Читать книгу She Was the Quiet One - Michele Campbell - Страница 14

5

Rose woke up on the first day of classes to find that a perfect ray of sunlight was streaming through a crack in the window blinds. It felt like an omen. Life started fresh today. She jumped out of bed and hurried to get dressed, humming under her breath. Skyler groaned and pulled the covers over her head.

“Are you always this cheerful in the morning?” Skyler said. “I can’t handle it.”

“I’m just excited to go to class.”

Rose had stayed up late last night doing her introductory assignments, but she didn’t feel tired in the least. On the contrary, she was energized. Every word she’d read was emblazoned on her brain, and she couldn’t wait to get into the classroom to talk about the material. Like all the great boarding schools, Odell used the Harkness Method. Rose had read up on the Harkness Method before starting here, and it sounded like the perfect fit for her. Small classes, discussion-based learning. At her old school, she’d hated the big, chaotic rooms. The teachers turned their backs and talked to the chalkboard while kids surfed the Web or goofed around. If Rose spoke up in class, kids rolled their eyes. Odell was different. She could be herself here. She could be smart, and learn a lot, and people would like her for it.

It was a perfectly cool September morning. Delicate light filtered through towering elm trees as Rose walked to her first-ever Odell class. She couldn’t get over the beauty of the campus, its vast expanse. She’d walked five minutes from her dorm to get to breakfast, and then ten minutes back in the opposite direction to get to Founders’ Hall for class, all on brick paths that crisscrossed dew-covered lawns. When she stepped into Founders’ Hall, she felt the weight of centuries in the air of its dark paneled hallways, redolent of books and dust. Yet kids rushed by her on the stairs, laughing and goofing around as if the grandeur was old news. Rose couldn’t imagine getting to the point where she took this place for granted, and yet, she wished for it to happen, because that would mean she belonged.

The walls of the social studies classroom were lined with framed maps from another century. A marble bust of George Washington watched her from a pedestal in the corner. The teacher was eloquent and thoughtful, and the discussion lively from the start. Rose made her first comment about ten minutes in—something about how the Constitution was the result of compromise—and Mr. Mendez liked it so much that he wrote it on the board. For the rest of the class, kids kept referring to “Rose’s point,” and she was so proud of herself that she had to take care not to act cocky. English class second period was amazing, too. Mrs. Sunderland went around the room and asked each of them to name a favorite book and say how it had influenced them. Rose talked about the Little House books, which she’d read obsessively between the ages of ten and fourteen. Not only did nobody roll their eyes at her, but two other girls piped up to say they’d read those books over and over, too, and loved them just as much.

French was the best of all. Mademoiselle LeBlanc was a native speaker who insisted that the students speak only French in the classroom. (She also had a chic haircut and beautiful suede boots.) Rose was terrified at first. She’d been studying French since middle school, and had never been asked to do more than conjugate verbs on paper. Miraculously, when her turn came, her tongue knew what to do. “Bonjour, mademoiselle,” Rose said, the words flowing out almost effortlessly. “Je m’appelle Rose Enright. Je viens de Californie.” The teacher nodded approvingly, and Rose suddenly had a new ambition. She would become fluent in French, speak with a perfect accent, live in Paris. Odell had a study-abroad program where you could live with a French family for a summer. She would convince Grandma to send her. Oh, life was exciting.

Emma Kim was in Rose’s French class, and when the period ended, she fell into step beside Rose, as if it was perfectly natural for them to walk to lunch together. The cool morning had become a bright, sunny day, and the Quad smelled of warm earth. Rose chatted and laughed with her new friend as they headed to the dining hall. Emma was a returning sophomore like Skyler, but didn’t seem to mind that Rose was new. Rose cherished the hope that they would become close friends. The girls she sat with at lunch in her old school had never been much more than acquaintances. They didn’t hang out, didn’t text, didn’t invite her shopping or to the movies. It wasn’t like she hadn’t tried. She didn’t really understand why they didn’t want to be closer; maybe they didn’t consider her fun. Here at Odell, she hoped, the definition of fun would be different. Rose herself would be different here. If this morning was any indication, she would fit in, have friends, be liked and admired.

The new part of the dining hall, known simply as the New, was a soaring, modern space, all glass and white walls, with brightly colored flags hanging from the high ceilings (Odell had students from thirty countries). Giant photos of local flora decorated the walls. To Rose, the New looked like some space-age art gallery with tables. As they walked in, a warm buzz of conversation washed over Rose, and her heart lifted. Bel was here somewhere in the crowd. Rose wanted to find her, to gush to her twin about this amazing place. She searched the crowd as she followed Emma to the food line, but didn’t see Bel.

She noticed something else interesting, however.

“What’s that writing on the walls?” Rose asked Emma.

“The names of every graduating senior are carved on the panels.”

“Since when?”

“Going back, like, to the beginning of time. This is the new part of the dining hall, but if you go to the Commons, where they have the formal dinners, you’ll see names dating back to the early 1800s.”

“Seriously? My father and grandfather went here. Do you think I could find their names?”

Emma looked impressed. “Of course, you just need to know their class year. I had no idea you and Bel were legacies. She never mentioned it.”

“Oh, Bel doesn’t care about that sort of thing.”

“Not care? That’s crazy. My parents grew up in Korea, and even they knew Odell. Once my name gets carved on the wall, I’m not letting anybody forget it.”

