The Shadow Girl of Birch Grove (11 page)

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The Shadow Girl of Birch Grove – Marta Acosta

Mary Violet scowled. “Where did her mysterious uncle come from

anyway? She said she didn’t have any relatives.”

I wanted to get away from the uncomfortable discussion about family, but a

cluster of girls laughing in the aisle blocked my way.

The lean girl, whose name was Constance, said, “Everyone has relatives,

Mary Violet. We don’t appear from out of thin air. You might know that if you

paid attention during biology.”

This was enough to divert the girls onto Mary Violet’s study habits.

Hattie remembered that I was there and said, “How’s your class schedule?”

“It’s fine, except that I was supposed to be in AP Chem, but it says Honors

Chem on my schedule.”

“It counts as the same, but Birch Grove doesn’t offer courses that ‘teach to

the test,’” Hattie answered. “Honors chem is more in-depth and ex---”

“Exceptional classes for exceptional girls!” the others said together and

laughed.

Mary Violet looked at me and said, “The joke is that we laugh like we don’t

believe it, but we totally believe it.”

“Well,
you
are exceptional,” Constance said. “Exceptionally absurd.”

“You’re exceptionally no-fun,” Mary Violet retorted and stuck out her

tongue.

I tried to step away as the girls teased one another, but Hattie kept me in the

conversation by addressing comments to me. I stayed with her group as they left

the cafeteria and went to the auditorium for the welcome speech.

“Juniors get balcony privileges,” Hattie told me and we went upstairs and

into the first rows of the balcony.

“You can see everything from up here,” Mary Violet said. “I’m so glad I’m

not a lowly underclassman. It’s tragic we can’t haze them and make them grovel

like the worms they are.”

“Mary Violet, you’re the most appalling girl I’ve ever known,” Constance

said. She pushed her glasses up her narrow nose and the corner of her mouth

went up as if she was trying not to smile.

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The Shadow Girl of Birch Grove – Marta Acosta

“Can’t I ever say anything?” Mary Violet answered huffily. “What about

freedom of speech?”

Hattie shook her head. “Mrs. Monroe always says, ‘Freedom of speech is

not freedom
from
thought.’”

Mary Violet looked as if she was still deciding on a response when a bell

chimed and the auditorium grew silent. Mrs. Monroe walked in front of the blue

velvet curtains to the podium at the right of the stage. “Good morning, young

ladies.”

As one, the students answered, “Good morning, Mrs. Monroe.”

“Let us rise for the Pledge of Allegiance.”

After we recited the pledge, Mrs. Monroe said, “Miss Cavenaugh will lead

us in the school song.”

The headmistress stepped aside and an elderly woman in a boxy gray suit

came from the wings and stood center stage. She blew a little round whistle and

then began leading the students in song:

“The trees of Birch Grove

Will always protect us

In sadness and trial

They support and shield us

In victory and hope

Their branches dance joyous

Let us be like a birch wood

In wind bend, but not break

Our hearts true as our girlhood

To all you have taught us

To live for the truth

To act for the good

Hail, Birch Grove hail!”

As the voices rose in unison, I felt a chill run down my spine. This was

how I wanted to be: in a wind bend, but not break, to live for the truth, to act for

the good.

“Thank you, Miss Cavenaugh,” Mrs. Monroe said as she returned to the

podium. “When I look out at all of you, I feel honored to be the headmistress of

this exceptional school and all of you exceptional girls.”

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The Shadow Girl of Birch Grove – Marta Acosta

She paused to let everyone steep in her praise. “I know you have come

back to Birch Grove rested, refreshed and ready to meet the academic and social

challenges of this year…if anyone is ever ready to leave summer behind.” There

was a wave of laughter. “But if education is not a vacation, neither should it be a

chore. This year will be invigorating and enlightening.

“It will also be intellectually demanding and sometimes emotionally trying.

However, your teachers, counselors and I always have our doors open to you.

