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The Shadow Girl of Birch Grove – Marta Acosta
Mary Violet scowled. “Where did her mysterious uncle come from
anyway? She said she didn’t have any relatives.”
I wanted to get away from the uncomfortable discussion about family, but a
cluster of girls laughing in the aisle blocked my way.
The lean girl, whose name was Constance, said, “Everyone has relatives,
Mary Violet. We don’t appear from out of thin air. You might know that if you
paid attention during biology.”
This was enough to divert the girls onto Mary Violet’s study habits.
Hattie remembered that I was there and said, “How’s your class schedule?”
“It’s fine, except that I was supposed to be in AP Chem, but it says Honors
Chem on my schedule.”
“It counts as the same, but Birch Grove doesn’t offer courses that ‘teach to
the test,’” Hattie answered. “Honors chem is more in-depth and ex---”
“Exceptional classes for exceptional girls!” the others said together and
laughed.
Mary Violet looked at me and said, “The joke is that we laugh like we don’t
believe it, but we totally believe it.”
“Well,
you
are exceptional,” Constance said. “Exceptionally absurd.”
“You’re exceptionally no-fun,” Mary Violet retorted and stuck out her
tongue.
I tried to step away as the girls teased one another, but Hattie kept me in the
conversation by addressing comments to me. I stayed with her group as they left
the cafeteria and went to the auditorium for the welcome speech.
“Juniors get balcony privileges,” Hattie told me and we went upstairs and
into the first rows of the balcony.
“You can see everything from up here,” Mary Violet said. “I’m so glad I’m
not a lowly underclassman. It’s tragic we can’t haze them and make them grovel
like the worms they are.”
“Mary Violet, you’re the most appalling girl I’ve ever known,” Constance
said. She pushed her glasses up her narrow nose and the corner of her mouth
went up as if she was trying not to smile.
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The Shadow Girl of Birch Grove – Marta Acosta
“Can’t I ever say anything?” Mary Violet answered huffily. “What about
freedom of speech?”
Hattie shook her head. “Mrs. Monroe always says, ‘Freedom of speech is
not freedom
from
thought.’”
Mary Violet looked as if she was still deciding on a response when a bell
chimed and the auditorium grew silent. Mrs. Monroe walked in front of the blue
velvet curtains to the podium at the right of the stage. “Good morning, young
ladies.”
As one, the students answered, “Good morning, Mrs. Monroe.”
“Let us rise for the Pledge of Allegiance.”
After we recited the pledge, Mrs. Monroe said, “Miss Cavenaugh will lead
us in the school song.”
The headmistress stepped aside and an elderly woman in a boxy gray suit
came from the wings and stood center stage. She blew a little round whistle and
then began leading the students in song:
“The trees of Birch Grove
Will always protect us
In sadness and trial
They support and shield us
In victory and hope
Their branches dance joyous
Let us be like a birch wood
In wind bend, but not break
Our hearts true as our girlhood
To all you have taught us
To live for the truth
To act for the good
Hail, Birch Grove hail!”
As the voices rose in unison, I felt a chill run down my spine. This was
how I wanted to be: in a wind bend, but not break, to live for the truth, to act for
the good.
“Thank you, Miss Cavenaugh,” Mrs. Monroe said as she returned to the
podium. “When I look out at all of you, I feel honored to be the headmistress of
this exceptional school and all of you exceptional girls.”
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The Shadow Girl of Birch Grove – Marta Acosta
She paused to let everyone steep in her praise. “I know you have come
back to Birch Grove rested, refreshed and ready to meet the academic and social
challenges of this year…if anyone is ever ready to leave summer behind.” There
was a wave of laughter. “But if education is not a vacation, neither should it be a
chore. This year will be invigorating and enlightening.
“It will also be intellectually demanding and sometimes emotionally trying.
However, your teachers, counselors and I always have our doors open to you.
We’re interested in what you have to say, and we’re here to help whenever you
need it.
