Mrs. Monroe opened her hands, letting go of the book, and it fell with a
loud slap against the floor. Many of the girls jumped in their seats and several
laughed nervously.
Mrs. Monroe smiled and said, “Does everything that goes bump in the night
have a nasty bite?” and we laughed more comfortably.
“Why does every society, every culture have stories about monsters, such
as those that drink blood? The universality of these tales says something about
our own humanity, but what? Are we afraid of what is outside luring in the dark,
or do we fear the darkness of our own souls?”
Her comments made me think of the noises I heard at night. It was as if
something
was out there. Why wasn’t I afraid then?
We went through the poem line by line, and I discovered it was about a man
threatening to give a vampire’s kiss to a pure maiden. At the end, he cruelly
taunts her with her lost innocence.
I brooded on the poem through the discussion that followed about the
symbolism of blood in literature. When someone mentioned menstrual blood, I
expected giggling and rude comments, but the students were serious as they made
associations between fertility and blood, the penetration of a bite and coitus.
They even used that word, coitus, which I’d never heard anyone my age use.
“Thus, life, death, blood, sex, innocence and knowledge all come together
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The Shadow Girl of Birch Grove – Marta Acosta
in these two brief stanzas,” said Mrs. Monroe. “Please read Johann Ludwig
Tieck’s
Wake Not the Dead
for our next class.”
The bell sounded and we began leaving the classroom. Mrs. Monroe
smiled at me as I passed her desk. “Did you like the class?” she asked.
“It’s definitely more interesting than Western Classical Lit.” I paused and
said, “The poem’s disturbing.”
“It is, isn’t it, even after more than two centuries,” she said cheerfully.
“I’ve always been fascinated in our perception of those things outside the norm.”
“Jack told me you read fairy tales to them every night.”
“Lucien wasn’t interested, but Jacob always loved hearing folktales from
the Old World about goblins, elves, will-o’-the-wisps, magical kingdoms...” Mrs.
Monroe handed me a few pages. “Here’s the syllabus, and you can pick up your
books for this course in the administrative office.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Monroe.”
During lunch break, I found Ms. Chu in her small office on the third floor
of Flounder.
“Hello, Jane. Did I convert you to journalism?”
“I like that it’s fact-based,” I said.
“Nice evasion, Jane,” she said with a wry smile and I smiled back. “Can I
help you with anything.”
“I was wondering what exactly you’d like us to write about for our
assignment.”
“Most students are happy to run off on whatever interests them,” she said.
I shrugged and said, “The academic year is so open-ended and I’m still
unfamiliar with so much here.”
“Well, our coaches are always happy to talk about their teams. Everyone’s
excited about varsity lacrosse this year since we’ve got a great goalie.”
“I’m not really into sports, ma’am.”
She tapped her short, rounded nails with their sheen of pale pink gloss
while she thought. “How would you feel about a piece on Birch Grove’s
scholarship program?”
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The Shadow Girl of Birch Grove – Marta Acosta
I must have frowned because she added, “It doesn’t have to be personal. In
fact, it’s better if it isn’t. Do you know that twenty-eight percent of our students
receive some form of financial aid?”
“So many?” I said.
“Last year one of our students started writing an article about it, and then
she got the flu and we never ran it,” Ms. Chu said. “Your piece could mention the
tradition of our alumnae to donate to the scholarship fund. You can interview Mr.
Shaunessy, who manages the Birch Grove Fund. His office is in administration.
He can give you the names and contacts for an alumna who donates.”
At least it was better than asking a lacrosse coach stupid questions about a
sport I’d never even watched. “That sounds fine, Ms. Chu. Thanks for the help.”
After school, I found Mr. Shaunessy’s office and knocked on the door,
which was ajar.
“Enter!”
“Hi,” I said. “I’m Jane Williams and I’m writing a story for the Birch Grove
Weekly about the scholarship program. Ms. Chu said I should talk to you.”