We’re interested in what you have to say, and we’re here to help whenever you

need it.

“I hope you will arrive every day eager to learn and share, to grow, to

become the very best you can be. We are dedicated to nurturing your moral and

spiritual growth, too, so that you go into the world as a responsible, well-rounded

human being.”

She waited for a several seconds and then she began speaking in a low

voice that grew stronger with each phrase: “Because I
believe
in your

intelligence, talent, and goodness. I
believe
you are exceptional. I
believe
in you.

In return I ask you to trust in
yourselves
. Trust in
goodness
. Trust in
Birch

Grove
.”

She nodded her head and the students began clapping and I was clapping,

too, and when they stood and clapped louder, I clapped harder, too. It was as if

someone had uncovered my long-buried embers of hope, and instead of being

gray and cold, they glowed alive once more.

When we were dismissed, everyone seemed energized.

“She’s amazing,” I said to Hattie.

“I know. She always makes me feel as if I could do anything.”

“She has that
je ne sais quoi
,” Mary Violet observed and turned to me and

added, “That’s French for ‘I’m totally clueless.’ French is the language of
amore,

which is Italian, another language of love
.
What language are you taking?”

“Third-year Latin. It helps with scientific terms.”

“Do you want to be a doctor?” Hattie asked.

“I’m interested in forensic science.”

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The Shadow Girl of Birch Grove – Marta Acosta

Mary Violet nodded. “Good. I can come to you when I need details for my

murder mysteries.”

Constance said, “Mary Violet’s claims she’s going to be a writer.”

“Why do you find that so difficult to believe?” Mary Violet demanded.

“Because you are the sissiest female in existence and I can’t see how you

plan to write gory stories,” Constance said.

“That’s why it’s called
creative
writing, because you make it all up. Let’s

do lunch.”

They began walking toward the parking lot and I turned to go back to my

cottage. Hattie came back, hooked her arm through mine and said, “You have to

come with us. Our treat, as a welcome to Birch Grove.”

“You don’t have to babysit me.”

“It’s not babysitting. It’s just…” she shrugged. “It’s hard changing schools

and figuring things out. I’d want someone to give me the four-one-one.”

“Okay,” I said, thinking that I’d like to know more about the students.

As I walked with them to Hattie’s gleaming red BMW, a stunning tall girl

with long, honey blond waves crossed the parking lot in front of us. She saw our

group and said, “Hi, sad little juniors.”

“Hi, Catalina,” Hattie’s group responded.

Catalina’s amber eyes settle on me. “You’re new. Who are you?”

“I’m Jane Williams. I transferred in.”

“She’s living in the gardener’s cottage,” Mary Violet said.

Catalina frowned. “What happened to Mrs. Monroe’s special project?”

“If you mean Bebe, she went to Europe,” Hattie said and opened the car

door. “See you later, Cat.”

“TTYN.” The tall girl said and walked off with a swing of her hips.

When we got in the car, I asked, “Who was that?”

Mary Violet answered, “Catalina Sachs-Montes, the Argentine princess.

Not that she’s really a princess. She just acts like one. She speaks five languages,

including Russian. Her little sister, Adriana, is starting this year. She’s much

nicer. She had class after me at Miss Harlot’s School of Croquet.”

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The Shadow Girl of Birch Grove – Marta Acosta

“Mary Violet means Miss Charlotte’s School of Ballet,” Constance said.

“That’s where we met when I was six and moved to Greenwood from Barbados.

MV was a roly-poly thing stuffed in a pink tutu and everyone else was wearing

leotards.”

“I’ve always had a fabulous sense of style,” Mary Violet said.

Hattie started the car and maneuvered it through the students, to the street.

“Why are we always talking about you, Mary Violet?” she said. “Jane, Catalina’s

a senior and she’s very…very Catalina. Don’t let her get to you.”

“She’s one of those foreigners who thinks Americans are gauche, which is

French for oh-my-gawd-how-tacky,” Mary Violet said. “Unlike Constance, who

thinks Americans are silly.”

