more than twenty-eight or twenty-nine stood up. She had a warm, friendly smile, but she looked uncomfortable in her tweed suit and high-heeled shoes.

"Wait until she hears about your paintings and finds out how talented you are," Gisselle quipped. All of the girls in our row turned toward her, but Mrs. Ironwood shifted her gaze our way too. I could feel the sting of her reproach.

"Shh," Vicki warned.

"Now to review our rules of behavior," Mrs. Ironwood continued, her eyes still fixed in our direction. My heart was pounding, but Gisselle just glared back.

"As you know, we expect everyone to be serious about her work. Consequently, a grade-point average of less than C-plus will not be tolerated. If any one of you should fall beneath that acceptable threshold, you will lose all of your social privileges until you bring your average up."

"What social privileges?" Gisselle asked, again a little too loud. Mrs. Ironwood raised her gaze from her folder and glared our way. "I expect you to remain quiet while I am speaking. At Greenwood respect for teacher and staff is required. We do not have time for, nor will we tolerate, insubordination in class or in any classroom situation. Is that perfectly clear?"

Her words echoed in the deathly quiet hall. No one moved, not even Gisselle. Even though Mrs. Ironwood continued in a lower voice, her consonants were so sharp I thought she could slice the air between us with her words.

"I would advise you all to turn to page ten in your orientation booklets and memorize the rules set down. You will note when you read the list that the possession of any alcoholic beverage or any drug on campus will result in your immediate expulsion. Your parents know that means they forfeit the tuition. Loud music, smoking, or any act of vandalism carries severe punishments and high numbers of demerits.

"Last year I was a little more lenient than I should have been when it came to our dress codes. Unless you have prior approval, you are to wear our uniform, keep it clean and well pressed, and abstain from using cosmetics. Looking attractive at Greenwood means being clean and neat, not painting your face."

She paused and smiled coolly.

"I am pleased to announce that we will have as many dances this year as we had last. There were only one or two instances of inappropriate behavior, and those offenders were dealt with quickly before they ruined things for everyone else. We expect you to behave in a proper manner when you have guests visiting on visiting days. And remember: While your guests are on this campus, they are to obey our rules and regulations the same as if they were students here. That goes for the male guests as well as the female," she emphasized.

"I remind you," she said slowly, pulling her shoulders back and looking toward the ceiling at the rear of the auditorium, "you are all Greenwood girls now, and Greenwood girls are special. To the newcomers, I recommend that you memorize our slogan: A Greenwood girl is a girl who considers her body and her mind to be holy, and a girl who knows that what she does reflects upon us all. Be proud you are Greenwood girls and make us proud you are one of us.

"Those who have to be issued uniforms and shoes, proceed directly to the commissary in the basement. Everyone, study your schedule, note your times to be at class. Remember, one lateness is a single demerit. The second lateness is four, and the third is six."

"I can't get demerits for being late," Gisselle muttered. "Not moving around in this wheelchair."

Some of the girls who overheard her glanced her way and then looked quickly at Mrs. Ironwood, who once again seemed to be fixed on us coldly, as a butcher bird in the bayou. The long pause caused a ripple of discomfort to pass through the assembly. I felt like I was sitting on a hill of ants and couldn't wait for Mrs. Ironwood to look in a different direction. Finally, she did.

"Our enrollment has gone up, but our classes are still small enough for all of you to get the individualized instruction you need to be successful, if you work up to your full capacity. Good luck to you all," she concluded, then took off her glasses and closed her folder. She glared our way one more time and then marched off the stage. No one moved until she had left the auditorium. Then the girls, many of whom who had held their breaths, broke out in loud chatter as they got up to leave.

"Thanks a lot," Gisselle said, spinning around on me, her eyes full of fire.

"For what?"

"For bringing me to this little hellhole." She spun herself around in her chair, pushing other girls out of her way. Then she looked back. "Samantha," she called.

"What?"

"Push me back to the dorm while my sister goes for her pretty new outfit," she ordered and laughed. Samantha jumped to do her bidding and we all left the auditorium, following behind her as if she had just been appointed queen.

After Abby and I had been issued our uniforms and shoes, we returned to the dorm. On the way I told her the story of Gisselle's car accident and subsequent paralysis. She listened attentively, her dark eyes watering when I described Martin's funeral and Daddy's deep depression during the days immediately following.

"So you can't say the accident made her this way," Abby said.

"No. Unfortunately, Gisselle was Gisselle long before, and I'm afraid she will be this way for a long time yet." Abby laughed.

