The Merciless II (4 page)

“Sofia?” Father Marcus stands at the foot of a twisting staircase, one gnarled hand resting on the ornately carved handrail. A ring glitters from his index finger, a silver cross set against a shield.

“Sorry,” I murmur, hurrying to catch up. I try not to groan as I hoist my luggage up the stairs.

“St. Mary's is one of the oldest Catholic schools in the country,” Father Marcus explains as we climb. “We're second only to Ursuline Academy in New Orleans.”

I stop on the second-floor landing, next to a marble statue of Jesus, to catch my breath. “I think I read that on your website,” I say. Father Marcus curls his lip at the mention of their website, like the Internet is something unpleasant that he wishes would return to the hell it came from.

“Many of our works of art and furnishings date
back over two hundred years,” he continues, “so we'd appreciate if you'd refrain from carving your initials into our walls, or sticking gum on the bottom of your bed.”

“I wouldn't, I mean—”

“The grounds are off-limits after nine in the evening and before six,” Father Marcus says, talking over me. “Anyone caught outdoors during those periods will be . . . punished.”

The way he says “punished” sets my teeth on edge. We reach the top of the stairs and stop beside a thick wooden door. A smudged plaque next to the door reads
LADIES‘ DORMITORIES
.

“We are here to help save your soul, Miss Flores,” Father Marcus continues. “I make that promise to every young person who walks through our gates. But it must be understood, we do not suffer”—his upper lip curls—“
defiance
. You will respect your instructors, and you will show up
daily
for Mass services. I expect to see you at confession.”

He wets his lips, leaving beads of saliva in the corners of his mouth. “You are here on scholarship, are you not?”

I nod, not sure I trust myself to speak.

“Understand that your scholarship is contingent upon you keeping up your grades, participating in school activities, and respecting our morality code.” Father Marcus lifts a thin, crooked finger. “One misstep and
your scholarship privileges will be revoked. Is that clear, Miss Flores?”

I knew my scholarship could be revoked, but hearing Father Marcus say it makes it actually seem possible. My chest tightens. If St. Mary's doesn't work out, that leaves me back in a group home in Friend.

I swallow. “Yes, sir.”

Footsteps thud on the steps below me. I flinch, but it's just Sister Lauren. She hurries up the staircase, her face slightly red.

“How was the tour?” she asks.

“Informative,” Father Marcus says. He studies me for another long moment. “Sister Lauren will show you to your room from here. Good luck, Miss Flores.”

He nods at me and then heads back to the first floor. Sister Lauren peers down the staircase after him.

“I think he likes you,” she says when she's certain he's out of earshot. She takes my duffel bag off my shoulder.

I stare at her, incredulous. “Why would you think that?”

“I've never heard him wish anyone luck before.”

“Maybe he just thinks I'll need it.”

Sister Lauren flashes me a kind smile. She pulls a heavy brass key out of her pocket and unlocks the door to the dormitories.

“You'll feel better once you've met your new roomies,”
she says, leading me down a much more modern-looking hallway. Wipe boards and photographs hang from the doors, and I hear the faint sound of talking and giggling behind the walls. Everything seems so normal, so nice, but I've been the new girl more times than I can count and I'm not fooled. High school is hell. It doesn't matter how many cute photos these girls tape to their doors, or goofy messages they write. They're screwed-up underneath. Just like we all are.

But this time, Mom's not waiting at home to ask me about my day. I'm all on my own here. It suddenly feels as if someone's wrapped a meaty hand around my windpipe.

“Breathe,” I mutter to myself.

“Did you say something?” Sister Lauren asks, glancing over her shoulder. I shake my head.

“No, I . . . I'm fine.”

Sister Lauren stops at a door marked 23 and knocks twice before pushing it open.

“Ladies, I'd like you all to meet your new roommate,” she says. I take one last deep breath, and tug my bags through the door.

“Hi—” My suitcase handle slips from my fingers and slams to the floor.

Brooklyn lies on her stomach on the floor, playing with a pair of oversized black glasses. Bright-red lipstick
stains her mouth. Riley leans against the far window, her tanned arms crossed over her chest. She cocks one eyebrow, a grin twisting her lips.

“Sofia?” Sister Lauren touches my arm. A shiver skips over my skin. The room comes into focus, and I realize I'm mistaken. The girl I'd thought was Riley is actually Asian. Freckles cover her round face and big cheeks, and there's a cherry-red knit hat topped with a silver pom-pom pulled low over her glossy black hair. Riley wouldn't be caught dead in that hat.