“Not all Americans, only you,” Constance said.

Catalina’s hostility seemed a lot more normal than my companions’

friendliness, none of whom were looking out for cops as Hattie drove us off

campus.

I said, “I thought you had to be 18 to drive other teens.”

“Oh, no one pays attention to that here,” Hattie said. “It’s such a small

town and everyone knows everybody.”

Mary Violet said, “My grandparents let my mother drive when she was

fourteen. She was an excellent driver and hardly ever got in accidents. She did

run over a possum once and we can make her cry about it if we pour her a second

tipple of Dubonnet and ask her about its sweet furry paws and darling whiskered

snout.”

I tried to remember
dubonnay
so I could look it up later.

“You don’t,” Constance said.

“We absolutely do! My father is the worst. He always talks about the

heartbroken possum looking for his dead possum wife. Sometimes I recite my

poem,
Requiem for a Marsupial
.”

Mary Violet threw out her arms as far as she could in the confines of the car

and intoned:

“Oh, once you gamboled happily in a wood

Living, loving, gathering food…”

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The Shadow Girl of Birch Grove – Marta Acosta

Constance said, “
Food
doesn’t rhyme with
wood
,” but we were all

laughing.

Mary Violet continued:

“You cross the road exploring afar,

When you are crushed by a careless car!

Alas, poor possum, you draw a last breath,

A Birch Grove girl has crushed you to death
!”

She bowed her head.

“Brilliant as always, MV,” Hattie said. To me she said, “As long as you’re

wearing your uniform or let people know that you go to Birch Grove, they’re

okay. If bigger problems come up, Mrs. Monroe can take care of them. It’s

easiest for everyone that way.”

Hattie took us to a small café called The Tea Stop, but the girls called it The

Free Pop and explained that Birch Grove girls always got a free soda with meals.

When I picked up one of the laminated menus, Hattie said, “They don’t

actually serve anything that’s on the menu. You have to order from the chalk

board. The favorite is crab sandwiches on toasted white bread and green salad.”

“I always get the cup of soup,” Mary Violet said. “Salad gets stuck in your

teeth.”

Constance said, “Soup gets dropped on your boobs.”

“At least I have boobs,” Mary Violet snipped back.

“Or you are one.”

I would have preferred to listen to their conversation, but the girls asked me

questions about my old school and my background.

Mary Violet’s eyes went wide when I told them that my mother had died

and my father’s whereabouts were unknown. “How tragic! You could hire a

detective to find him. Think of how excited he’d be to find out that you’re

attending a top school. You’re the
crème de la crème
. That’s French for cream of

the cream.”

“I don’t know anything about him,” I said uneasily.

Hattie said, “Jane is doing okay on her own and we’ll be her family. She

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The Shadow Girl of Birch Grove – Marta Acosta

won’t be able to get rid of us!”

“Hattie,” I said. “It’s okay. You don’t have to include me on things.”

“Yes, we do,” Mary Violet popped up. “Mrs. Monroe asked us to and I

want her to give me a letter of recommendation for college. She only gives out a

few every year.”

“Mary Violet,” Hattie said with a hard look.

“What?” the blonde girl answered with an obstinate glance at Hattie. Then

she looked at me. “What you don’t know is that we’re all so bored with each

other in Greenwood that we’re thrilled to meet anyone from the outside world.”

“I might not be as exciting as you think.”

“I’m not doing it for the letter of recommendation,” Constance said.

“Well, you like everyone,” Mary Violet said critically. “Let’s have a

sleepover at the gardener’s cottage! We can watch movies and tell ghost stories!”

Hattie shook her head at Hattie and looked at me. “I’m not doing it for the

letter either—”

“Because you already know you’re getting one, Headmistress’s pet,” Mary

Violet cut in.

“What about it?” Hattie said. “So, Jane, we’re happy to show you around