“I hope you will arrive every day eager to learn and share, to grow, to
become the very best you can be. We are dedicated to nurturing your moral and
spiritual growth, too, so that you go into the world as a responsible, well-rounded
human being.”
She waited for a several seconds and then she began speaking in a low
voice that grew stronger with each phrase: “Because I
believe
in your
intelligence, talent, and goodness. I
believe
you are exceptional. I
believe
in you.
In return I ask you to trust in
yourselves
. Trust in
goodness
. Trust in
Birch
Grove
.”
She nodded her head and the students began clapping and I was clapping,
too, and when they stood and clapped louder, I clapped harder, too. It was as if
someone had uncovered my long-buried embers of hope, and instead of being
gray and cold, they glowed alive once more.
When we were dismissed, everyone seemed energized.
“She’s amazing,” I said to Hattie.
“I know. She always makes me feel as if I could do anything.”
“She has that
je ne sais quoi
,” Mary Violet observed and turned to me and
added, “That’s French for ‘I’m totally clueless.’ French is the language of
amore,
which is Italian, another language of love
.
What language are you taking?”
“Third-year Latin. It helps with scientific terms.”
“Do you want to be a doctor?” Hattie asked.
“I’m interested in forensic science.”
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The Shadow Girl of Birch Grove – Marta Acosta
Mary Violet nodded. “Good. I can come to you when I need details for my
murder mysteries.”
Constance said, “Mary Violet’s claims she’s going to be a writer.”
“Why do you find that so difficult to believe?” Mary Violet demanded.
“Because you are the sissiest female in existence and I can’t see how you
plan to write gory stories,” Constance said.
“That’s why it’s called
creative
writing, because you make it all up. Let’s
do lunch.”
They began walking toward the parking lot and I turned to go back to my
cottage. Hattie came back, hooked her arm through mine and said, “You have to
come with us. Our treat, as a welcome to Birch Grove.”
“You don’t have to babysit me.”
“It’s not babysitting. It’s just…” she shrugged. “It’s hard changing schools
and figuring things out. I’d want someone to give me the four-one-one.”
“Okay,” I said, thinking that I’d like to know more about the students.
As I walked with them to Hattie’s gleaming red BMW, a stunning tall girl
with long, honey blond waves crossed the parking lot in front of us. She saw our
group and said, “Hi, sad little juniors.”
“Hi, Catalina,” Hattie’s group responded.
Catalina’s amber eyes settle on me. “You’re new. Who are you?”
“I’m Jane Williams. I transferred in.”
“She’s living in the gardener’s cottage,” Mary Violet said.
Catalina frowned. “What happened to Mrs. Monroe’s special project?”
“If you mean Bebe, she went to Europe,” Hattie said and opened the car
door. “See you later, Cat.”
“TTYN.” The tall girl said and walked off with a swing of her hips.
When we got in the car, I asked, “Who was that?”
Mary Violet answered, “Catalina Sachs-Montes, the Argentine princess.
Not that she’s really a princess. She just acts like one. She speaks five languages,
including Russian. Her little sister, Adriana, is starting this year. She’s much
nicer. She had class after me at Miss Harlot’s School of Croquet.”
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The Shadow Girl of Birch Grove – Marta Acosta
“Mary Violet means Miss Charlotte’s School of Ballet,” Constance said.
“That’s where we met when I was six and moved to Greenwood from Barbados.
MV was a roly-poly thing stuffed in a pink tutu and everyone else was wearing
leotards.”
“I’ve always had a fabulous sense of style,” Mary Violet said.
Hattie started the car and maneuvered it through the students, to the street.
“Why are we always talking about you, Mary Violet?” she said. “Jane, Catalina’s
a senior and she’s very…very Catalina. Don’t let her get to you.”
“She’s one of those foreigners who thinks Americans are gauche, which is
French for oh-my-gawd-how-tacky,” Mary Violet said. “Unlike Constance, who
thinks Americans are silly.”