"Don't you have any brothers or sisters?" I asked her. "No." After a long pause she added, "I wasn't supposed to be born."

"What do you mean?"

"I was an accident. My parents didn't want to have any children," she said.

"Why?"

"They didn't want any," she replied, but I sensed there were deeper, darker reasons, reasons she knew but couldn't voice. She had already been more revealing than she'd intended, which was something I attributed to our getting along so well so quickly. It was natural for Abby and I to want to be close. Except for Gisselle, we two were the only girls in the dorm to be attending Greenwood for the first time. I felt that, in time, I could tell her my story; that she was someone I could trust to keep it locked away.

Back in our quad, we tried on our uniforms. Despite the sizes on the labels, they were big enough for us to swim in them. I decided these clothes were designed to keep our femininity a state secret. Dressed in a baggy blouse with a skirt that touched our ankles, we confronted each other in the sitting room and both fell into hysterics. Gisselle looked pleased. Our laughter brought the other girls out of their rooms where they had been organizing their things.

"What's so funny?" Samantha asked.

"What's so funny? Look at us," I said.

"The Iron Lady designed these uniforms herself," Vicki explained. "So don't complain too loudly."

"Or she'll burn you at the stake," Jacqueline added.

"At least we can wear our own clothes on weekends, at the socials, and when we get invited to Mrs. Clairborne's tea," Kate said.

"Mrs. Clairborne's tea?" Gisselle remarked. "I can't wait."

"Oh, she always has the best little cakes," Kate said. "And pralines!"

"A few dozen of which Chubs manages to shove into her purse and then hide somewhere in the room. I don't know why we don't have rats," Jacqueline said.

"What is this tea exactly?" I asked.

"It's not just one tea. It's frequent and by invitation only. Everyone knows who's been invited and who's not, and the teachers think more highly of you if you're invited more than once."

"Three times makes you a Tea Queen," Jacqueline declared.

"Tea Queen?" Abby looked at me, and I shrugged.

"You keep your tea bag each time you're invited and you pin it on a wall in your room like an award or a commendation," Vicki explained. "It's a Greenwood tradition and an honor. Jacki's right. Those who are invited often are treated better."

"She's saying that because she's a Tea Queen," Jacqueline quipped. "She was invited four times last year."

"And what about you?" Gisselle asked.

"Once. Kate was invited twice, as was Samantha."

"All new girls are invited to the first tea of the year, but that doesn't count because it's automatic," Vicki continued. "Where are the teas held?" Abby asked.

"At the Clairborne mansion. Mrs. Penny will take you up there and give you the history of the house. Here it's almost as important to know those facts as it is to know the facts in American or European history," Jacqueline said. Vicki nodded.

"I can't wait," Gisselle said. "Only I'm not sure I can take the excitement." Kate laughed and Samantha smiled, but Vicki looked shocked by what amounted to blasphemy at Greenwood.

"So," Gisselle continued, "when's the first monthly social, the one with boys?"

"Oh, not for nearly a month. Didn't you read the social calendar in your packet?" Jacqueline said.

"A month? I told Daddy this was like being in a nunnery," she wailed at me. "What about getting into the city?" she quickly asked. The girls looked at each other.

"What do you mean?" Vicki said.

"Getting into the city. What's so hard to understand? You're going to be the valedictorian."

Vicki blanched.

"I . . . well . . ."

"None of us ever left the campus on our own," Jacqueline said.

"Why not?" Gisselle demanded. "There must be places in the city to go where we can meet boys."

"For one thing, you have to have a permission form on file to be able to leave the campus on your own," Vicki explained.

"What? You mean I'm really a prisoner here?"

"Just call your parents and have them file the form," Vicki said with a shrug.

"What about the rest of you? Are you telling me none of you cared before?" No one spoke. "What are you all? Virgins?" Gisselle cried in frustration. Her face was as red as a steamed lobster claw.

Samantha's mouth dropped open. Kate stared with a half-amused, half-amazed smile on her face. Vicki remained nonplussed, but Jacqueline looked ashamed. Abby and I exchanged quick glances.

"Don't tell me you've been obeying all these dumb rules," Gisselle continued, shaking her head in disbelief. "Demerits can—" Vicki began.

"Ruin your chances to become a Tea Queen. I get it," Gisselle said. "There are more important things to pin on your walls than old tea bags," Gisselle snapped, then rolled her wheelchair across the room toward Vicki, who stepped back. "Like love letters. Ever get one?"

Vicki looked around and saw that all eyes were on her. She stammered for a moment.