The other girl sits up, the black glasses still dangling from her fingers. Her red lipstick reminds me of Brooklyn, but otherwise she looks completely different. She's tiny, for one thing. I'd mistake her for a little girl if I saw her from behind. Tangled blonde hair hangs almost to her hips. She smiles at me, and I notice a gap between her two front teeth.

I crouch to pick up my suitcase, worried that I've already killed my reputation.

“Hi,” I say, straightening. “I'm Sofia.”

The Asian girl steps forward. The pom-pom on her hat bobbles as she walks. Her smile gets wider. It's so genuine and sincere that it catches me off guard.

“I'm Leena,” she says, sticking out a hand to help me with my suitcase. “Welcome to St. Mary's.”

A
s soon as Sister Lauren pulls the door closed, Leena pushes the fuzzy red hat off her forehead and presses an ear to the door, screwing up her freckled face in concentration. “You think she suspected anything?” she whispers.

“Not a chance in hell,” my other roommate drawls from her spot on the floor. She pulls down the front of her T-shirt to reveal a candy necklace that stains the skin on her neck pink and green.

“They don't allow candy here,” she explains, tossing the oversized glasses she'd been playing with onto a pillow next to her knee. “Pretend they're . . . vitamins.”

“Um, sure,” I say. That's another new-girl rule—agree with everything, even if you don't mean it. I drop my duffel bags at the foot of the only unoccupied bed and look around. The dorm is tiny. Twin-sized beds crowd three of its four walls, two narrow dressers wedged between them. I guess we're supposed to share. Bedspreads and pillows spill onto the floor, and bookshelves stuffed with paperbacks and framed photographs of baby animals line the walls.

“What didn't Sister Lauren suspect?” I ask, glancing up at the ceiling. Someone started to paint a mural of the moon and stars across it but stopped midway through, leaving the rest of the space white.

“Our secret,” Leena says in a conspiratorial voice. The word
secret
turns my stomach. Secrets only lead to trouble.

Leena plucks the black-framed glasses off the pillow and pushes them up her nose. She blinks, like she's seeing my face clearly for the first time. “What do you think, Sutton?” she asks the other girl. “Should we tell?”

Sutton has gotten up from the floor to study her reflection in the mirror on the back of the closet door, but she turns at the sound of Leena's voice. She flips her long, messy hair over her shoulder. “I don't know, Leenie-bean. You think we can trust her?”

“Look,” I cut in, “whatever it is, I don't—”

But Leena is already crossing the room. She yanks a yellow-and-pink-striped pillow off her bed and tosses it to the floor.

“Ta-da!” she announces, motioning to a shivering ball of white fluff with bloodshot eyes.

“It's a bunny.” I drop onto my bed, staring. The fluff ball looks at me, its pink nose twitching. It hops forward and sniffs Leena's pillow. Sutton releases a peal of laughter as Leena scoops the bunny off the bed.

“Ooh, he's the
best
bunny,” Leena coos, making a kissy face. “Aren't you just the best bun-bun?”

“You look surprised,” Sutton adds, nodding at me. She digs under her bed, and produces a warm can of Diet Dr Pepper. “Did you think we were gonna pull out a baggie of cocaine?”

“No,” I say, but the doubt in my voice gives me away.

Sutton grins and hands me the soda. “Soda is against the rules, too,” she says when I take the can from her. “Pretend it's . . . mineral water.”

“Thanks,” I say. I crack open the can and take a long drink. So far, this place doesn't seem terrible. I'm not sleeping on a concrete floor, and the girls are actually talking to me like they want to be friends.

“No problem,” Sutton says. “And just so you know, neither of us is in here for drugs. No judgment if that's your deal. Pot just turns me into a space cadet.”

“The boys giving you the pot turn you into a space cadet,” Leena says. Sutton smirks.

“That, too.” She sticks her candy necklace into her mouth and chews off one of the beads.

“I don't do drugs,” I say, wiping a drop of Dr Pepper off my lower lip. Leena sits down next to me on the bed, and plops her bunny in my lap. I flinch, nearly dropping my soda.

“Meet Heathcliff. He's our fourth roomie.”

“He lives in our closet,” Sutton explains. “Don't worry, you won't even know he's here.”

