Pearl in the Mist

8

Suspicions

By the time I returned to the dorm, something hard and heavy had grown in my chest, making it ache, so I was grateful that for once Gisselle and her clique were not in the lounge waiting to pounce on me when I entered our quad. Listening to Louis's revelations about himself and his mother and father, I felt as if I had trespassed and wandered into a confessional, overhearing someone else's sins. Abby took one look at my face and knew I had gone through something terrible.

"Are you all right?" she asked softly.

"Yes," I said.

"What happened?"

I shook my head. I couldn't get myself to talk about it, and she understood. Instead, I dove into my homework and began studying for upcoming exams in math and science. I dreaded facing Gisselle's biting questions and remarks later. I don't know whether she was just trying to show she wasn't interested in the things I did or whether she really didn't care, but neither at lunch nor at dinner did she inquire about my visit at the plantation. She looked like she was still smarting over the fact that my punishment had been mitigated.

Actually, we had a very quiet Sunday night. Jacki, Katie, and Vicki left the dorm to go to the school library, which was open until nine, and Gisselle and Samantha spent most of their time in their room or out in the lobby, watching television and talking to girls from the other quads.

I soaked in a hot bath and then went to bed early. Before I fell asleep, Abby asked me again what it was Louis had wanted. I took a deep breath before I replied.

"Mostly to apologize for his behavior the last time," I told her. I didn't even know how to begin telling her about the things he told me concerning his relationship with his mother and father.

"Are you going back there to visit him?"

"I don't want to," I admitted. "I feel sorry for him—I really do—but there are more dark turns and swamp holes in that plantation house than there are in the bayou. Being rich and coming from a distinguished family background doesn't guarantee happiness, Abby. In fact, it might make happiness harder to find because you have to live up to all that expectation."

Abby agreed and then she wished for something.

"I wish my parents would stop trying to hide the truth and keep people from knowing I'm descended from a Haitian woman. I'm a quadroon, and there's no sense pretending otherwise. I think we'd all be happier being who we are."

"We all would," I said.

Louis didn't call or contact me the next day, but on Tuesday, Mrs. Penny brought me a letter that Louis had had delivered to the dorm. She stood in the doorway of my room for a few moments, hoping I would open it in her presence, I suppose, but I simply thanked her and put it aside. My fingers trembled when I opened it later.

Dear Ruby,

I just wanted to scribble out this note to thank you for coming to see me again after I had been so unpleasant to you the first time. I was surprised when I woke up in my room hours after you had apparently left and found myself alone. I don't even remember what I did or said prior to your leaving, but I hope it wasn't anything that upset you. Naturally, I hope you will visit with me again.

And now for a piece of exciting news. Yesterday I woke up and for the first time saw a hazy light. I can't see anything really, but I can suddenly distinguish between light and shadows. It might not sound like much to someone with sight, but to me it's almost a miracle. Grandmother is excited about it too, and so is my doctor, who wants me to spend time in an institute for the legally blind. I'm not ready to leave home and do that and I have continued instead with my periodic doctor's visits at the house. So if you so decide, I will be here and can see you almost any time you wish. I would like that very much. I hope you enjoy the song I wrote for you.

With deepest regards,

Louis

I put the note in with my box of letters I had received from Paul and from Beau. Then I sat down and wrote a short note expressing my happiness for Louis and hope that his sight was really returning. I made no specific mention about another visit but instead made a vague promise to see him again soon. Mrs. Penny said she would see to it that my letter was delivered promptly.

About midweek, the excitement over our first social, the Halloween dance, began building. It was practically the only subject the girls wanted to discuss at dinner. I was surprised to learn that costumes weren't permitted. Abby and I were discussing it when we saw Vicki sitting in the lounge, reading a biography of Andrew Jackson. We asked her about the prohibition. Annoyed with the interruption, she looked up from her reading and shifted her glasses back on the bridge of her nose.

"Because some of the costumes girls chose to wear at past Halloween dances were deemed inappropriate dress, it was decided there wouldn't be any costume ball as such," she explained.

