"I wouldn't count on it," Jacqueline said.

"Why?"

"After you meet the Iron Lady, you'll see yourself."

"It's not all bad," Samantha said, "This is a good school. And we have fun."

"What about boys?" Gisselle inquired. Samantha blushed. She seemed frozen at the border separating childhood and adolescence, someone shocked and confused by her own sexuality. Later, I would discover that she was overly protected and spoiled by her father.

"What about them?" Vicki asked.

"Do you ever get to meet any?" Gisselle spelled it out.

"Of course. At the socials. Boys from proper boys' schools are invited. We have a dance once a month."

"How peachy! Once a month, just like a period," Gisselle quipped.

"What?" Samantha said, her little heart-shaped face in shock. Kate giggled and Jacqueline smirked.

"A period," Gisselle repeated. "You know what that is, or haven't you gotten yours yet?"

"Gisselle," I cried, but not before Samantha's face had turned bright crimson as the other girls laughed.

"Oh, how nice," Mrs. Penny said, following Daddy and our driver in with some of our things, "the girls are already getting along. I told you everything would be all right," she said to Daddy.


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.