I stare down at the bunny, trying not to let my distaste show on my face. I've never been an animal person. When I was eight years old, I accidentally sat on my pet hamster, Mr. Whiskers (I wasn't a very creative child). Poor Mr. Whiskers barely survived. After that, Mom decided he'd be safer with our neighbors across the street.

Secretly, I was glad. I hated the way his cage smelled, and the twitchy, ratlike look of his little face. I could always hear him moving around in the dark while I slept. It gave me the creeps.

Leena frowns. “He isn't bothering you, is he?”

“Of course not! He's . . . sweet,” I say, absently stroking Heathcliff's fur. I expect her to take him back, but she just leaves him in my lap, letting him gnaw on the edge of my jeans.

“Can you believe I found this cutie outside the chapel?” Leena asks, wrinkling her nose at Heathcliff. “His poor little leg was broken and he could barely hop.”

“Leena made him a cast out of toothpicks and Band-Aids.” Sutton rolls her eyes, but she leans forward and scratches Heathcliff behind his ears. The bunny hops toward the end of my bed and pushes his wet pink nose into her hand like he's looking for a treat. I try not to seem too relieved. That rabbit was starting to smell.

“Okay, time to spill,” Sutton says. She pushes Heathcliff away and wipes her hand on her jean shorts. As she leans back against the bedframe, her skinny legs stretch out across the floor. “What are you in for?”

I frown and take another sip of soda. “What do you mean?”

“What horrible thing did you do to get sent here?” Leena asks. “It's already December and St. Mary's doesn't usually take new students midyear, so Sutton and I figured it had to be really bad.”

“Stealing?” Sutton guesses. She pulls her legs to her chest and wraps her arms around them, resting her chin on her knees. “Drinking? Sleeping with your high school guidance counselor? If it's the last one, I'm going to need pics.”

“Gross, Sutton,” Leena cuts in, giggling. Sutton makes a face at her. Her front teeth are stained pink from the candy necklace.

“Wait.” I hold up my hands to get them to stop talking. “What do you mean what did I do to get
sent
here?”

Leena stares at me. Her glasses magnify her dark eyes, making them look a little unsettling. “Didn't you know? This is where they send bad kids.”

“Everyone here has gotten caught shooting heroin or sexting her English teacher or painting lewd graffiti on playground equipment,” Sutton adds.

“Or, if you're me, your super-strict mother caught you trying a beer
for the first time ever
and flipped out,” Leena mutters.

Sutton turns to her and smirks. “When you told me that story it was
four
beers, and you were sneaking into your bio classroom to set all the frogs free.”

“They were going to dissect them!” Leena says. She throws a pillow at Sutton, but Sutton catches it before it hits her in the face. “It's not my fault there was an
alarm
on the freaking door.” Leena shakes her head, exasperated, and turns back to me. “My mom completely freaked out at me. I have to call her every single day just to check in and, I swear, she thinks she'll be able to smell the beer on my breath through the phone. She's the worst—you have no idea.”

Mom
.
Mother
.
She
. I try to count how many times Leena has casually mentioned her mom already. My mom's cell phone photo flashes into my head: hair
sticking out of her short ponytail, the Cheerio stuck to her cheek. I feel a needle prick of pain just below my left eye and blink until it goes away. I never realized how lucky I was to be annoyed by my mom.

“So, being sent here is, like, a punishment?” I ask, trying to keep my voice casual.

Sutton flashes me a sympathetic look. “No one told you, huh?”

I shake my head, remembering the way Wanda studied my face when she asked me whether I'd ever heard of St. Mary's. She had to have known the truth and she sent me here, anyway.

Does that mean she thinks I'm a bad kid? She's a social worker. Maybe she can tell that I'm rotten just by looking at me.

“So what did you do?” Leena scoots to the end of my bed and leans back against my pillow. “Was it really bad?”

My chest tightens, and I consider making something up. I could say I got sent here for shoplifting. I could even pretend to call my mom every day to check in, just like Leena.

The lie sounds so good that I want it to be true. But I have to keep telling myself that Mom is never going to pick up her phone again.

“My, um, mom was in an accident,” I say. The words
feel strange in my mouth. I don't think I'll ever get used to saying them. “She died.”

The color drains from Sutton's tanned face. “Shit, Sofia,” she says. “That's awful.”

“I'm so sorry we asked,” Leena adds. She scoots closer to me and squeezes my arm. “It's got to be so awful to lose a parent. Sutton's dad—”

“He died, too,” Sutton finishes, cutting Leena off. “It happened when I was really little, though, so I barely remember him. It's not the same.”