"Oh, too bad," I said, just imagining some of the costumes Miss Stevens and I could have created. I had remained after school all week to help Miss Stevens, who had been given the assignment to decorate the gymnasium. We drew and cut out pumpkins and witches, goblins and ghosts. On Saturday, she and I and some members of the school's social committee would put everything up in the gymnasium, along with crepe paper streamers, Japanese lanterns, and tons of tinsel.

"So then what should we wear?" Abby asked Vicki.

"You can wear what you want, but I'll warn you that anyone whose clothes are too sexy or too revealing will be stopped at the gym door."

"Really?"

"Yes. Mrs. Ironwood stands off to the side and either nods or shakes her head when we enter, and then the teacher on duty, usually Mrs. Brennan or Miss Weller, our librarian, admits or refuses to admit you. If you're refused admittance, you have to go back to your dorm and change into something considered more appropriate.

"Inappropriate dress includes anything that reveals even a smidgen of cleavage, a skirt that shows your knees, or a blouse or sweater that is too tight around your bosom. One time last year a girl was sent back because she wore a blouse too thin. It revealed the outline of her bra."

"Why don't we just dress in our uniforms and forget it," Abby suggested with disgust. "Or is that considered a costume?"

"Some girls do wear their uniforms."

"You're kidding?" I said. "To a dance?"

Vicki shrugged, and I wondered if she hadn't been one to have worn her uniform.

"What is the dance like?" Abby asked.

"The boys gather on one side of the gym and we on the other. Just before or just after the music starts, they cross and ask us to dance. They must ask properly, of course."

"Of course," I said. She smirked.

"Didn't you read the section in the handbook concerning the proper behavior at school socials?" she asked us. "Naturally, smoking or drinking anything alcoholic is strictly forbidden, but there is also an acceptable and unacceptable way to dance. It specifically says that there should be a clear inch or so between you and the boy when you're on the dance floor."

"I didn't read that," Abby said.

"It's in there. Check the footnotes."

"Footnotes!" I moaned and then laughed. "What are they afraid will happen on a dance floor?"

"I don't know," Vicki said, "but that's the rule. You're not supposed to leave the gym with a boy alone either, but a lot of girls get around that by leaving separately and then meeting someplace outside," Vicki said. "Anyway, the dance lasts two and a half hours exactly, after which Mrs. Ironwood announces it has come to an end and stops the music. The boys are told to board their bus and the girls are told to return to their dorms. Some girls escort the boys they've met to the bus, but Mrs. Ironwood is out there watching to see how they say goodbye. Passionate kissing is strictly forbidden, and if she should catch a girl permitting a boy's hands to wander, that girl will get a note about it and some demerits, which might prohibit her from attending the next social."

"Mrs. Ironwood should come to one of the fais dodos in the bayou," I whispered to Abby, who laughed.

Vicki frowned.

"Anyway," she concluded, "the refreshments are usually very good."

"Sounds like . . . loads of fun," Abby said, and we giggled so much that Vicki went back to her reading.

But despite the rules and restrictions and the promise of being followed by Mrs. Ironwood's eagle eyes and the eyes of other teachers on duty, excitement over the social continued to build all week long.

Gisselle, who was normally bitter about the fact that she couldn't get up and dance, was quite enthusiastic about all this party preparation. Her devoted followers gathered around her more often and more closely to listen to her experienced advice about boy-girl relations. She obviously enjoyed tutoring them in the ways of a coquette, describing the things she did to tease and torment and draw a boy's attention. On Thursday and Friday night, she actually sat in the lounge and instructed Jacki, Samantha, and Katie on how to walk, turn their shoulders, flutter their eyelashes, and how to find ways to brush their bosoms against the arms and chests of the boys they fancied. Vicki stood in her doorway scowling, but listening and observing like someone who wished she could enter a forbidden world; while Abby and I kept off to the side, smiling but saying nothing to bring on one of Gisselle's nasty tirades.

Then on Saturday morning, just before I went off to help set up the decorations, Gisselle surprised me by wheeling into our room to talk to Abby. Samantha was at her side.

