So it was with genuine excitement that I hurried to class our first day back. I was looking forward to my first session with Miss Stevens. I was sure she would ask me to stay after class and we would talk and talk about our holidays. In my mind and deep in my putaway heart, Miss Stevens had become my older sister. One day soon, I thought, I would even tell her so..

But the moment I entered the building and started down the corridor toward homeroom, I sensed something was wrong. I felt it when I observed the small clumps of girls whispering here and there, all of them appearing to gaze my way as I passed them. Without knowing why, my heart began to pitter-patter, and an uneasiness couched itself in my stomach, making it feel as if a hive of bees were buzzing around inside. I had come to school ahead of the others, so I had some time. It had been my intention to stop by and say hello to Miss Stevens before homeroom anyway. I hurried down to the art suite and rushed through the doorway, expecting to see her standing there in her smock, her hair up, her face full of smiles.

But instead I confronted an elderly man in an artist's smock. He was seated at the desk, sifting through some student drawings. He looked up, surprised, and I gazed around the room.

"Well, good morning," he said.

"Good morning. Isn't Miss Stevens here yet?" I asked.

His smile faded. "Oh. I'm afraid Miss Stevens won't be here anymore. My name is Mr. Longo. I'm her replacement."

"What?" For a moment the words seemed utterly ridiculous. I just stood there with this wide, incredulous smile on my face, my heart still racing.

"She won't be coming back," he said more firmly. "You're an art student, I take it?"

I shook my head.

"It can't be true. Why won't she be coming back? Why?" I demanded.

He sat up. "I don't know the details, Mademoiselle . . ."

"Dumas. What details?"

"As I said, I do not know, but . . ."

I didn't wait for him to finish. I spun around and ran out of the room. I ran down the corridor, confused, the tears streaming down my cheeks. No Miss Stevens? She was gone? How could she do this without telling me? Why wouldn't she tell me? My hysteria grew. I didn't even know where I was running; I was just running from one end of the building to the other. I turned a corner and headed back toward the front. When I was nearly there, I heard Gisselle's shrill ripple of laughter. More girls had gathered around her to hear the story of her miraculous recovery. I stopped running and walked slowly toward them. The group parted so that Gisselle and I faced each other.

"I just heard," she said.

I shook my head. "What did you hear?"

"Everyone's talking about it this morning. Your Miss Stevens was fired."

"That can't be. She's a wonderful teacher. It can't be."

"I guess it wasn't her teaching that got her fired," Gisselle said, and she looked knowingly at the others, who also wore smug smiles.

"What was it? What? Was she fired for helping me at the hearing?" I demanded. I turned on them. "Someone tell me. Who knows?"

There was a moment of silence. Then Deborah Peck stepped forward. "I don't know the exact details," she said, gazing back at the others, "but the charge against her had to do with her immorality."

"What? What immorality?" They only smiled widely in response. I spun on Gisselle.

"Don't blame me," she cried. "The Iron Lady found out about her on her own."

"Found out what? There was nothing to find out."

"Found out why she never goes out with men," Deborah said. "And why she wanted to teach in an all girls' school," she replied. There was a titter of laughter. My heart stopped and then started again, this time pounding angrily.

"Those are lies, all lies."

"She left, didn't she?" Deborah said. The warning bell rang. "We'd better get to homeroom. No one wants to get a demerit the first day back."

The group started to break up.

"Lies!" I screamed at them.

"Stop making a fool of yourself," Gisselle said. "Just go to class. Aren't you happy? You're back at your precious Greenwood!"

"You did this!" I accused. "Somehow, some way, you did this, didn't you?"

"How could I do this?" She raised her arms and turned to Vicki, Samantha, Jacki, and Kate. "I wasn't even here when it all happened. See? See how she's always blaming me for everything?"

They all turned and gazed at me. I shook my head and stepped back, and then I turned and ran down the corridor to Mrs. Ironwood's office. Mrs. Randle looked up with surprise as I burst through the doorway.

"I want to see Mrs. Ironwood," I said.

"You have to make an appointment, dear," Mrs. Randle replied.

"I want to see her now!" I ordered.

