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“I want to finish my homework and practice the clarinet fundamentals,” I said. They were like magic words for Mrs. March. I, too, knew how to manipulate her when I wanted to do that, but it didn’t make me feel any better to compare myself with Kiera. She looked at me with a mixture of anger and awe. She realized then that I was more than a street girl. I could play on her field. I was a much faster learner than she had expected, and for the first time, I thought she might be afraid of me. I could almost hear her concerns.
For the first time in a long time, since Alena’s death, actually, there was real competition in the house for her parents’ attention. Soon it might be for their love, as well, and that was more than she could stand.
Maybe, Mama, I thought, this is how we get our revenge, our justice.
Why else would I be there?
19
Nightmares
Because I really believed I had seen those things in Kiera’s face that night, I began to settle more comfortably into school, as well as into the mansion. I made some acquaintances in my classes, but no one struck me as a possible best girlfriend. Maybe it was because of my limp. Maybe it was because of my looks. Or maybe it was because of the rumors that circulated about me, rumors Kiera probably had planted. Whatever the cause, I felt a gap between me and the other girls, a gap that seemed to be widening and not narrowing with every passing day.
As the first weeks and then months went by, I heard of parties some girls in my classes had, but no one ever invited me to any. I knew there were girls who got together on the weekends and went to movies or to hang out in malls, where they could flirt with boys, but no one had asked me to join them. Sometimes I felt that girls were friendly to me just in the hope that I would invite them to the March house. When they talked about it and I said nothing, they usually drifted away.
Mrs. March continually asked me about my days at school and how I was getting along with the other girls. I tried to sound as upbeat as I could, and she accepted it, either because she believed it or because she wanted to believe it. Reports about my initial work began to flow back to her and Mr. March. When he was home for dinner, he would compliment me about it, and Kiera would either sulk or try to ignore it. What really got to her, I thought, was how quickly I was picking up the skills to play the clarinet. Mr. March was even more impressed than Mrs. March and came to my suite a few times to listen to me practicing.
Kiera tried her best to make my accomplishments sound insignificant, especially after I played my first piece of music just before dinner one night in the living room. She didn’t want to listen, but both Mr. and Mrs. March insisted. I tried not to look her way, because her sour expression was enough to make Mr. Denacio himself fumble the notes.
“I can’t believe how quickly she learned how to read music,” Mr. March said when I finished.
“Maybe she already knew,” Kiera suggested. “From her old school.”
“We had no orchestra, no band,” I said. “The school had major cutbacks in financing, and art and music were dropped.”
“We know that to be true,” Mr. March said.
“Well, her mother might have taught her stuff,” Kiera insisted.
“I don’t think so,” Mrs. March said, her eyes fixed on me with such adoration I had to blu
sh. “She had other things on her agenda.” She turned to Kiera. “Like survival.”
Frustrated, Kiera went into retreat. She didn’t say anything more about me or my past. When our first report cards came out and I had all A’s, she was practically a candidate for a straitjacket. She had nothing higher than a C and had two C-minuses. Mr. March looked disappointed, but it was Mrs. March who went after her at dinner that night.
“You told me you and your friends formed this homework club for after-school sessions because the first half of your senior year was so important, didn’t you?”
“These teachers hate me,” Kiera moaned. “They resent us because we’re so rich.”
Her father looked up. “Why, did someone say something to you that would indicate that?”
“They don’t come right out and say it, Daddy. They’re too smart for that, but I can see it in their faces.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Mrs. March said. “Every girl and boy in that school comes from a wealthy family. How else could they attend with the tuition being as high as it is? No one would single you out for that, Kiera. It’s a pathetic excuse for your failure to care about your work.”
“Your mother’s right, Kiera,” her father said. “If a girl like Sasha can do so well, considering her background, you can, too. I want to see more of an effort from you.”
Her face deflated. Her eyes filled with tears. She looked at me and bit down on her upper lip. “It’s the therapy!” she cried. “It’s driving me nuts. I can’t think.”
“You could go to prison if you don’t follow through on that,” her mother said.
Kiera looked to her father, but he didn’t disagree.
“Well, you’ll just have to put up with me until I’m finished with it, then,” she said in the exact manner and tone of a spoiled girl. She went back to her pouting and pecked at her food.
I didn’t gloat, but inside I felt good about myself for the first time in a long time. It inspired me to work even harder. I was beginning to enjoy the clarinet, as well, and some nights I practiced for close to two hours. I overheard Kiera complain to her father about the noise, but he told her just to put on her earphones like she did most of the time. That brought a smile to my lips.
Kiera wasn’t yet at the point where she would talk to me during the school day, but I did often notice her watching me when I was with other students in the cafeteria. A few times, I ate outside with some of my classmates, and I thought she was going to come over to say something, but she didn’t. I thought she was looking at me differently, too. I didn’t see the disdain or disrespect as much. It was more as if she was curious about me, which only made me feel even better about myself.