"It's none of my business, I know, but you really ought to wear your hair down and pin the sides up so that more of your forehead and face are visible. We all voted and agree you are the prettiest, Abby," she said. "You have the best chance to be chosen queen of the dance tonight, and that would make us all very proud."

For a moment Abby was speechless. She looked at me and I looked back, smiling and shaking my head: What was my sister up to now? I wondered.

"Here," she said, offering Abby a white silk ribbon. "This would look perfect in your ebony hair."

Hesitantly, Abby took the ribbon. She studied it for a moment, as if she expected it would explode in her hands, but it was nothing more than a pretty silk ribbon.

"Are you going to wear something blue or pink?" Gisselle followed.

"I was thinking of my dark blue dress. It's one that definitely meets the skirt-length requirement," she added, laughing.

"Nice choice," Gisselle said. "What about you, Ruby?"

"I thought I'd wear the Kelly green."

"Then so will I. We'll be real twins on Saturday night," she added. "Why don't we all go over to the gymnasium together and enter as a unified quad?"

Abby and I looked at each other again, suspicion and surprise still in both our faces.

"Okay," I said.

"Oh," Gisselle said after she had started to turn her wheelchair. "I almost forgot. Susan Peck has been telling her brother about Abby. He's very anxious to see and meet her," she added. "You remember everyone talking about Jonathan Peck, how they all drool over him every time Rosedown is brought to Greenwood for a social."

"Susan?" Abby said. "I don't think she's said a word to me since I've been here."

"She's shy," Gisselle explained. "But Jonathan's not," she added with a wink. We watched her turn her chair and then waited as Samantha took over and wheeled her out.

"What was all that about?" Abby asked.

"Don't ask me. My sister is more mysterious than an owl peering out from behind Spanish moss in the swamp. You never know what you'll find until you drift by, and by then it's usually too late."

Abby laughed.

"Nice ribbon, though," she said, then tied it in her hair and gazed at herself in the mirror. "I think I will wear it."

As the day wore on, the air of excitement became contagious. Girls from all the quads were coming around to see each other, show off a new dress, pair of shoes, bracelet, and necklace, or just talk about hairstyles and makeup. At the socials the Greenwood girls were permitted to indulge in makeup, as long as they didn't go overboard and, as the handbooks said, "appear clownish."

Gisselle and Samantha's room took on more importance as the girls from the other quads paid visits, as if to pay homage to someone whom everyone now accepted as the most experienced girl in the dorm. Despite her handicap, Gisselle sat back confidently and arrogantly in her chair and approved and disapproved garments, hairstyles, even makeup, as if she had been in charge of costumes and makeup at some Hollywood studio all her life.

"This is a school full of social retards," she whispered to me later when we met in the hallway. "One girl thought an orgasm had something to do with mining zinc. Get it? Oregasm."

I had to laugh. In a way I was happy Gisselle was really enjoying herself. I had feared that as the social between Greenwood and Rosedown drew closer and closer, she would become more and more depressed and bitter; but the exact opposite had happened, and I felt relief. I myself wasn't looking to find a new boyfriend or anything, but I was eagerly anticipating the distraction the dance would provide. What I was really looking forward to, of course, was Beau's arrival the following weekend. I was determined not to do anything to endanger that visit, a visit I had been anticipating for so long.

Late in the afternoon after I had returned from helping put up the decorations, Daddy called. Gisselle spoke to him first and talked so long and so much about the dance, he had to laugh about her when I took the phone and began speaking.

"I'll be up to see you girls on Wednesday," he promised. Despite his happiness over Gisselle's apparently settling down at Greenwood, there was something in his voice that put a heaviness in my chest and made my heart thump.

"How are you, Daddy?" I asked.

"I'm fine. A little tired, maybe. I've been running around too much. We've had some business problems I've had to fix.”

"Maybe you shouldn't make the trip up to see us then. Maybe you should just rest, Daddy."

