dark, solid mass looming against the night sky. The lights at the school’s entrance
cast eerie, exaggerated shadows of the stone angels.
As I got closer, I saw the lights on in a third floor classroom and a man’s
silhouette in the window. It was Mr. Mason, working late, and I felt a twinge of
sadness for him with his solitude and his heartache.
The breeze grew stronger, as it had every evening, and now the night was
no longer silent, but filled with the sound of the trees --rustling and sighing,
shifting and creaking, so
alive
and so lovely. Now I understood why some people
talked about how they loved the sound of the ocean, and others spoke of the rush
of a river. The sound of the trees awakened something in me, a sense of peace.
I was cold, so I raced down the drive, feeling exhilarated as I entered the
dimness of the grove. My steps crushed leaves below, releasing clean scents.
My cottage was dark, because I hadn’t left any lights on. I unlocked my
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door and went inside. I panicked that I was not alone, that someone was in the
room with me. My hand frantically went to the wall until I found the light
switch.
Light filled the room and it was exactly as I had left it. No one was there.
My heart was still racing, though, and I crept toward the bedroom. I flicked
on the light there, and then I checked the bathroom, kitchen, and even the laundry
room. I looked in the closets and, my nerves still jangling, I dropped to the floor
and peered under the bed.
Finally, I checked all the windows and doors. There was no one else here.
Why did I have the creepy sensation that someone was watching and
waiting for me?
I was letting my imagination run amok.
I thought and started in on my homework. After almost two hours of trig
and Latin, I made a peanut-butter and jam sandwich and ate while reading my
assignment for Mrs. Monroe’s class, “Wake Not the Dead.”
I had to constantly refer to the footnotes to understand the first few pages.
Soon, though, I became so engrossed in the story that I hurried through the
paragraphs.
A powerful, wealthy lord is passionately in love with his young beautiful
bride, who dies. He marries a kind woman and they have children, yet he remains
obsessed with dead bride. He forces a wizard to bring her back to him even
though the wizard warns, “Wake not the dead.”
The bride returns from the grave and the lord is enchanted by her, but death
and destruction come to his castle. He realizes much too late that she’s a bloodthirty vampire.
I thought the lord was a fool who deserved his fate for letting passion
overcome reason. He deserved his gruesome death.
Still, the story rekindled the eerie sensations I had earlier. I was scolding
myself for being so foolish and superstitious as I got ready for school the next
morning.
I walked out my front door into the dappled light on the porch and saw two
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words scraped into the dirt on the path by my cottage. Although parts of the
letters had been blown away, the message was clear:
Go away
.
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The Shadow Girl of Birch Grove – Marta Acosta
“Birch Grove allows no harassment of or by students. The administration
will act promptly to investigate any claim of harassment. All claims will be
treated with sensitivity and confidentiality.”
Birch Grove
Student Handbook
GO AWAY.
I kicked furiously at the message until there was no trace of the letters.
Then I looked around to see if anyone was here, watching. Branches swayed in
the morning breeze and birds and squirrels rustled.
No one was here now, but someone
had
been here while I was inside. A
shiver ran down my spine and then I thought, what were a few words scrawled in
dirt compared to what I lived through every day at City Central? Nothing. What
kind of person left an anonymous message? A coward.
I dusted off my shoes and went to class feeling angry instead of scared.
Catalina was the only person who’d been openly hostile to me. There wasn’t
anything cowardly or anonymous about her. So who was it?
During chemistry, I noticed that Mr. Mason was watching me. He was
smiling in such a friendly, encouraging way that I thought my anger must be
showing. I relaxed the muscles in my face so that I revealed nothing and I
focused on the lesson.
I arrived at Latin class before Catalina. She came in with waves to her
friends. Her amber eyes skimmed indifferently over me, almost as if she’d gotten
used to me being there.
I spent the rest of the day looking around me, trying to discern any laughter
or stares directed my way. I was already tense when someone touched the back of
my arm in the cafeteria. I jerked away and turned to see Constance.
“Oh, you startled me!”
“Wake not the dead!” she said in a spooky voice and then laughed. “What
a warped story.”
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The Shadow Girl of Birch Grove – Marta Acosta
Hattie and Mary Violet joined us. “We’ve decided to have a sleepover at
your cottage tomorrow night,” Hattie said. “If that’s okay with you.”
I’d never had a sleepover in my life and suddenly the stupid message
seemed meaningless. “That would be great.”
Mary Violet said, “I can fix your eyebrows and trim your hair.”
Constance shook her head and said, “Under no circumstances should you
let MV near you with scissors. I made that mistake once and had to wear my
stupid uniform hat for four months. It made my mother cry.”
“You looked like a model with your hair so short,” Mary Violet said. “One
of those models who wears geeky glasses so people will realize she’s also a
genius.”
“I can’t wear my hair short,” Constance said. “My ears stick out like
handles on a jug.” She lifted her hair back to demonstrate.
“Embrace your flaws. I would if I had any,” Mary Violet said.
“Right, Miss Thing,” Constance said and pinched her friend’s plump pink
cheek.