The tall, balding man looked annoyed and said, “Ten minutes is all I can
spare. Sit and listen.”
I took one of the chairs by his desk and he began rattling facts and numbers
before I had my notebook out.
Although I was writing as fast as I could, my notes were a jumble of
unfamiliar words and phrases: fiduciary, funding, matching grants, unrestricted
bequest…
Mr. Shaunessy gave me names of three of the most generous graduates or,
as he put it, “our kind benefactresses.”
As he walked me to the door, he said, “A pity that Bebe isn’t here for your
story. She was on full-scholarship like you. Coming to Birch Grove was a
transformative experience for her.”
“I heard that she moved to Europe.”
“Quite unexpectedly.” He sniffed and raised his thin eyebrows. “I doubt
any European trip is worth abandoning a Birch Grove education.”
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The Shadow Girl of Birch Grove – Marta Acosta
“Yes, sir,” I said.
“Now run along, child,” he said as if bored with me.
“I’m not a child. I’m an emancipated minor and legally responsible for
myself,” I said.
Mr. Shaunessy met my eyes. His narrow lips pressed together, as if he was
trying not to smile. “My mistake. Forgive me. Then run along, Miss Williams.”
“Thank you for your time, Mr. Shaunessy.”
After I picked up my textbooks for
Night Terrors
, I walked into the
hallway, where Mary Violet was using her reflection in a framed portrait to fluff
up her silver-gold curls.
“Why are you looking vexed?” she said. “That’s what my mother always
says. She says, ‘Why is my family determined to vex me?’” Mary Violet
accompanied this statement by placing the back of her hand on her forehead.
I didn’t care what Catalina believed, Mary Violet wasn’t a snob. She was
fun and funny. I said, “I have to write an article for the paper on the student aid
program, and after I interviewed Mr. Shaunessy, he called me a child.”
“He’s a darling. My mother loooves him. She has him for tea, and they
lament and wail about how no one cares about culture anymore and Art with a
capital A, and then she gives him massive checks.”
“Your mom donates money to the school?”
“Oh, oodles, as fast as Daddy makes it, she gives it away.”
“Do you think I could talk to her for my assignment?”
“Sure. You can come to my house if you promise not to laugh at Mom’s
paintings. They’re
scandalous!
”
“Sure. I promise.”
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The Shadow Girl of Birch Grove – Marta Acosta
“The role of parents is to promote Birch Grove’s philosophy, support our
policies, and ensure that students have moral and ethical guidance.”
Birch Grove Academy Handbook
MARY VIOLET
lived nearby and we walked to her house on narrow streets that
didn’t have sidewalks. Often a car would slow down and the driver would call
out a hello to her or a kid on a bike would wave and shout to her.
“It’s a bitsy, pocket-pal little town,” Mary Violet said. “Everyone knows
everyone, which is tragic because there’s no mystery. That’s why I was ecstatic
that you came to Birch Grove. Of course, it would have been more fun if you
were secretly a hot guy dressed in girls’ clothes and hiding out from the Mafia.”
“I hope you’re not too disappointed.”
“Oh, I’m already over it! Not everyone be a hot guy on the run from the
mob.” She sighed. “There isn’t any interesting new talent in Greenwood.”
“Talent?”
“You know, guys. You go to pre-school and primary school with these
boys and you can’t even think of them
that
way. It’s like incest without the
thrilling wrongness. It’s boring wrongness. Brongness.”
“I used to feel that way about the boys in our group home. Really, you
can’t even think of a guy that way if you have to share a bathroom with him. It’s
way too much information.”
“Was it a horrible orphanage? Did you eat thin gruel?”
“We ate stuff that came in giant cans from the dented warehouse store and
could be microwaved. It was a group home, not an orphanage.” I told her a little
about the ramshackle house and the rules.
“That sounds hideous! I could never ever get up that early every day. I’m
sure it’s child abuse. How did you get to be so smart?”