"Oh no. I haven't seen my girls for some time now. I can't neglect them," he said, laughing, but the laughter was followed with a stream of coughing. "Just a stubborn chest cold," he said quickly. "Well, enjoy yourselves. I'll see you soon," he concluded before I could pursue him and his health any further.

I was troubled by our conversation, but I didn't have time to dwell on it. The hours were ticking by. We were all getting ready to shower, and dress, and fix our hair. Fun was so rare at Greenwood that everyone wanted to hoard it and cherish it and make it into something greater than it was. I couldn't blame them. I felt that way myself.

As Gisselle had unexpectedly requested, the girls from our quad all left the dorm together to go to the gymnasium. Gisselle was ready at seven-thirty. With Samantha pushing her at the forefront, we walked to the main building, our voices full of excitement. Everyone—even Vicki, who ordinarily neglected her coiffeur and clothes—looked very pretty. Seeing ourselves day in and day out dressed in the Greenwood uniform, we welcomed the dramatic changes in style, material, and color. It was as if we had all gone into our respective dormitories as dull-colored caterpillars so identical we looked like clones and emerged as monarch butterflies, each unique and beautiful.

Thanks to Miss Stevens and our committee, the same could be said about our gymnasium. The decorations and the lights, the streamers and the tinsel transformed it into a dazzling ballroom. The six-piece orchestra was set up in the far left corner, all the musicians in black tie and tuxedos. At the head of the room was a small desk and podium with a microphone for Mrs. Ironwood to make her announcements and declarations, and from which the queen of the dance would be declared and crowned. The trophy, a golden Greenwood girl twirling on a pedestal, glittered from its place at the center of the small table.

Off to the right were the long tables for the buffet that had been prepared by all the chefs in all the dorms. One table was dedicated to desserts and was covered with a variety of sweets and party breads ranging from almond tarts and brownies with caramel icing to old-fashioned pumpkin bread and one muffins. There were crepes and French market donuts, sheets of pralines, and pecan crisps.

"That's where Chubs will camp out, won't you, Chubs?" Gisselle quipped as soon as we set eyes on the dessert table.

Katie blushed. "I'm going to be a good girl tonight and not overdo it."

"How boring," Gisselle replied.

We all passed through the entryway, the eyes of the chaperones sweeping up from our feet to our hair, while off to the left Mrs. Ironwood stood glaring analytically at each and every one of her wards to be sure she was properly attired. The faculty surrounded her and mingled around their own refreshment table.

Chairs for the Greenwood girls had been set up on the left side of the gymnasium and chairs for the Rosewood boys on the right. Just like the other girls, we headed directly for the punch bowl first, got our cups to hold and sip, and found places on our side of the gymnasium as we waited for the arrival of the Rosewood boys. A little before eight o'clock, Suzzette Huppe, a girl from Quad A in our dorm, came rushing in to announce that the Rosewood buses had driven up. All of us lowered our voices in anticipation as the Rosewood boys began entering in an orderly fashion.

They were all dressed in their dark blue blazers and matching slacks. On the breast pocket of each blazer was the Rosewood insignia, a gold-embroidered shield with Latin words that Yield said meant "Excellence is our tradition." The design was supposedly the original Rosewood family emblem that originated in England.

The boys were all well groomed, their haircuts nearly identical. Just like the girls of Greenwood, the boys of Rosewood gathered in small cliques. They gazed across the gymnasium floor nervously. Some who recognized girls they had met before at previous socials waved. Then they all huddled around the punch bowls as we had and filled their cups. The sound of laughter and conversation rose as the last group of Rosewood boys streamed into the ballroom.

"There's Jonathan." Jacki indicated with a nod. We all gazed at a tall, dark-haired, handsome boy who seemed to be the center of his group. He was tan with broad shoulders, and he looked like a heartthrob movie star. It was easy to understand why he was so popular with the Greenwood girls. But he stood, spoke, and moved as if he knew it. Even from across the gymnasium, I could sense that Southern arrogance that some aristocratic young men inherited. As his eyes swept the Greenwood girls, he smiled disdainfully, muttered something to his pals that caused them all to laugh, and then stood back expectantly, as if this whole social were being given in his honor.

