The Other New Girl

by LB Gschwandtner

  “Well, you know how it is.”

  “How?”

  “Oh, some stupid jokes and stuff. Nothing to get upset over.”

  “Like what?”

  “Are you sure you want to talk about this now?”

  “What jokes?”

  “Well, there’s this one. ‘Guess who got caught hanging around Greenwood?’”

  “Nice,” I muttered. “Any others?”

  “Yeah. ‘The Assembly Room’s the new spot for just hanging around.’”

  “So I’m the school joke now?”

  “Not exactly. A lot of kids are just wandering around looking for someone to tell them why it happened. And rumors are flying. You know how that is.”

  “What kind of rumors?”

  “Weird ones. Like about Moll. That she’s dead somewhere and it was a suicide pact with Bleaker. That’s the most outrageous one. Nobody really knows what happened except the story about Bleaker chastising Moll at the dance over something. I mean that’s what’s really weird. Nobody even knew who Moll was before this and no one can figure out why Bleaker singled her out at the dance. What happened anyway?”

  My thoughts began churning again.

  Wes doesn’t know. He might think I’m hiding something again. Something else to worry about. I can’t take one more thing. Not now. How much should I tell him? This makes me look really bad, like I didn’t tell Bleaker and then this is all my fault. But how was I to know what would happen? I couldn’t have known Bleaker would do this or Moll would run away or anything else. But maybe I should have seen how Bleaker was cracking. I’ve seen it with my mother. But she never tried to kill herself. She just fell apart and went away. Then came back and was sort of normal for a while and then fell apart again. How could I tell with Bleaker? Except for that weird letter she read to me.

  Wes fidgeted in the scratched-up wooden school chair next to my bed.

  “If you don’t want to tell me, that’s okay,” he said. “But I bet you’re going to have to tell somebody. I mean the school can’t just let this go.”

  “Oh,” I said. “I hadn’t thought about that.”

  “What are you thinking about?”

  I rolled over onto my side to face him. I pulled the top sheet up and tucked it under my chin. The sheets felt buttery soft from being washed over and over for years. The white room with no adornments was comforting in a spiritual kind of way. There was one window, fairly large, that looked out to the woods behind the infirmary. The trees were bare by then, the branches made lacy patterns against the clear afternoon sky. Soon it would be dark. The shorter days of winter were here. Very soon now we would once again scatter for the school break. At that moment, I wondered if Wes still wanted me to come to Carmel for Christmas.

  “Christmas break. Where I’ll end up. What’s going to happen now. What kind of trouble I’ll be in.”

  “Can’t you tell me what happened?” He leaned toward the bed. “I won’t judge you or tell anyone.”

  So I told him. Told him the whole story. He listened quietly, nodded once or twice, but didn’t say anything until I finished. Then I waited. And even then, even with all that had happened, my biggest concern was that Wes might want to break up with me.

  “Wow,” he finally said. “I feel bad that you had to carry all this around by yourself.”

  Before he even finished what he had to say I was thinking: So he doesn’t want to break up. He’s being supportive. Why do I keep misjudging him? Why can’t I accept what a really good guy he is? What’s wrong with me?

  “I don’t know what you could have done,” he was saying. “I mean I think you were put into an impossible situation between Moll and Bleaker. It wasn’t fair. I mean the school is responsible for how they treat students and for what happens to students. They’re kind of like surrogate parents while we’re all here. They should have watched more closely.”

  I interrupted him. Even though I was arguing against myself, I had to say something.

  “But you know they don’t know half the stuff that really goes on. I mean like the mattress room and the wire. Even us at the trestle.”

  I glanced at him and he smiled that little intimate smile of his.

  “Yeah,” he said. “I’m glad they don’t monitor some stuff. That’s one of them.”

  Mrs. Waller poked her head in the door. “Time for you to go, Wes,” she said. “And you need to rest now.” She pointed at me and turned from the doorway. We could hear her nurse’s shoes squishing against the floor tiles.