“A bunch of smart students got stuck with me and took me over as an
experiment, which is why I freaked out when we had to read
Flowers for
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The Shadow Girl of Birch Grove – Marta Acosta
Algernon
in class. I was afraid that I might revert back to the feral kid I was.”
“That book is freaky anyway. I swear, the people who pick assigned
reading must be high.
The Stranger
, ugh.”
“We always got stuck reading books about teenagers who got pregnant or
jailed and that was supposed to make us feel better because we could ‘relate.’”
Mary Violet grinned. “I’m glad you didn’t revert. You must be special or
else Mrs. Monroe wouldn’t have brought you here to replace Bebe. Not that
you’re anything like her. She was big and strong, like a female wrestler. She
pretended to be innocent around Mrs. Monroe, but she was a bit wicked,” Mary
Violet said as she turned toward a gate in a hedge. “Home sweet home.”
The rectangular two-story house was painted taupe and the multi-paned
windows had snowy white trim. Ivy grew up to the second floor balconies, which
had black wrought iron railings. A brick path led through a green lawn to the
glossy grayish-blue front door.
“It’s beautiful,” I said.
“It is, isn’t it? You wouldn’t guess that inside is my mother’s exhibition of
vulgarity.” Mary Violet walked to the side of the house saying, “My mom says
children should use the back door because we are too messy even through I’ve
explained to her that I am a mature young lady now.”
Mary Violet opened a side door that led to a big laundry room. She
dropped her bag and book satchel on the floor beside the coat rack. Through an
open door, I saw a garage. On the other side of the laundry room was a small
bathroom. Though the doorway ahead, I glimpsed stainless steel, an expanse of
pale stone countertop, and a huge butcher block island.
“I’m home, Teresa!”
A short, dark woman came to the kitchen doorway. She wore high-waisted
mom jeans, a pink sweatshirt, and white tennis shoes. She glanced at the floor
and said, “Hang up your bag, baby.” She spoke with a Spanish accent.
“Yes, boss.” Mary Violet sighed loudly and turned back to pick up her
things. “Teresa, this is Jane. Jane’s new at school.”
“’ello, Yane.”
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The Shadow Girl of Birch Grove – Marta Acosta
“Hello, señora,” I said as I followed Mary Violet. I suddenly remember
something. My mother had cleaned houses. The image of yellow gloves and a
bucket of soapy water came and went as quickly as a billboard sighted out of
moving bus.
As I looked around sun-filled room, I hoped my mother had found a place
as nice as this.
“Teresa thinks she is the boss of me,” Mary Violet said.
The woman made a face and then tapped her own cheek.
“Besito,”
she
said, and my friend gave her a hug and kissed her cheek.
“Who’s home?” Mary Violet asked.
“Mama is in her studio and Bobby is upstairs. The baby is at practice.”
Had my mother been on such affectionate terms with any of her employers?
I felt an ache inside. I knew nothing about her and I’d never know anything about
her.
Mary Violet said to Teresa, “Okay. We’re going up to my room for a
while.”
On the other side of the kitchen was a narrow staircase that we took to the
second floor. “Teresa’s from El Salvador,” she said. “Her kids are still there
because she wants them to be with their family.”
I was sure the reasons were far more complicated and painful.
Mary Violet led me down a hallway decorated with framed family photos
and children’s drawings. She saw me looking at the pictures and said, “Behold,
the family gallery. Thank God my mom hasn’t put her paintings here. Yet. We
live in terror.”
An Oriental rug in shades of blue and green cushioned our steps. We
walked by a bedroom with an open door and my friend called out, “Hey, Bobby,”
and then said to me, “That’s my little brother, and he’s a pestilence upon this
earth. If you ever want a brother, you can take mine.”
“That’s for the offer. I don’t have room for one at my cottage,” I said as we
walked by the stair landing, and I caught a glimpse of an expansive living room in
blues and white.
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The Shadow Girl of Birch Grove – Marta Acosta
“My sister, Agnes, is okay. She’s always off doing one of her sports