Then everyone grew silent as Mrs. Ironwood went to the podium to welcome the Rosewood boys.

"I don't see any reasons to remind you all that you are the young women and young men of distinguished families who are attending two of the most highly respected schools in the state, if not the country. I'm sure you will all behave properly and leave as you have arrived: proud and deserving of the honor and respect your families enjoy. In exactly one hour we shall interrupt the dancing so we can all partake in the wonderful and delicious foods our Greenwood chefs have prepared for this occasion."

She nodded at the orchestra leader, who turned to his musicians and started the first musical number. Those Rosewood boys who were familiar with a girl or two at Greenwood started across the floor to ask them for a dance. Gradually other boys built up their courage and began to approach the girls. When Jonathan Peck started toward us, we all assumed he was going to approach Abby, just as Gisselle had suggested; but he surprised us all by stopping in front of me and asking for a dance. I glanced at Abby, who smiled, gazed at Gisselle, who wore a gleeful expression, and then accepted Jonathan's hand. He took me out to the center of the floor before placing his right hand on my hip and holding my left up at the classic ballroom level, even with my chin. With the perfect precision of a schooled dancer, he began to move and turn me to the rhythm and beat, holding that confident look in his face, his eyes fixed on mine.

"I'm Jonathan Peck," he said.

"Ruby Dumas."

"I know. My sister has told me all about you and your twin sister, Gisselle."

"Really? What did she tell you?"

"Only nice things," he said with a wink. "As you probably know by now, Rosewood and Greenwood are practically sister and brother schools anyway. We Rosewood boys usually get to hear all the nitty-gritty about the girls of Greenwood. You girls can't hide anything from us," he added smugly and glanced back at Gisselle, whom I noticed, already attracted the interest of half a dozen Rosewood boys. But what surprised me more was Abby. She was standing off to the side. None of the Rosewood boys had asked her to dance; nor did any who were around Gisselle, laughing and joking, show any interest in her. Even Katie had been asked to dance.

"For instance," he continued, "I know you fancy yourself an artist, right?"

"I don't 'fancy' myself anything. I am an artist," I fired back.

His smile widened and he threw his head back with a short and what I thought artificial laugh. "Of course. You are an artist. How rude of me to imply otherwise."

"And what are you, besides a walking encyclopedia about the nitty-gritty details on the girls of Greenwood?" I snapped. "Or is that your only ambition?"

"Wow! Susan was right. You and your sister are two balls of fire."

"Be careful then," I warned. "You might get burned."

This brought another peal of laughter from him. He winked and smiled at his companions and twirled me a little more firmly, but I didn't lose my poise. Having danced at a Cajun fais dodo more than a dozen times in my life, I had no trouble keeping my balance and looking graceful in Jonathan Peck's hands.

"This is going to be a very interesting night," he predicted as the first number came to an end. "I'll call on you again," he promised, "but first I have a few fans to please."

"Oh, don't strain yourself," I said. My stern retort stunned him for a moment. I turned and left him standing there and hurried back to Abby's side.

"What's wrong?" she asked, seeing the flush in my cheeks.

"He's obnoxious, more arrogant than a cottonmouth snake, and probably just as poisonous. I bet he has mirrors on every wall in his room."

Abby laughed. Another number began and I was approached by a different boy, one somewhat on the shy side, which I thought was a welcome change. The boys who were around Gisselle remained, one rushing of to get her another glass of punch. Once again, when I looked back from the dance floor, I noted that all of the girls in our quad had been asked to dance but Abby. Left alone for the second time, she looked uncomfortable but tried to keep her happy demeanor, smiling and nodding at me.

"I'm sorry," I told the boy with whom I was dancing, "but my ankle's started to ache. I sprained it a few days ago. Why don't you ask my girlfriend to continue?" I nodded in Abby's direction. The boy, a redhead with a splatter of freckles on both his cheeks, gazed at her and then shook his head quickly.

"That's all right," he said. "Thanks." He let go of me and hurried back to his companions.