They got their food, and made a beeline for a table where some other sophomore girls from Moreland were sitting. Apparently, students sat by class year. Seniors rated the best tables, farthest from the glass doors that admitted cold blasts of air during the bitter New Hampshire winters, closest to the food line. Emma told Rose to never, ever try to sit there. They would chase you away, your name would be mud. Freshmen were relegated to the outskirts, to an area they called Siberia. The other grades filled in the middle. Kids in the fast, popular crowd tended to sit at coed tables, whereas your normals were more likely to sit single-sex, like the Moreland table they were at now.

Skyler was at the Moreland table, sitting next to a girl named Lucy Ogunwe, who ran track and sang in the choir, and was in Rose’s civics class. There were girls Rose recognized, and others she hadn’t met yet. Emma introduced her around, but the glow of welcome was diminished by a flicker of worry when it hit home that Bel wasn’t here. Bel was nowhere to be seen, in fact. At their old school, when Bel didn’t show up to lunch, it usually meant she was ditching.

Toward the end of lunch period, a loud whoop went up from the tables where the seniors sat, and Rose turned to look. A muscular boy with a prominent forehead was wiping a gob of whipped cream from his face while kids around him laughed.

“You’re gonna regret that,” he said, his loud voice carrying in the sudden quiet.

Darcy Madden, identifiable by her bright blond hair, stood beside him, doubled over laughing. The boy grabbed Darcy and smeared the gob of whipped cream on her face. Darcy squealed, then struggled and broke loose, and the two of them ran from the room.

“That’s like something that would happen in my school in L.A.,” Rose said. “Lunch was out of control there.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not normal here. That was Darcy, the one I warned you about, and her boyfriend, Brandon. Those two really push the envelope. Disruptive behavior can get you demerits, you know. The teachers don’t look happy.”

“I’m not surprised.”

“Do you see your sister?”

“What? Where?”

“She’s sitting right there,” Emma said, nodding toward the table Darcy had fled from.

Rose following Emma’s gaze and saw Bel, who was fully ensconced, chatting and smiling like she’d known those people forever.

“Oh. That’s where she went.”

Rose was actually relieved to see Bel in the lunchroom. At least she wasn’t off in the woods somewhere, ditching school. But Emma apparently didn’t see it that way.

“Like I was telling you last night,” Emma said, “those seniors are bad news. You need to do something.”

“What should I do?”

“Go over there, talk to her.”

“Now? Really?”

“Yes, really. She’s your twin sister, right? It’s on you to look out for her reputation. If Bel gets in trouble, it’ll reflect badly on you.”

That was a new concept to Rose. Back home, the school was big and impersonal, and nobody cared who your family was, unless they were rich or famous. But what Emma said made sense. At Odell, everybody knew everybody. Heck, her ancestors’ names were carved on the wall. And she didn’t want Bel to get in trouble. She wanted to be a good sister, and help her find her way here.

“You’re right. I’m going to say something,” Rose said.

Rose got up and marched across the dining hall toward the senior tables. Bel saw her coming, and narrowed her eyes, shaking her head slightly to tell Rose to keep away. Rose hesitated. She didn’t want to embarrass her sister in front of the seniors, but she was also conscious of Emma and the other Morelanders watching to see what she would do. She had to do something, right? Emma had said so. She strode up to the senior table.

“What are you doing?” Bel asked, looking alarmed.

“What are you doing?” Rose replied.

“What does it look like? I’m eating lunch.”

“Come sit with the sophomores.”

“Why? I’m happy here.”

“You shouldn’t sit at a senior table. It’s not done.”

A tough-looking girl with wavy red hair looked at Rose with a bemused expression. “Who is this chick?” she asked Bel.

“My sister,” Bel said.

The redhead reached over and patted Bel on the head playfully. “It’s cool, sis. Darcy said Bel could sit with us. She’s like our new mascot.”

Mascot? That sounded a bit condescending, and yet, Rose felt a tentacle of jealousy stir. She met her twin’s eyes pleadingly.

“Bel, come sit with me, please. I need to talk to you about something.”

“Get lost, Rose. I’m busy.”

In front of strangers, no less. Bel was probably just showing off for her new friends, but still, that really hurt. Rose was only trying to help. Couldn’t Bel see that? Why didn’t she just come along, instead of turning this into a scene?

“You don’t have to be so nasty,” Rose said.

“Hey, is that my sweater you’re wearing?” Bel said.

“Yeah, it’s cute. I borrowed it.”

“Without asking?”

“Since when do I have to ask?”

“Since when do we share clothes? We don’t like the same things. We’re not the same size. Give it back.”

“Fine, I’ll give it back tonight,” Rose said.

“She means now,” the redhead said, in a snarky tone. “You are big, sis. You’ll stretch it out.”

Rose’s cheeks burned. This nasty girl had just called her fat in front of a table full of seniors. Not only did Bel not rise to her defense. She actually smirked.

“Screw you, Bel. I don’t want your skeevy clothes anyway.”

Rose tore the sweater off and threw it in her sister’s face. The look of shock in Bel’s eyes gave Rose a sick thrill as she turned on her heel and fled back to the Moreland table. Rose had always been the loving sister, had always looked out for Bel. Come to think of it, she didn’t get much in return, did she? Bel never repaid the favor, never invited Rose to hang out with her cool friends. To the contrary. She’d been willing to humiliate Rose in front of the seniors.

The Moreland girls had left already, which came as a relief. Hopefully they’d missed the conclusion of that awful scene. Rose’s tray sat alone on the table, the half-eaten taco swimming in a pool of congealing orange grease. She bused her tray, worrying kids would gossip about her now. Her fabulous first day of classes had been ruined; and her self-confidence, which had been soaring this morning, was now in tatters. All because of Bel. As much as Rose loved her sister, she would struggle to forgive her for this.