"I . . . I've got . . . to start my assigned reading for European history," she said. "See you later." She turned and walked quickly to her room. Gisselle spun around and fixed her gaze on Jacqueline.

"Last year a couple of the boys from Rosewood wanted to sneak into our dorm on a weekend night," she revealed. "And?"

"We didn't have the nerve," Jacqueline confessed.

"Well it's this year, and we have the nerve now," Gisselle said. She looked at me. "We'll show them how girls from New Orleans party. Right, Ruby?"

"Don't start, Gisselle. Please."

"Start what? Living? You'd like me to be an obedient little Greenwood girl and roll around quietly in my wheelchair with my mouth shut, my lap full of dried old tea bags, and my knees bound together, wouldn't you?"

"Gisselle, please . . ."

"Who's got a cigarette?" she demanded quickly. Kate's eyes widened. She shook her head. "Samantha?"

"No, I don't smoke."

"Don't smoke. Don't see boys. What do you girls do, read fan magazines and masturbate?"

It was as if thunder had shaken the dorm. I was so embarrassed by my sister's outburst I had to look down at the floor.

"All right," Gisselle continued, "don't worry. I'm here now. Things will be different. I promise. It just so happens," she said with a smile, "I smuggled in some cigarettes of my own."

"Gisselle, you'll get everyone in trouble, and the first day too," I protested.

"You're not chicken, are you?" she asked Jacqueline, Kate, and Samantha. "Good," she said when they didn't respond. "Come into my room. You can help me organize my records and we'll share a cigarette. Maybe I'll get us something better soon," she added, smiling. She spun her chair around and headed for our room. No one moved. "Well?" she snapped.

Jacqueline started after her first, and then Kate and Samantha followed.

"Close the door," Gisselle ordered when they were all in our room.

"I never thought twin sisters could be so different," Abby remarked and then realized what she had said. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean . . ."

"That's all right. I never thought so either. Until I met her," I said and bit my tongue. But it was too late.

"Met her?"

"It's a long story," I said. "I wasn't supposed to tell it to anyone here."

"I understand," Abby said. From the way she looked when she said it, I believed she did understand.

"But I don't mind telling it to you," I added. She smiled.

"Why don't we go into my room," she suggested. I looked back at the closed door behind which Gisselle was holding court with her new protégées. It was a scene I wanted no part of at the moment.

"Good idea," I said. "While we talk, I'll organize the things of Gisselle's you had to take. I'd better go through some of it too," I said, throwing a glance back at our room. "No telling what else she smuggled in here."

A little over an hour later, Mrs. Penny came to our quad to see how we were all doing. If she had smelled any smoke coming from our room, she didn't reveal it. Frankly, I didn't see how she could miss it. The stench was on the girls' clothing and lingered in the air despite their opening our windows.

"I'm also here to formally pass on Mrs. Clairborne's invitation to Abby, Gisselle, and Ruby to attend tea at her home on Saturday at two," she said. "You can wear what you wish, but you should dress appropriately," she added, winking. "It's a formal tea."

"Oh no! And I left my formal tea dress home," Gisselle said.

"Pardon, dear?"

"Nothing," Gisselle said, smiling. I saw how Samantha and Kate were smiling behind Mrs. Penny's back. Jacki was wearing her usual smirk, but it was clear that all three were still in awe of my sister.

"Good. Well then, dinner's in less than fifteen minutes," Mrs. Penny sang out. "New girls don't have chores until the second week," she added and then sauntered off.

"What was that supposed to mean?" Gisselle inquired, wheeling herself into the center of the sitting room. "What chores?"

"All of us help out in the dining room. The responsibilities are scheduled and posted on the bulletin board in the main lobby," Jacqueline said. "This week Vicki, Samantha, Chubs, and I have bus-girl duties. We have to clean off the tables and bring the dirty dishes and silverware into the kitchen after everyone's finished eating. The girls in B and C quad are waitresses, and the girls in D quad set the table."

"What?" Gisselle spun her chair around to face me. "You didn't tell me this."

"I just found out myself, Gisselle. What's the big deal?"

"What's the big deal? I don't do maid's work."

"I'm sure no one will expect you to do anything since . . ." Vicki started to say but stopped.

Gisselle glared at her. "Since I'm crippled? Is that what you wanted to say?"

"I was going to say 'since you're in a wheelchair.' You can't be expected to carry dishes into the kitchen."

"She can set a table," I said and smiled at my sister, who, if looks were fire, would have burned me to a crisp.