"What happened?" Abby asked when I returned to her side.

"I trust have twisted my ankle out there before. It started to ache, so I asked to stop dancing." I didn't tell her about the boy's refusal to ask her to dance.

"The music's very good," she said, swinging to the rhythm.

Why weren't any of these boys coming over to her? So many of them stood on the other side of the gymnasium looking anxious to ask a girl to dance. I glanced at Gisselle, who threw her head bad to laugh at something one of the boys had told her. She took his hand and pulled him down so she could whisper something in his ear that lit his eyes like Christmas lights. His face turned crimson, and then he grinned nervously at his friends. Gisselle looked over at us and flashed a smile full of self-satisfaction.

At the start of the third number, I felt confident someone would ask Abby to dance, especially when two boys headed directly for us. But one veered off to ask Jacki to dance and the other approached me instead.

"No, thank you," I said. "I have to rest a sprained ankle. But my friend's free," I added, tilting my head toward Abby. He gazed at her and, without a word, turned and hurried down the line to ask someone else.

"Did I put on the wrong perfume or something?" Abby wondered.

My heart began to flutter as a small panic began in the base of my stomach and climbed its way into my breast. Something was going on here, something very strange, I thought, and I looked toward my sister again. She looked smug and content. Dance after dance, boys would approach me, and if I refused and suggested they ask Abby, they flew off muttering excuses and approached someone else. It not only amazed me but annoyed me how the girl who was beyond a doubt one of the prettiest, if not the prettiest, in the school could go this long without being asked to dance. Just before the break for refreshments was announced, I pulled Gisselle's wheelchair aside.

"Something's going on here, Gisselle," I told her. "Not one boy has asked Abby to dance and none will if I suggest he ask."

"Really? How remarkable," she said.

"You have a way of keeping your ear to the wall, Gisselle. What's going on? Is this some sort of practical joke, because if it is . . . ″

"I don't know anything about any practical jokes. No one's asked me to dance either, you'll notice, but I don't see you being so concerned about my feelings," she snapped back.

"But you look like you're having a good time. All those boys . . . ″

"I'm just teasing them for my own amusement. You think I enjoy being trapped in this chair while everyone else gets to dance and move about the ballroom? Poor Abby . . . poor, poor Abby," she said, turning down the corners of her mouth. "You've made her into your sister because she's a whole person with no handicap."

"That's unfair. You know that's not true. You're the one who wanted to change roommates and—"

The music stopped and Mrs. Ironwood announced the serving of refreshments. A great cheer went up and everyone began moving toward the tables.

"I'm hungry and I've promised those boys I'd sit with them and let them feed me," she said slyly. "You can go and sit with poor Abby." She whirled away and into the awaiting clump of Rosewood boys she had somehow turned into flypaper. They argued over which one of them would assume Samantha's assignment and wheel Gisselle across the floor. She turned back to flash a look of deep pleasure at me and then laughed shrilly and reached up to take another boy's hand while his companions hovered around her.

"My sister is being her infuriating self," I told Abby. Many of the boys were being perfect gentlemen and getting food for a Greenwood girl before they got any for themselves, but no one offered to get anything for Abby and me. Boys cleared a space for me at the food tables but they didn't for Abby. After we had gotten what we wanted, we found a table off to the side. No one joined us, not even the other girls from our dorm. We were left alone.

Mrs. Ironwood walked around the tables with Miss Weller, greeting some of the Rosewood boys, talking to some of the girls. When they came around toward our table, Mrs. Ironwood paused, glared our way, and then turned down another aisle.

"I don't have the measles broken out over my face or anything, do I?" Abby asked.

"No. You look . . . beautiful."

She smiled weakly. Neither of us had a great appetite, but we ate just to fill the empty time. Way off to our right, Gisselle sat at a table with only boys. Whatever she was telling them had them in stitches. They couldn't do enough for her. She merely had to glance at something, and two or three of them would nearly fall over each other to get it.

"Was your sister always this popular with boys?" Abby asked enviously.

"As long as I've known her, yes. She has a way of appealing to a side of them that titillates. Who knows what sort of promises she's been making," I added angrily.