  “Listen,” he said as he stood up. “I’ll get Daria to bring you some clothes for tomorrow morning. And I’ll come over and get you out of here somehow. Maybe by then they’ll let you out anyway. Just be really careful about what you plan to say at Meeting.”

  “I know,” I told him. “And Wes . . .”

  “Yeah?” He was heading for the door but turned back.

  “About coming to Carmel?”

  “My mom says she can’t wait to meet you.”

  THIRTY-NINE

  By the Book

  I DIDN’T KNOW IT, BUT WHILE I WAS LYING IN BED IN THE infirmary, a boy named Linden Houghtling was working overtime in the photo lab down in Wetherall, which was the art center. Linden was president of the photography club so he spent a lot of time in the dark room, which was why no one questioned him about being there at odd times.

  The week after Thanksgiving break, the girls had a scheduled swim and dive meet. I’d been practicing my double forward somersault in preparation for it. Our practices were restricted to the girls team so, during practice, we were alone in the gym. Daria was doing a more complicated dive routine than I was. Naturally, I was in awe of her control and discipline. She’d been a state champion from Connecticut twice before she came to Foxhall, but downplayed her ability saying she’d never be good enough to go to the Olympics. Well, who would be?

  The day of the meet, a group of boys streamed into the gym and took their places on the metal bleachers. There was a good amount of shoving and pointing and laughing until one of the coaches gave them a dirty look and they settled down.

  “Look,” Daria nudged me in the rib cage, “the Nipple Brigade has been put in its place.”

  “Why can’t they just stay away?” I held up my hand to whisper it to her as if I thought there might be a lip reader among them, which was idiotic.

  “Are you kidding? For them the sport is not the diving. You know that. Just ignore them. Or do what I do.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Play to the crowd, honey lamb. Flaunt what God gave you.”

  But I was not like Daria. And, although Miss Alderton had warned me I had to use the pool ladder at meets I tried to ignore the brigade, in fact tried to ignore everything to better concentrate on my routine, going over and over in my mind the double forward, exactly where I would place my feet, how high I had to spring on the board, how close to come to the edge without tripping myself by going too far and catching the top lip of the board, when to tuck, how hard to pull in, when to extend, how close to the water to enter, all the details step-by-step in my dive mind, still I couldn’t completely erase the images of boy after boy settling in to watch. And I didn’t notice Linden Houghtling with a new and very tiny camera. Looking back on it, I doubt that anyone saw that camera. And even if anyone had noticed what he was holding, after the meet was over, no one heard anything about it. And, because of photography club, he was always snapping pictures of students and teachers and buildings and random cats and dogs wandering around the campus.

  I ate dinner in the infirmary again. One of the students who had early kitchen slop brought it over and Mrs. Waller let her bring it to my room. Her name was Anna Sue. Most of the students were from the northeast or New Jersey or Pennsylvania but Anna Sue was from Georgia. A certain group of boys—Stocky for one—called her Magnolia Peachtree. She didn’t seem to mind because it got her noticed. She was a sweet girl, a little awkward and didn’t seem to get it when the boys teased
her.

  “Hi,” she said. She seemed kind of embarrassed.

  “Hi.”

  “Here’s your dinner.” She shrugged one shoulder. “It’s what they gave me. I guess it’s what everyone’s having.”

  “Thanks. Hey, Anna Sue, um, could you tell me something?”

  “Sure.” She laid the tray down on the little table by my bed. Whatever was under there didn’t smell too good. “What is it?”

  “What are people saying? About . . . you know . . . Miss Bleaker and everything.”

  “They’ve kind of stopped talking about it now that . . .”

  She stopped abruptly.

  “Now that what?”

  “Just some stupid stuff some of the boys are doing.”

  “What are they doing?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Listen I’ve got to get back, okay? So, y’all get better.” Anna Sue’s drawl was somehow comforting to hear at that moment.

  I picked at the food until Mrs. Waller came in.

  “Your father is calling you. We don’t have phones in the rooms so you’ll have to take it at my desk.”

