The Shadow Girl of Birch Grove (9 page)

“Who doesn’t enjoy a good sword fight?” When Jack smiled, his whole

face lit up. “Yeah, I’ve read Tolkien, and my mother told us fairy tales every

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The Shadow Girl of Birch Grove – Marta Acosta

night. I’m an expert on magical creatures, and I can recognize one when I see

one. There’s a glint of starlight in your brown eyes that gives away your true

identity.”

Jack flipped open the lid of the box. The pizza had slid to one side and

much of the topping was stuck to the cardboard. He shrugged and said, “That’s

why people don’t deliver pizzas by bike.”

We sat down and Jack said, “Mom told me she dragged you shopping

today. She loves shopping with girls. It kills her that she can’t dress Lucky and

me in matching sailor outfits.”

As we took out slices of the gooey mess, I asked, “What else does your

mother like?”

“Besides her family? Her
girls
.” He pitched his voice higher, mimicking

her. “A Birch Grove girl is an exceptional girl.”

He was watching for my reaction. I stared right back into his wide green

eyes. They were the moss color of the school’s pond with bronzy flecks like the

reflection of sunlight.

“Well?” Jack said.

I bit into the pizza. Even though it wasn’t hot, it was the best pizza I’d ever

had. “It’s great.”

Jack said, “What are your favorite subjects?”

It was the same question his brother had asked. “Math and science.”

“Why? And tell me in complete sentences, like you’d answer in a college

interview.”

“Is this the price of pizza?” I said, and he nodded. “Okay, I like them

because science and math are always reasonable, logical, and fair. The rules

apply no matter who you are, or who you know. There is beauty and balance.

They make sense.”

“And people don’t,” he said. “We’re irrational, biased, and unreliable.”

“Some more than others,” I said, and he smiled. “But the rules of science

apply when we die. When our bodies decompose, it doesn’t matter if we were

rich, poor, smart, stupid… None of that matters, because our chemical

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components are equal even though life is not.”

“I don’t know when I’ve had a more cheerful dinner companion,” Jack said.

I shrugged and said, “You asked.”

We ate silently for a few minutes before he said, “Tell me about yourself.”

“I came from a group home and now I’m here.”

“Thanks for the fascinating details,” he said. “Why were you in a foster

home?”

I wasn’t going to reveal anything he didn’t already know. “Didn’t your

mother tell you?”

“The only thing she told us was that you’re here on scholarship.”

“My mother died when I was seven, and I got dumped into the system.”

“What about your father?”

“He bailed before I was born.” I shifted my leg and it momentarily brushed

against Jack’s under the table. I felt a jolt from the contact, and I quickly tucked

my legs under my chair.

“So your dad’s not going to come and get you anytime soon?”

I shook my head. “As far as I’m concerned, he doesn’t exist.”

“You’re all alone then,” Jack said.

It was exactly what his mother had said, what everyone said. “You

probably don’t realize it, living in a place like this, but lots of kids don’t live with

their birth parents. Lots of families are broken up.”

“I know that, Jane,” he said in such a sorrowful way that I got the strangest

feeling that he actually did understand. “Do you like living by yourself here?”

“Do you always ask so many questions?”

“No, because most people are happy to talk about themselves. I have to pry

stuff out of you.”

“Why do you care?”

He grinned. “Now who’s asking the questions? I’m curious.”

I sighed. “I love having my own space, but it’s so different. I’m used to

more noise, city noise, cars and people. And at night, when the wind blows, the

trees make sounds. I’ll become habituated to it.”

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The Shadow Girl of Birch Grove – Marta Acosta

“
Habituated?
Really?” A smile played on his lips. “Well, look who’s

been studying for the SATs.”

“If I didn’t study, I wouldn’t be here,” I snapped. “Yes, it feels a little eerie

sometimes.”

“There are lots of folktales about birches. Do you know what they say

about them? They say they lift their roots from the earth and walk at night.”

I had that unidentifiable sensation again. Then I saw the twinkle in Jack’s

eyes and got annoyed.

“Jacob, at my old school, students got shot and stabbed. There were ODs

and arrests. There were kids who didn’t get to the emergency room in time and

died. So don’t think you’re going to scare me with your preposterous stories,” I

said. “Everyone knows trees aren’t animate. They can’t walk or talk or come

alive at night!”

The strange sensation came again, the thing I couldn’t remember, and I

pushed it away.

“No, I don’t suppose it’s easy to scare you,” Jack said more seriously.

“There’s something in your eyes, Halfling, like you’ve see things not meant for

mere mortals.”

“You’re so full of it, Jack,” I said and he just laughed and grabbed a third

slice of pizza.

Although I was already full, I desperately hoped he wasn’t going to throw

the rest away, because some people are like that, tossing away things that others

could use. After all, it was his pizza.

When Jack finished eating, he stood. “Keep the rest. See you around,

halfling.”

He let himself out and I heard the crunch of his tires on the leaves outside

as he rode off.

I had no idea what to make of him, or why he’d really come by. He must

be bored.

After I went to bed, I listened to the sounds outside. I imagined the trees

pulling away from the earth and wandering in the night, massive, yet graceful in

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the moonlight. I thought of their limbs moving like dancers, of their delicate

whispery song, and I fell asleep.

Mid-morning the next day, Saturday, Mrs. Monroe stopped by to drop off

my uniforms and a round box. “These are your school hats. There’s a straw one

for sunny days, a wool one for the winter, and a cap for sports. Our founder’s

wife believed that a lady should always protect her complexion and science has

shown that to be an excellent policy.”