“Not all Americans, only you,” Constance said.
Catalina’s hostility seemed a lot more normal than my companions’
friendliness, none of whom were looking out for cops as Hattie drove us off
campus.
I said, “I thought you had to be 18 to drive other teens.”
“Oh, no one pays attention to that here,” Hattie said. “It’s such a small
town and everyone knows everybody.”
Mary Violet said, “My grandparents let my mother drive when she was
fourteen. She was an excellent driver and hardly ever got in accidents. She did
run over a possum once and we can make her cry about it if we pour her a second
tipple of Dubonnet and ask her about its sweet furry paws and darling whiskered
snout.”
I tried to remember
dubonnay
so I could look it up later.
“You don’t,” Constance said.
“We absolutely do! My father is the worst. He always talks about the
heartbroken possum looking for his dead possum wife. Sometimes I recite my
poem,
Requiem for a Marsupial
.”
Mary Violet threw out her arms as far as she could in the confines of the car
and intoned:
“Oh, once you gamboled happily in a wood
Living, loving, gathering food…”
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The Shadow Girl of Birch Grove – Marta Acosta
Constance said, “
Food
doesn’t rhyme with
wood
,” but we were all
laughing.
Mary Violet continued:
“You cross the road exploring afar,
When you are crushed by a careless car!
Alas, poor possum, you draw a last breath,
A Birch Grove girl has crushed you to death
!”
She bowed her head.
“Brilliant as always, MV,” Hattie said. To me she said, “As long as you’re
wearing your uniform or let people know that you go to Birch Grove, they’re
okay. If bigger problems come up, Mrs. Monroe can take care of them. It’s
easiest for everyone that way.”
Hattie took us to a small café called The Tea Stop, but the girls called it The
Free Pop and explained that Birch Grove girls always got a free soda with meals.
When I picked up one of the laminated menus, Hattie said, “They don’t
actually serve anything that’s on the menu. You have to order from the chalk
board. The favorite is crab sandwiches on toasted white bread and green salad.”
“I always get the cup of soup,” Mary Violet said. “Salad gets stuck in your
teeth.”
Constance said, “Soup gets dropped on your boobs.”
“At least I have boobs,” Mary Violet snipped back.
“Or you are one.”
I would have preferred to listen to their conversation, but the girls asked me
questions about my old school and my background.
Mary Violet’s eyes went wide when I told them that my mother had died
and my father’s whereabouts were unknown. “How tragic! You could hire a
detective to find him. Think of how excited he’d be to find out that you’re
attending a top school. You’re the
crème de la crème
. That’s French for cream of
the cream.”
“I don’t know anything about him,” I said uneasily.
Hattie said, “Jane is doing okay on her own and we’ll be her family. She
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The Shadow Girl of Birch Grove – Marta Acosta
won’t be able to get rid of us!”
“Hattie,” I said. “It’s okay. You don’t have to include me on things.”
“Yes, we do,” Mary Violet popped up. “Mrs. Monroe asked us to and I
want her to give me a letter of recommendation for college. She only gives out a
few every year.”
“Mary Violet,” Hattie said with a hard look.
“What?” the blonde girl answered with an obstinate glance at Hattie. Then
she looked at me. “What you don’t know is that we’re all so bored with each
other in Greenwood that we’re thrilled to meet anyone from the outside world.”
“I might not be as exciting as you think.”
“I’m not doing it for the letter of recommendation,” Constance said.
“Well, you like everyone,” Mary Violet said critically. “Let’s have a
sleepover at the gardener’s cottage! We can watch movies and tell ghost stories!”
Hattie shook her head at Hattie and looked at me. “I’m not doing it for the
letter either—”
“Because you already know you’re getting one, Headmistress’s pet,” Mary
Violet cut in.
“What about it?” Hattie said. “So, Jane, we’re happy to show you around