"What I can do and what I will do are two different things. If these other dopes want to pay all this money to go to a private school and work as maids as well, then let them," she said.

"All the girls do it in all the dorms, especially the two big ones," Samantha said. Gisselle threw a glance at her that had the same effect a slap would have had. She bit her lower lip and stepped back. "They do," she muttered to me and Abby.

"Why should any of us be afraid of a little work?" I said.

"You would say that. You . . ." Gisselle stopped herself from revealing my Cajun background and glanced quickly at the others. "I'm hungry. Let's go. Samantha," she cried, and Samantha jumped forward to push Gisselle's chair.

In the dining room we met the other girls in our dorm. With the upstairs quads, there were fifty-four in all. Three long tables were set up in the large room that was brightly lit by four big chandeliers. The walls were paneled in a dark wood, with framed prints of plantation scenes and scenes on the bayou evenly hung on each wall. Everyone was chattering excitedly when we arrived, but the sight of Gisselle in the chair quieted them down some. She returned every gaze with her own fierce look of condemnation, causing eyes to shift in every direction but hers. Vicki showed us to our places. Because of her wheelchair, Gisselle was situated at the head of our table, something she enjoyed and quickly used to her advantage. In moments she was determining the subjects of the conversation, ordering this be passed and that be passed and going off on long descriptions of her exciting lifestyle back in New Orleans.

The girls seemed fascinated with her. Some, who looked even snobbier to me, gazed at her as if she were a ghost from the cemetery of bad manners, but Gisselle let nothing slow her down. She treated the girls who were serving our food as if they were no better than hired servants, demanding, complaining, and never once saying "thank you" for anything.

The food was good, but not nearly as good as the food Nina made for us back home. After the meal had ended and the girls from our quad began clearing the table, Gisselle ordered me to take her back to our room.

"I won't wait for them," she said. "They're absolute idiots."

"No they're not, Gisselle," I said. "They're just participating in what's ours. It's fun. It makes you feel like this is your place, your home away from home."

"Not to me. To me it's a nightmare away from home," she said. "Take me to the room. I want to listen to some records and write some letters to my friends, who will want to know about this poor excuse for a school," she said, loud enough for everyone around us to hear. "Oh, Jacki," she said, calling back. "When you girls are finished with your chores, you can come to my room to listen to my records and learn what's up to date."

I pushed her out as fast as I could. She screamed I was going to crash her into a wall, but that's just what I hoped to do. Abby followed us. We had already decided that she and I would take a walk to the lake after dinner. I was going to ask Gisselle to come along, but since she had already decided on what she wanted to do, I didn't mention it.

"Where are you two going?" she demanded after I had brought her to our room.

"Outside, for a walk. Do you want to come?"

"I don't walk, remember?" she said curtly and shut the door.

"I'm sorry," I said to Abby. "I'm afraid I’ll be apologizing for my sister forever."

She smiled and shook her head.

"I thought I had a cross to bear and should feel sorry for myself, but after seeing what you have to put up with . Abby said when we walked out of the dorm.

"What do you mean, you thought you had a cross to bear? What could be your cross? Your parents seemed very nice."

"Oh, they are. I love them very much."

"Then what did you mean? Are you suffering from some disease or something? You seem as healthy as a young alligator."

Abby laughed. "No, thank God, I am very healthy."

"And pretty, too."

"Thank you. So are you."

"So? What's your cross to bear?" I pursued. "I trusted you with my story," I told her after a moment.

She was quiet. We started down the walkway, heading toward the lake. She kept her head down, but I looked up at the half moon peeking over the shoulder of a cloud. The silvery rays coolly illuminated the warm night and made our new world ethereal, like the setting of a dream we were all sharing. Off to our right, the other two dorms were all lit up, and here and there we spotted other girls taking walks or just gathered in small groups talking.

When we made the turn that would take us down to the water, we could hear the bullfrogs, cicadas, and other nocturnal creatures coming alive in their ritualistic night music, a symphony full of croaks and clicks, rattles and thin whistles.

Because we were so far from any highways, the sounds of traffic never reached us, but in the distance I could see the red and green running lights of the oil barges on the Mississippi and imagined the sounds of foghorns and the voices of riverboat passengers. Sometimes, on nights like this, people's voices could carry for more than a mile over the water, and if you closed your eyes and listened, you could feel either your movement or theirs as more and more distance fell between you.