I suddenly imagined Mrs. Monroe trying to get Jack to wear a sailor suit

and I smiled. “Thank you, ma’am. For everything.”

“You’re welcome, Jane. I’ll see you at registration on Monday at 8:30.

Students wear their blazers and skirts on the first day of term.”

“I know I should have asked before – I don’t have a computer and I didn’t

notice where the computer lab was in the school. Or are they somewhere in the

library?”

“Most applicants already know and I should have mentioned that we don’t

use computers for schoolwork here,” she said. “It sounds shockingly backwards

in this day and age, but studies have shown that using books for research and the

actual process of writing by hand reinforces learning and encourages analysis.”

“I’ve never heard of anything like that,” I said. “But colleges want students

who are computer literate.”

She smiled and said, “They prefer students who can think and do research

from original source material. You may use the computers in the library in town,

so long as you don’t use them for school work.”

“Okay, I’ll do that. I wanted to say hi to my old friends.”

“It’s good of you to keep in touch, but be careful not to hold on too tight to

old acquaintances instead of making new friends here at Birch Grove,” she said.

“Well, I’ll be off. See you tomorrow, Jane.”

After I had lunch, I got the shopping bag with new clothes and walked to

the edge of campus and down the drive to town. The fog grew lighter as I went

downhill. When I turned to look back up at Birch Grove, it blanketed in soft

grayness.

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The library was off the main street, and only a few older people sat in the

cushioned armchairs of the reading area. I filled out an application for a library

card and was issued one with tag that said
Birch Grove Academy
. Then I went to

the computer stalls and logged into my old City Central account.

I thought I’d have messages from my housemates at Mrs. Richards’, but no

one had written to me. I sent a message to one of my roommates telling her that I

was fine and happy in my new place.

Lily and the other Alphas had written to wish me luck. I wrote back and

told them about the crazy no-computers rule, the uniforms, and the handbook

filled with regulations.

I wanted to tell them about the beautiful school, gorgeous Lucky, my

amazing cottage, and weird Jack, but I didn’t want to sound all fangirly about

Birch Grove when they were still stuck at City Central. As I signed off, I felt a

pang; I knew they would soon forget me.

I scoured the library’s non-fiction stacks and an hour later I had a pile of

books for school, including a guide to tutoring chemistry. I imagined sitting side

by side with Lucky, the book open in front of us, and how he’d learn to see me as

more than just a mousy girl. Yeah, right. At least I could look at him.

I also did an internet search on Mrs. Monroe’s theory about handwriting

and found that she was right: research had shown a correlation between learning

and the process of writing. Some City Central teachers made us write by hand,

but only when students had gotten so blasé about their plagiarism that their

cutting and pasting was obvious.

My next stop was the women’s clothing shop. I tried to look confident and

casual as I walked up to the register with my bag. “Hi, I’d like to return these

things,” I said to a clerk in a pale blue sweater and skirt.

I took the clothes out of the bag and she said, “Certainly. Do you have the

receipt?”

“No, the clothes were a gift. I’d like a refund.”

“We can give you store credit,” she said. “But we can’t give refunds

without a receipt.”

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“I just got them two days ago,” I said. I wished I was one of those girls

who could talk their way into anything, and I tried smiling.

“Hello, there, young lady,” someone said.

The clerk and I both turned to look at the older clerk who worked in the

lingerie section.

“Hi,” I said.

She looked me up and down and said, “Yes, good undergarments make a

very nice difference. How are you?”

“I’m trying to return some things I don’t need.”

The woman at the counter said to her, “Oh, you two know each other?”

“Yes, Mrs. Monroe brought her shopping the other day. She’s a new Birch

Grove student.”

“Then I think we can make an exception to the refund policy,” said the

clerk in blue.

Now that I had cash in my pocket, I stopped into the chic beauty shop next

door to the boutique. Mirrors reflecting gleaming glass display cases, and a subtle

floral scent hung in the air. I went to the counter with rows of eye products, eye

shadows in a kaleidoscope of colors, trays of crayons from thin to thick…

I picked up a tube of mascara and turned it to see the price, which was on a

tiny tab. It cost as much as a bag of groceries.

A pretty clerk came over and said, “May I help you find something?”

“No thanks. Just looking,” I said. I picked up an eye crayon and it cost

even more. “Thanks.”

I walked toward the bus stop, feeling the comfort of the folded bills and

coins in my pocket, when I saw the shuttle pulling away from the stop. I ran, my

heavy book bag clunking against me, but the shuttle chugged off.

I read the chemistry tutoring guide while waiting for the next shuttle. I was

thinking about Lucky and money, money and Lucky, when I realized that a car

had stopped in front of me and then someone called out, “Hey! Hey!”

It was the girl from the grocery store. She was leaning across the front seat

of the older black Nissan so she could yell out the open passenger window.

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“Hi,” I said.

“Where ya going?”

“Up to Birch Grove. I just missed the shuttle.”

“It’ll be another hour ‘cause it’s still on the summer schedule. I’ll give you

a lift. Hop in.”

“Thanks.” I got in the car, which had fuzzy pink seat covers and smelled

like strawberry jam. “I’m Jane.”

“Hey, Jane. My friends call me Ornery, but my real name is Orneta.”

“Which do you want to be called?” I asked. There was something very

easy-going about her and I felt more relaxed than I had in weeks.

“Call me Orneta around the store and Ornery when I’m not. I’m taking

nursing classes at the CC.”

“Is that nearby?”

“It’s about twenty minutes away.” She said she lived in an apartment with

two roommates and asked where I was from. When I told her and mentioned City

Central she let out a hoot. “That place has a terrible rep,” she said. “I dated a guy