  I looked at the clock. Six fifteen. Daria would be coming over soon with my clothes. I was still wearing my clothes from yesterday. I needed a shower and wanted to get out of that bed anyway.

  Mrs. Waller left the room so I’d have some privacy to talk. Her board showed I was the only one in the infirmary.

  “Hello.”

  “Hi, angel face. How’s my girl?”

  “I’m okay.”

  “I spoke to Mr. Williamson. He said the whole school’s in shock. They’re worried about you.”

  “Why?”

  “Come on, sweetheart, it must have been awful for you.”

  “Not really. I mean, it was at first but I’m okay now.”

  “You’re a strong girl. I’m proud of you.”

  “I don’t know why. I didn’t do anything. Where are you anyway?”

  “I’m up in Rochester, researching a company.”

  “Rochester, New York or Minnesota?”

  “New York.”

  It was incredible how we could talk and not say anything. “Your mother’s doing better. Her doctor says he’s hopeful she could start taking a weekend outside soon.”

  “Oh, that’s really good.”

  “I’m afraid you’ll have to go to your aunt and uncle’s this Christmas, though. I have to work straight through. I really won’t be home except for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. I was thinking I could spend that time at your aunt and uncle’s, too. At least we’d get to visit a bit.”

  “Well, a friend invited me to spend Christmas break in Carmel. Out in California. So I was going to ask you if that would be okay with you.”

  “Sure. I guess so. Would you need plane tickets?”

  “Don’t worry. I can get them. I have plenty of money in my school bank account still. I didn’t have time to spend any money over Thanksgiving. You know, with the soup kitchen and all.”

  “But you’re okay now? I mean about that dean and everything.”

  “Yeah, Dad, I’m fine. I’ll be out of the infirmary tomorrow and back in classes. I really don’t need to be here now anyway.”

  At that moment I saw Daria at the door. She waved and pushed the door open.

  “Dad, I have to go. Someone’s here to see me.”

  “Okay, sweetheart. Will you call me from California? You can always call my secretary and give her the number where you are.”

  “Sure. Um, can you call the dean’s office and tell them it’s okay if I go out there for Christmas break? I need permission to go anywhere but home. And say ‘Hi’ to Mom when you see her. Bye.”

  I made a swipe across my forehead to let Daria know I’d escaped yet another confrontation with an adult. She raised her eyebrows and when I hung up the phone, I said, “My dad.”

  “Oh. Right. Parents just don’t get it.”

  We went back to my room where I climbed into bed again.

  “I brought your stuff. Is there a shower here?”

  “Yeah, there’s one down the hall. I really want to get out of here. I’m going to see if Mrs. Waller will let me go tonight. What’s going on out there?”

  “Oh, nothing. Except the Nipple Brigade has struck.”

  “Oh God, what did they do?”

  “That guy Linden made a nipple yearbook.”

  “A what?”

  “He blew up all the pictures he’s taken at the meets of the dive team’s nipples and then pasted them all into a book he made up. He numbered them and then pasted pictures of all the girls on the team and gave them different numbers. The guy who matches up all the nipples to the right girls first wins. He gets his name written into the first page of the book as a dedication. And he gets some plaque they’ve made in shop class that says Nipple King 1960-61.”

  “That’s sick.”

  “Yeah, but the guys are, like, going crazy trying to match them up. Linden made a master list from numbers he as-signed all the photographs. He’s the only one who knows the match ups. His room was ransacked trying to find the list. Guys are bribing him. It’s a real scene.”

  “It’s mortifying. Can’t anyone stop them?”

  “I don’t think so. Unless they get caught. And, you know, who’s going to turn them in? They never could find the mattress room key. They’ll never find this either.”

  FORTY

  Meeting for Worship

  MEETING FOR WORSHIP WAS PACKED. I’D NEVER SEEN THE Assembly Room so full. Even the balcony rows were overflowing so that people were sitting on the aisle steps. Wes met me outside the Social Room after Mrs. Waller let me leave the infirmary. I was officially better, I guess. I’d spent much of the night writing and rewriting what I wanted to say at Meeting.

