who went there and he told crazy stories.”
“They’re true,” I said.
“Of course, my high school in Aurora, I’m from Illinois, was like that, too.”
“Do you like Greenwood?”
“
Chica
, this town gives me the creeps, but I get paid real good and just got
a bonus. But the people are all so aren’t-we-special.”
She shuddered dramatically, and I laughed and said, “It’s pretty though. I
didn’t know there really were places like this.”
“Compared to the hood, for sure. But everyone here is all up in everyone
else’s business and everything is so damn old. Greenwood’s like being in a time
warp.”
“Are there any stores that have things that are more affordable?” I asked.
“Nah, the whole town is expensive. Rich people don’t care about prices,”
she said. “Doesn’t the school freak you out a little?”
“You mean how hard it’s going to be? Yes, I’m a little freaked out about
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The Shadow Girl of Birch Grove – Marta Acosta
that.”
“Nah, if they brung you here it’s because you’re a brainiac. I meant the old
buildings and the trees. You know what they call Birch Grove? Bitch Grave.”
“Any reason for that?”
“People say the place is haunted. Which is totally stupid, I know. It’s hard
not to hate on the rich.”
“Crappy schools have nicknames, too. My last one, City Central, was
called Penitentiary Prep, no explanation needed.”
“That’s a good one! At Bitch Grave there was that lady that died a couple
of years ago. Is it okay if I leave you at the gate?”
“Sure. Who died?”
“A teacher or maybe a counselor?” Ornetta said. “She jumped from the
main building. See you around.”
“See you. Thanks for the lift.”
Although I knew that rich people committed suicide, too, I simply couldn’t
comprehend why they couldn’t use their money to get away from their misery, or
eliminate the cause of it.
As soon as I got in my cottage, I locked the door and looked around for a
place to hide the cash I’d gotten for the clothes. I felt stupid hiding money in my
own place, but I would have felt stupider just leaving it anywhere. I put the
money in an envelope and slid it in a narrow space behind the washer/dryer, then
covered it with lint from the dryer.
That afternoon, I read the student handbook front to back including all the
weird provisions about computers and cell phones, which couldn’t be used during
the school day. There was a whole list of rules about social networks and online
photos.
When evening came I found myself hoping that Jack would visit again and
maybe bring his brother. He didn’t, of course. I heated up the leftover pizza and
ate in front of the television.
That night I dreamed that I running away from something near the
amphitheatre. I tried to scream, but no sound came out of my mouth. Suddenly
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The Shadow Girl of Birch Grove – Marta Acosta
the branches of a birch reached down and wound tightly around me and pulled me
off the ground and away from the danger. The wind blew and the trees spoke in a
rustling, soft voice:
Jane, Jane, you belong to us!
I awoke tangled in the sheets, my skin damp with sweat, and I wasn’t able
to sleep well for the rest of the night.
Exhaustion added to my anxiety about starting school, and Sunday lasted
forever. Occasionally I went outside and looked up the hill toward the Monroes’
house. I tried to fill my day with books and television, but I wasn’t used to be
alone.
On Monday morning, I was so nervous that I couldn’t eat breakfast. My
uniform felt uncomfortably snug. “Discreet use of make-up” was allowed at
Birch Grove and but I was going to see what other girls wore before wasting
money on makeup.
At 8:15, I walked slowly through the grove. The soft rustling of the grove
soothed my nerves. I walked along the drive to the school. A stream of
expensive cars dropped off girls, and the previous hush of the school was replaced
with their excited chatter.
I didn’t see any extreme piercings, wild hairstyles, doorknocker earrings, or
protruding bellies. “Discreet make-up” seemed to be mascara and lip gloss,
although some girls wore more and some wore none at all. Most had their hair
down, but there were ponytails, short cuts, and braids.
The students’ talked excitedly, but they didn’t shriek and scream. The
uniforms made everyone blend in, a herd of blue-blazered girls moving in concert
to the school entrance.
I followed them into the building and to the gymnasium, which was set up
with tables around the perimeter. I stood in line at the W-X-Y-Z table. I got to
the front and was about to give my name when the woman there said with a smile,
“You’re Jane Williams, right? Good morning, Jane!”
I was instantly wary. “How did you know my name?”
“We study all the new girls’ files and photos so we can make them feel
welcome.”
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The Shadow Girl of Birch Grove – Marta Acosta
I didn’t feel welcome. I felt exposed.
The woman’s nametag said
Mrs. Danielson, Parent Volunteer
. She
shuffled through a file box and pulled out a glossy navy folder with the school
crest on the cover and a sticker with my name.
“Williams, Jane. These are your classes for the first term and here’s
today’s schedule and a map. After you sign up for your extracurriculars, you can
have your photo taken for your student I.D.,” she said. “We have a Refreshment
Break in the cafeteria, and the headmistress will give her welcome speech in the
auditorium. Well, it’s all here if you forget.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“Certainly, dear. Next!”
I found a clear space against one wall and leaned there to read the contents
of the folder. My schedule listed Honors Chemistry, Trigonometry, Western
Classical Literature, Latin IV, and Western Culture and Civilization. There was
also something called Z Block which I could fill from a variety of courses.
I scanned the optional courses and eliminated all the ones that wouldn’t
work for me. I didn’t have a camera for photography, couldn’t act for drama,
didn’t play an instrument for band, and had never learned to draw well for art.
I decided to take Expository Writing so I could polish up my essay writing
skills for college. I wove through the crowd to the sign-up table. A poster board
displayed the school newspaper,
The Birch Grove Weekly,
and cheesy photos of
students busy in a classroom.
“Hello, Joan, right?” said the teacher at the table. She was almost as small
as me, dressed in black slacks and a pale blue cotton button-down shirt, and a
bright turquoise scarf. She wore a daring slash of ruby red lipstick.
