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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.
When we arrived at the main building, everyone decided to accompany Gisselle up the gangway and into the building, which was something that, I saw, pleased her. She was being treated as if she were someone special, not just someone handicapped.
Two male teachers, Mr. Foster and Mr. Norman, were at the two entrances to the auditorium, quickly ushering the girls inside.
"We go to the left," Vicki directed.
"Why?" Gisselle demanded. Now that she had to accept the fact that she would be here at
Greenwood, she would demand to know why something couldn't be white if it was black. As Grandmere Catherine would say if she were here, "Gisselle is determined to be the pebble in everyone's shoe."
"It's where our assigned seats are located," Vicki replied. "It's explained in your packet. Didn't you read any of it yet?"
"No, I didn't read any of it yet," Gisselle said, imitating Vicki's condescending tone. "Anyway, I can't have an assigned seat. I'm in a wheelchair, or haven't you noticed?"
"Of course I noticed. Even so, you should remain with us," Vicki continued patiently. "It's the way Mrs. Ironwood has organized assemblies. We are seated according to our dorm and quad."
"And what else is in this precious packet? When we should go to the bathroom?"
Vicki blanched and turned to lead the way. When we reached our row, everyone filed in. Gisselle remained in the aisle in her wheelchair, and I took the outside 'seat so I could sit next to her. Abby sat beside me. All around us, the
girls laughed and chatted, many gazing our way with interest and curiosity. But no matter who smiled at Gisselle, she refused to smile back. When the girl on the aisle seat across from us kept turning toward her, Gisselle nearly snapped her head off.
"What are you staring at? Didn't you ever see anyone in a wheelchair before?"
"I wasn't staring."
"Gisselle," I said softly, putting my hand on her arm, "don't make a scene."
"Why not? What difference will it make?" she retorted.
Jacqueline waved to some friends, as did Vicki and Kate and Samantha. Then Jacqueline began pointing out other girls and giving us abbreviated opinions.
"That's Deborah Stewart. She's so stuck up, she gets a nosebleed every day. And that's Susan Peck. Her brother goes to Rosedown, and he's so goodlooking everyone plays up to Susan in the hope she will introduce them to her brother when his school attends one of our socials. Oh, there's Camille Ripley. She looks like she got her parents to give her that nose job, doesn't she, Vicki?"
"I forgot what she looked like," Vicki said dryly.
Suddenly a ripple of silence began to pass through the assembly of girls. It started toward the rear and made its way toward the front, accompanying the arrival of Mrs. Ironwood, who marched down the aisle.
"There's the Iron Lady," Jacqueline said in a loud whisper and nodded in her direction. Abby, I, and Gisselle turned to see her start up the short stairway to the stage at the front of the auditorium.
Mrs. Ironwood looked no more than five-six or seven. She was stout, with gray hair pulled severely back and tied in a thick bun. She had a pair of pearlframed glasses on a silver chain around her neck, the glasses resting on her bosom. Dressed in a dark blue vest with a white blouse beneath it and an anklelength skirt, she walked firmly in her thick-heeled black shoes, her shoulders back, her head high, until she reached the podium at the center of the stage. When she turned to face the assembly, not a sound was heard. Someone coughed but quickly choked it to an end.
"How come she doesn't have to wear that ugly uniform too?" Gisselle muttered.