I nod, and stare down at the bunny hopping around my bed. His white fur clings to my jeans and sheets. “My caseworker found this place,” I say. “She thought it would be a good option since I don't have any family nearby. She didn't mention the part about it being a punishment.”

“It's really not so bad. Promise,” Sutton says. “Sure, St. Mary's can be strict. But there are perks, too. I mean, the eye candy can't be beat.”

Leena grins and nods at the window behind her. “She means that the boys' dorms are just across the courtyard. Father Marcus makes them run sprints from the courtyard to the creek every morning at six o'clock sharp.”

“I don't think he realizes we can see them from our window,” Sutton adds.

I smile, grateful to think about anything other than Mom. I roll the empty soda can between my fingers. “Better than an alarm clock, I guess?”

“All girls at St. Mary's wake to the sounds of grunting, sweaty young men,” Sutton says.

“At least it gives me something to say at confession each week.” Leena folds her hands together, pretending to pray. “Dear Father, forgive me for I have sinned. I've had impure thoughts about a boy.
Again
.”

“You've got a thing for a St. Mary's boy?” I ask.

“She's got a thing for
Julian Sellito
.” Sutton's tongue curls around the name, making it sound dirty. Leena groans and puts her head in her lap.

“He's my one weakness,” she admits, hiding her face, her voice muffled. “He makes me want to do very bad things.”

“But he barely knows she exists, because Leenie-bean is a total prude.” Sutton flicks the pom-pom on Leena's fuzzy red hat, making it bob in place. Leena shoots her a look, then leans forward and scoops up Heathcliff.

“I'm not a prude.” Leena strokes Heathcliff's back, blushing so hard that her freckles turn red. “Jude and I have just never had a chance to talk before. Now that we're both in the play, I'll finally get a shot.”

“Maybe lose the hat first,” Sutton suggests.

Leena's lips part in a wide grin. “You haven't even seen the best part.” She pinches the folded edge of the hat, and tinny music echoes through the room.

“
Rocking around, the Christmas tree, have a happy holiday
 . . .”

Leena wiggles her hips and bounces in place. I laugh at her ridiculous dance.

“It comes with Velcro antlers, too,” she says, collapsing back onto my bunk. “You can stick 'em on the sides and pretend to be a reindeer.”

Sutton scrunches up her face, laughing. “Stop! Put it out of its misery!”

“
Fine
.” Leena pulls the hat off. Her hair sticks straight up from her head. “Better?”

“Perfect,” Sutton says. “He'll definitely fall in love with you now.”

“Maybe.” Leena shrugs, turning a little red. “Unless some other girl gets him first.”

“Don't be crazy. Only a total bitch would go after Jude.” Sutton's eyes flick over to me. “Leena's been in love with this guy since freshman year,” she explains. “Everyone knows that.”

“Right,” I say, picking a piece of white fluff off my jeans. “What about you? Are you swooning over a St. Mary's boy, too?”

“Nah, my guy's a townie,” Sutton says. She scrunches
her hair with one hand, making it look even more tousled. “I sneak out to see him sometimes, but, you know. It's tricky. St. Mary's has rules about dating.”

I frown. “What kind of rules?”

“Don't,” Leena says, and Sutton snickers. “That's their entire policy. Don't date, ever. It's evil. The Lord will smite you. Not that my mom would ever let me be alone with a guy anyway. I'm pretty sure she's hoping I'll let her pick the guy I marry.”

I wince. There it is again—
mom
. I never realized before how often people mention their mothers.

Leena looks at me and her face falls. “Oh God, I didn't even think . . .” she says. “I shouldn't be complaining about my mom when . . .”

“She didn't mean anything by it, Sofia, really,” Sutton adds.

“No—I know. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to react like that.” If I don't get it together, I'm going to be known as the girl with the dead mom all year. I force my lips into a smile and try to think of something to change the subject. “So they're pretty strict here?”

Leena's shoulders unclench. Crisis averted. “It's not so bad. Kind of like going to school in the fifties,” she explains.

Sutton snorts. “Yeah, the eighteen fifties,” she says. She digs another can of soda out from under her bed,
and cracks it open. I must have a worried expression on my face because she tilts her head, sympathetically. “Don't worry, Sofia,” she says. “There are ways around all the rules. We'll help you navigate.”