Below us, the lake had taken on a metallic sheen. It was so still that I could barely perceive a bobbing in the rowboats tied at the small dock next to the boathouse as we approached. It was a good-sized lake with a small island in the middle. We were nearly down to the dock before Abby spoke again.

"I don't mean to be so secretive," she said. "I like you and appreciate your trusting me with your story. I don't have any doubts," she added with bitterness, "that most of these girls would look down on you if they knew you came from a poor Cajun background, but that would still be nothing compared to me."

"What? Why?" I said. "What's wrong with your background?"

We stood on the dock now and looked out at the lake. "Earlier you asked me if I had a boyfriend, and I said yes, and you tried to make me feel better by telling me he would write or call. I told you he wouldn't, and I'm sure you wondered why I was so sure."

"Yes," I said. "I did."

"His name's William, William Huntington Cambridge. He was named after his great-great-grandfather," she said, in that same bitterness she had intoned before. "Who happened to be one of the heroes of the Confederacy, something about which the Cambridges are very proud," she added.

"I suppose if you scratch everyone around here, you'll find most have ancestors who fought for the South," I said softly.

"Yes, I'm sure. That's another reason why I . . ." She spun around, her eyes bright with tears. "I never knew my grandparents on my father's side. They were kept a family secret, which was why they weren't supposed to have me," she explained. She paused as if she expected me to understand everything, but I didn't and I shook my head.

"My grandfather married a black woman, a Haitian, which made my father a mulatto, but white enough to pass as a white man."

"And that was why your parents never wanted to have children? They were afraid . . ."

"Afraid that I, the offspring of a mulatto and a white woman, would be darker," she said, nodding. "But they had me eventually anyway, which you know makes me a quadroon. We moved around a lot, mostly because whenever we settled somewhere long enough, someone, somehow, suspected."

"And your boyfriend, William . . ."

"His family found out. They consider themselves bluebloods, and his father makes sure that he learns as much as he can about anyone his children get involved with."

"I'm sorry," I said. "It's unfair and stupid."

"Yes, but that doesn't make it any easier to endure. My parents sent me here hoping that by having me surrounded with the crème de la crème, it would rub off and no matter where I went from here on, I would be considered a Greenwood girl first, upper class from a good family, special, and therefore never suspected of being a quadroon. I didn't want to come here, but they want so much for me to escape prejudice and they feel so guilty for having me that I did it for them more than I did it for myself. Understand?"

"Yes," I said. "And thank you."

"For what?" she asked, smiling.

"For trusting me."

"You trusted me," she replied. We started to hug each other, when suddenly, a man called out from behind us.

"Hey," he cried. A door to the boathouse snapped shut behind him. We spun around to see a tall, dark-haired man no more than twenty-four or five approaching. He was shirtless, and his muscular upper body gleamed in the moonlight. He wore a pair of tight jeans but was barefoot. His hair was long, down over his ears and most of his neck.

"What are you doing down here?" he demanded. He came close enough for us to see his dark eyes and high Indian cheekbones. The lines in his face were sharp but strong, cutting a firm jaw and a tight mouth. He had a rag in his hands, and he wiped them continuously with it while he looked us over:

"We just went for a walk," I began, "and ."

"Don't you know this is off-limits after dark? Want to get me in trouble? There's always one or two of you venturing down here to get me up a tree just to amuse yourselves," he said harshly. "Now you make like two jackrabbits mighty quick or have Mrs. Ironwood on your tails, get it?"

"I'm sorry," I said.

"We didn't come down here to get anyone in trouble," Abby added, stepping forward out of the shadows. When he looked at her, he immediately softened.

"You two are new, huh?"

"Yes," she said.

"Didn't you two read that handbook?"

"Not completely, no," she replied.

"Look," he said, "I don't want any problems. Mrs. Ironwood laid out the rules for me. I'm not even supposed to talk to any of you on the grounds without one of the teachers or staff members present after dark, see? And especially not down here!" he added, looking around to be sure no one was listening.

"Who are you?" I asked.

He hesitated a moment before replying.

"Name's Buck Dardar, but it will be Mud if you two don't hightail it outta here pronto," he said.

"Okay, Mr. Mud," Abby said.

"Git," he ordered, pointing at the hill.

We grabbed hands and ran off, our laughter trailing behind us and echoing over the lake. At the top of the hill, we paused to catch our breaths and looked back toward the boathouse. He was gone, but he still titillated our imaginations just like someone and something forbidden would.

Still excited, our hearts pounding, we hurried back to the dorm, new friends drawn closer by our hidden pasts and our hidden hopes for ourselves as well as for each other.