The social committee fanned out and handed the girls their ballots for queen of the dance. Two girls followed afterward with boxes into which we were to throw our choices.

"I bet Gisselle has everyone voting for her," I muttered.

"I'm voting for you," Abby said.

"And me, you."

We laughed, then filled out our ballots and deposited them.

After we had had some dessert, Abby and I went to the girls' room to freshen up. It was jammed with everyone gossiping and laughing, but the moment we walked in a great deal of the talk ended. It was as if we were pariahs, lepers who had the others terrified we might touch or infect them. We gazed thoughtfully at each other, wondering.

The second half of the evening proved no different from the first, only the longer I stood beside Abby, the less and less I was approached too. By the time the next-to-last musical number was played, Abby and I were the only ones not dancing. Just before the last dance of the night, Mrs. Ironwood went to the microphone once again.

"It is a tradition here at Greenwood, as most of you know, that at the end of a social event, especially at the end of a formal dance, the girls choose their queen of the dance. The social committee has tallied the votes and asked that I call up Gisselle Dumas to announce the results."

Abby and I looked at each other with surprise. When did Gisselle arrange this? I wondered. She backed herself away from her male admirers and wheeled herself across the floor to the sound of applause. Then she turned and faced the partygoers, a happy smile across her face. One of the members of the social committee then brought the results to Gisselle. The microphone was lowered so she could speak into it.

“Thank you for this honor," she said. "It's just peachy." She turned to the girl who had the results. "The envelope, please," she said, as if it were the Academy Awards. Everyone laughed. Even Mrs. Ironwood relaxed her lips into something of a smile, Gisselle tore open the folded paper and read it to herself. Then she cleared her throat.

"We have a somewhat surprising choice," she declared. "A first for Greenwood, according to what the committee has written here." She gazed at Mrs. Ironwood, who now looked more intense, more interested. "I shall read the winner's name and exactly what the committee has written after it." She looked our way. "The girls of Greenwood have chosen Abby Tyler," she declared.

Abby's eyes widened with surprise. I shook my head in wonder, but it was as if the first shoe had dropped. The room became silent. Abby started to stand up. My heart began to pound when I looked around at the faces of the other girls. They all seemed to be holding their breaths.

Gisselle gazed at the card and then brought her mouth to the microphone to add, "Who is the first quadroon ever to have been chosen."

It was as if we had fallen into the eye of a storm. There wasn't a giggle or even a cough. Abby froze. She looked down at me, her eyes filled with shock. So this was why none of the boys would ask her to dance. They had been told she was a quadroon. And this was why Gisselle had been so sweet and offered the white silk ribbon for Abby's hair: so all the boys would know who she was the moment they set eyes on her.

"Who told her?" Abby whispered.

I shook my head in denial. "I would never . . ."

"Come get your trophy," Gisselle screamed into the microphone.

Abby stood in front of me, even straighter and taller than she usually did, looking for all the world like a beautiful princess. "Won't worry, Ruby," she said, "its okay. I had already decided to tell my parents that they must stop living a lie. I relish each and every part of my ancestry and never again will I hide any of it." She walked across the room and out the door.

"I guess she didn't like our trophy," Gisselle quipped. There was a roar of laughter that continued even after I had run from the ballroom after her. I flew into the hallway and hurried to the side door that just closed behind my friend. By the time I was outside, she was halfway across the campus, her pretty head held high, walking into the darkness.

"Abby! Wait!" I called, but she didn't stop. By now she was crossing down to the driveway that led to the road away from the school. I started in that direction too, when I heard my named called.

"Ruby Dumas."

I turned to see Mrs. Ironwood standing behind me in the pool of illumination from the lights above the doorway of the school.

"Don't you dare set foot off the grounds of this school," she warned.

"But Mrs. Ironwood, my friend . . . Abby . . . ″

"Don't you dare."

I turned and looked in Abby's direction, but all I could see was darkness now, darkness and deep shadows that reached back and extended deep enough to drape over my own broken heart.