She sat back, shocked at my insistence. "Mrs. Ironwood is very busy with her work reopening the school at this moment, and—"

"NOW!" I screamed.

Mrs. Ironwood's door opened and she stood there glaring at me.

"What is the meaning of this?"

"Why was Miss Stevens fired?" I demanded. "Was it because she came to my assistance at the hearing? Was it?"

Mrs. Ironwood looked at Mrs. Randle, then straightened her shoulders.

"First," she began, "this is not the time nor the place to discuss such matters, even if it were proper to do so with a student, which it is not. Second, who do you think you are storming in here and making demands on me?"

"It's not fair," I said. "Why take it out on her? It's not fair. She was a wonderful teacher. Don't you want good teachers? Don't you care?"

"Of course I care, and I care about your insolence too," she said. I wiped the tears from my cheeks and stood there. She seemed to soften. "The conduct of faculty affairs is none of your business, but I will tell you that Miss Stevens was not fired. She resigned."

"Resigned?" I shook my head. "She would never . . ."

"I assure you, she resigned." The homeroom bell rang. "That was the final bell. You're late for homeroom, two demerits," she snapped, then spun around and went back into her office, closing the door behind her and leaving me confused and lost in her wake.

"You'd better get to your homeroom, mademoiselle, before you make things even worse for yourself," Mrs. Randle warned.

"She wouldn't resign," I insisted, but I turned and walked back to my homeroom.

Later in the day, however, I tapped into the line of gossip and learned that Miss Stevens had indeed resigned.

She had been accused of immoral behavior and given the opportunity to resign and not be charged and dragged through a nasty hearing. The word was that one of the students had come forward and confessed to having been seduced by Miss Stevens. No one knew who the student was, of course, but I had my suspicions.

Gisselle couldn't have looked more satisfied, and Mrs. Ironwood had gotten her pound of flesh.


17

  A Waking Nightmare

During the days that followed, I resembled a somnambulist. I walked the corridors and grounds of Greenwood, my eyes focused on nothing, my gait slow. I barely heard anyone speaking to me or around me. I didn't know whether the sun was shining or not. One afternoon I was surprised to arrive at the dorm and discover I was wet, that it had rained and I hadn't even been aware of it.

Every day that I returned to the dorm after classes I hoped I had a message from Miss Stevens, but there were never any. I imagined she was afraid of getting me into any trouble; she was that considerate. I felt so. sorry for her, driven away by the most scurrilous, foul lies. I knew that even though Mrs. Ironwood had let her resign, she would find ways to paint Miss Stevens with the stain of immoral behavior and hurt her chances to find another job.

Finally, one afternoon when I returned, I did find a letter, but it was from Louis.

Dear Ruby,

I'm sorry it took so long for me to write to you, but I didn't want to attempt it until I could do it entirely myself. What you are reading now is a letter written solely by me, with me seeing every single letter and word I put down. Finally, I no longer have to depend on anyone to do the simplest of tasks for me. I don't have to trust anyone with my secret thoughts or put aside my embarrassment and ask for the most basic favors. I am whole again, and once again, thanks to you.

The doctors tell me my eyesight has restored itself nearly one hundred percent. I'm doing some eye muscle exercises and wearing corrective lenses for the time being. But I don't spend that much of my day doting on myself anymore. No, I spend most of it at the conservatory, where I am working with the greatest music teachers in the world, I am sure. And they are all impressed with me.

Tonight I will be giving a recital at the school's hall, and besides all the teachers and their wives, there will be dignitaries from the city. I'm trying not to be nervous, and do you know what helps me overcome it? Thinking about you and the wonderful talks we used to have.

And guess what? They are going to let me play some of your symphony. As I play I will think about your laughter and your soft voice encouraging me. I do miss you a great deal and look forward to seeing you again. Or should I say, see you completely for the first time?

I received a letter from my grandmother, and as usual, she included some news about the school. Why did the art teacher, Miss Stevens, resign? Wasn't she your favorite teacher at Greenwood? All Grandmother says about it is that she was quickly replaced.

Write back when you have a chance, and good luck with your school exams.