“Jane Williams, ma’am.”
She laughed a little and said, “I have the
worst
time trying to remember the
names of all the new students. I’m Ms. Chu, the journalism teacher.” “Are you
interested in our newspaper?”
“I thought this was expository writing.”
“Yes, that’s what journalism is: expository writing. We’d be happy to
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The Shadow Girl of Birch Grove – Marta Acosta
have you on staff. Have you ever worked on a newspaper before?”
I’d barely even read one. “No, ma’am.”
“Then you’re in for a treat,” she said, flashing a smile that didn’t convince
me. “Our girls become a real team here.” Ms. Chu handed me a pen and the
clipboard.
I took them without signing. “Maybe there’s another class that will help me
with essays.”
“There are creative writing classes, but you sound like you’re interested in
something more practical,” she said. “What are your career plans?”
“I’d like to go into forensic science,” I said.
“Really?” Ms. Chu smiled and looked interested. “Which field of forensic
science? Are you interested in being a medical examiner? That can be gruesome,
not to discourage you, but I can’t deal with anything gory.”
“No, I’m thinking about being a crime lab analyst. It would all be lab work,
but I’d have to write reports, too.”
“Journalism and forensic science have things in common. You’ve got to be
objective and accurate and present facts,” she said. “Reporting has tighter
deadlines, but it’s exciting to put the paper to bed! That’s what we call it when
we meet our deadline and go to press.”
I didn’t see how there could be anything to write about at Birch Grove. Ms.
Chu seemed nice enough, though, and none of the other options interested me, so
I signed the sheet.
“See you soon, Jane!”
“Bye, Ms. Chu.”
Next I needed to get my photo for an I.D. I blinked when the camera
flashed, and the photographer said, “Let’s take another.” In fact, everyone here
seemed unnaturally
nice
. I couldn’t tell if it was good manners or if people were
just happier when they didn’t have a lot to stress about.
I had almost half-an-hour before the welcome speech. I went to the
restroom to delay having to face other students. After washing my hands for too
long and smoothing down my hair, I forced myself to the cafeteria for
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The Shadow Girl of Birch Grove – Marta Acosta
Refreshments Break.
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The Shadow Girl of Birch Grove – Marta Acosta
“Students are expected to behave in a manner that honors Birch Grove’s
standards: to treat their peers with kindness and understanding and to offer
support.”
Birch Grove
Student Handbook
The cafeteria was entirely different from the rundown, sprawling chaos at
City Central. It was much smaller and tables were arranged in clusters. At one
end was lounge with rugs, potted plants and sofas. Between old black-and-white
photos of the school were student-made posters extolling excellence, honor and
duty.
Girls mingled in groups and I felt their eyes on me. I almost wished a big
jerk would assign a seat to me.
Tables with food and drinks were set along a wall. Another table had real
glasses, real plates, and pitchers of juice. I got a plate of fruit salad and a glass of
juice.
“Hi, Jane.”
I turned to see a brunette girl smiling at me.
She was the one who’d been at the drugstore wearing the long skirt. Her
shining brown hair was pulled back into a sleek ponytail, and small pearls shone
in her earlobes. Her pretty hazel eyes were framed with long, dark lashes.
“Hello,” I said.
“We met when you were in town with Mrs. Monroe. I’m Hattie, Harriet
Tyler” she said with a smile. She was much taller than me, about 5’8, and
slender, but with curves. “I’m third year, too, and Mrs. Monroe asked me to
show you around. Come meet the crew.”
I followed her reluctantly to the lounge area, where older girls were
hanging out. Hattie introduced me to a circle of girls, who were vaguely polite.
The only one who seemed curious was a beautiful, plump girl named Mary
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The Shadow Girl of Birch Grove – Marta Acosta
Violet, who asked, “Are you living in the gardener’s cottage?” Her hair was a
cloud of silver-blonde curls that looked striking against her golden tan skin.
“I moved in last week.”
“It must be fabulous to live in your own place,” she said. She turned her
blue eyes toward the ceiling and said, “If I lived alone, I would have many
passionate affairs with mature
men
!”
The other girls laughed and someone said, “You’d have a short commute.”
“Yes! I would rise from my lush silk sheets late after a night of untamed
sexual coitus, bid my lover adieu, and then I would rush breathlessly to class as
the last bell rang. My hair would be tousled beautifully.” Mary Violet waved her
arm, sloshing juice over the rim of her glass.
“You mean you’d be a disaster and wouldn’t have the common courtesy to
shower,” said a lean girl with coffee-dark skin and huge glasses that magnified
her almond-shaped eyes. Her voice had a pretty lilt, and I wondered where she
was from.
“My hair would look sexy and why would I need a shower?” Mary Violet
asked innocently. “Bebe said she got up only ten minutes before class. She was
hardly ever a mess. Well, there was that time—”
The group was suddenly quiet and Hattie shot a look around at her friends.
“We don’t need to gossip about her.”
Mary Violet pouted. “Why can’t I mention Bebe? She’s the one who
ditched us after promising we’d all graduate and go to the Ivys together.”
“We don’t want Jane to feel like a replacement,” Hattie said with a calm
smile and then she turned to me. “Bebe was also a scholarship student here. She
moved overseas at the end of last year.”
So I was brought in as a replacement for another junior.
“And she’s never written to one of us, not even me!” Mary Violet said.
“That is utterly rude. All our slumber parties and cram sessions meant nothing,
nothing, nothing to her. She was all, talk to you never!”
“Stop being so self-centered,” Hattie said. “Bebe’s too busy. Mrs. Monroe
said she’s heard from her twice this summer and she really does miss us.”