  “Are you sure you want to go?” Wes asked.

  “I’m sure. I have to get all this off my chest.” I waved the papers at him.

  “You could just let me read what you’ve written.”

  “No. I don’t care what happens anymore. I want to have my say.”

  “Your day in court?”

  “Maybe. At least my day without anyone influencing me. At least these are my thoughts and feelings.”

  “Okay. I’ll stand with you if you want.”

  I took his hand and squeezed it. “Thank you. But I don’t want anyone else’s future on my conscience. I’ll stand alone.”

  It was a surprising new me. I should have been terrified. In shock. Withdrawn. Tentative about what to do next. I should have felt guilty. Yet that was not happening. For the first time since I’d left home and arrived at Foxhall, I just didn’t care what anyone else thought. It was like I was itching for a fight. Maybe not a fight. Not even a confrontation. No, I wanted to let everyone know what I thought. Not what I thought would make me look cool. Not what would get me accepted. And that was another thing. This wasn’t really about me. It was about one girl who was so unsure of herself that one authority saying one cruel thing to her sent her over the edge. I was not going to let Bleaker off the hook. Even after what had happened.

  So I took the hand Wes offered, glad he was there with me, but not about to let him stand as a shield between me and my fate, and walked into the Assembly Room to say my piece at Meeting For Worship.

  We took two seats on an aisle about halfway between the stage and the back doors. Up on stage the facing bench was full. Ten chairs. Six faculty members, one dean, three students. Mr. Williamson sat in one of two middle chairs. Next to him, the president of the student council, a smarmy senior named Garret Holyfield, elected because the one person who ran against him was accused of stealing his roommate’s watch after said watch was found at the back of his closet in an old sock. Jan told me she thought it was a Holyfield plant.

  The elected senior was what was known at Foxhall as a credit collector—kids who would sign up for just about anything so they could add it as an extracurricular interest to their college admissions forms. The two other stud
ents were on the student conduct committee and one of them was also on the faculty-student rules committee. Foxhall was rife with committees. An integral part of life at the school was to serve on at least one committee. Miss Alderton was up there in one of the chairs, as was Mr. Henderson. I was surprised to see my Latin teacher, Mr. D’Amico, on the facing bench along with Mr. Brownell, who I thought looked like he was in pain. At the last minute, Mrs. Doyle, who had taught Moll Greek, ran in and took the last facing bench seat at one end. Moll once told me that was the one class where she felt comfortable because she was the only student. She told me that after our Quaker Life class. I thought she felt safe there, included and listened to, but I’d been wrong because that day, after class, when she told me about being the only student in Mrs. Doyle’s Greek class, she also said, “If you weren’t in Quaker Life class, I’d never say a word.” I didn’t understand then, and never did understand, why Moll had attached herself to me like moss to a tree or why she felt she could unburden herself to me.

  So there they were, staring out at us from the facing bench. And then, as it always did, the room began to settle down on its own as if a fog had descended to muffle all the sounds and a subdued quiet replaced the chatter and mumbling that always preceded Meeting. It was my plan to stand up right at the beginning and say what I had to say and then sit through the rest of Meeting with my head down. To that end, I’d brought a Bible I’d plundered from the infirmary.

  Some of the kids hid other books inside their Bibles. But mostly, we came into Meeting clean, sat for the allotted time, thought our thoughts, and left the way we’d entered—neither worse nor better for the time elapsed. I wish I could say we were all uplifted because of our meditations. Some probably were. But most of us likely were not.

  I didn’t get the chance to speak first because China popped up like a bean sprout. I should have seen that coming. As soon as she stood up you could hear a general soft shuffling sound spread through the Assembly Room. But she didn’t notice, it seemed, and began to do her usual “My parents are missionaries” thing. But then she veered off and talked about how once when a village elder died, how the villagers had celebrated his life with singing and chanting and dancing for two days and nights. She was surprised by that and found it quite uplifting, she said. Uplifting, as if the elder’s spirit had been truly uplifted to heaven. She sat down abruptly. Her voice had a tremor in it at the end.