“So, Jane, we can bring stuff,” Hattie said. “I can bring spaghetti.”
“I’ll make brownies,” Mary Violet said. “I make killer brownies.”
“I’ll bring a Caesar salad,” Constance said. “And garlic bread.”
“That should be everything,” Hattie said.
“What should I do?” I asked.
“You can take care of drinks,” Hattie said.
“Champagne,” Mary Violet said. “A bathtub full.”
Hattie shook her head and said, “Soda’s fine.”
“No problem,” I said. “What time?”
“Five,” Constance said. “I’ll get movies.”
Hattie gave me a ride to the Greenwood grocery store after school. Under
the fluorescent lights her pale skin had the slight blue tinge of nonfat milk. She
steered me to the drinks aisle.
I scanned the prices and saw an inexpensive store brand. I wanted to save
money, but this was my first time having my friends over, so I picked up two six
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packs of the Italian lemon soda that I’d had at the Monroes.
“We all like that,” Hattie said. “Mrs. Monroe always has it at her house.”
“That’s where I had it,” I said. Trying to sound casual, I said, “Lucky’s
coming over tomorrow at noon for chemistry tutoring.”
“Really?” she said and tilted her head.
“Yes, and it’s cool because I can add it to my resume and earn money, too,”
I said as if I wasn’t excited about being with Lucky. “I don’t know if I should
give him lunch.”
“Guys like food. Jack lives on pizza and burritos, and Lucky likes burgers
and roast beef sandwiches.”
“Maybe I can sandwiches,” I said. We went to the deli counter and Hattie
said, “He likes his it extra rare because good beef shouldn’t be overcooked.”
“Thanks. I never learned to do much besides open cans and microwave
things at the group home, but I can make sandwiches and macaroni and cheese.”
When I went to the check-out stand, I spotted Orneta was working at the far
register. The line there was too long, and I steered my cart to the ten-items-orless register and waved at her. She smiled and waved back.
“Who’s that?” Hattie asked.
“Her name’s Orneta. I met her when I came here with Mrs. Monroe.”
“That’s what’s nice about Greenwood. Everyone gets to know each other
so quickly.”
When Hattie was driving me back to school, I said, “Everyone does seem
pretty friendly, but do they really like outsiders?”
She glanced at me and said, “No one likes, you know, a bad element.
Why?”
“I was just wondering.” I wasn’t going to be a little bitch crying about a
stupid message.
“Some people take longer to warm up. Just give people time to get to know
you.”
I laughed and said, “Hattie, I’m not ever going to win a popularity contest
and that’s okay with me. I’ve just never lived in someplace where everyone
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knows each other and it’s a little weird.”
She smiled and said, “Okay,” as she stopped on the drive close to the grove.
“See you tomorrow night!”
By the time I got inside the house and unpacked my groceries, blood from
the roast beef had soaked through the white butcher paper package. I placed the
meat in a plastic bag and put it in the fridge.
Then I cleaned the house so it would look nice for Lucky and my friends. I
vacuumed, dusted, scrubbed out the bathroom, and emptied the trash.
I threw out the dead pink daisies, and took a pair of scissors and went
outside. I brushed the back of my hand across the lowest tree branches. I raised
the scissors, but I didn’t want to cut something that was living.
After gathering broken branches, twigs, and fern, I did my best to arrange
them in the vase, which wasn’t very good.
I prepped for my lesson with Lucky by reviewing the chemistry tutoring
book. All the while, I listened to the sounds outside the cottage. Had anyone
harassed Bebe when she lived here? Mary Violet said she’d been tough – maybe
everyone was too intimidated to harass her.
I wished I could talk to Bebe and ask her how she’d felt about coming to
Birch Grove. I wondered what she was like. When foster kids moved, they
usually left something behind – a stray earring, initials scrawled on a table,
discarded clothes. But I hadn’t found a trace of Bebe here.
As evening grew dark, I closed the curtains, so that no one could spy on me
from outside. I dragged and pushed the small sofa so that it blocked the front
door.
After checking all the locks, I turned out the lights in the living room, and
left on a bedroom lamp and the porch light.
Now no one outside could see me in the living room, but I would see
anyone prowling close to the porch. After placing the phone and the flashlight
beside the sofa, I gathered the comforter and pillow from the bed and set myself
on the sofa to sleep.
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The Shadow Girl of Birch Grove – Marta Acosta
NO ONE
came during the night and there were no messages outside my cottage
in the morning. Then I remembered: Lucky was coming over.
I quickly moved my furniture back into place. My mind was all over the
place. I was thinking of Lucky, listening to hear anyone near the cottage, and
thinking about the chemistry lesson, and my slumber party.
I checked the locks on the door before I took a quick shower. Then I put on
my new jeans, a clean white t-shirt, and my new black tennis shoes. I wore my
hair parted on the side and down, like Hattie and her friends.
I made two roast beef sandwiches, sliced them diagonally, and placed them
on plates with potato chips. I set the table with glasses and napkins. I looked at
the clock. It was only ten a.m.
I tried to write my article on the financial aid program, but after every few
sentences, I’d find myself looking at the clock again, which was so pitiful because
it was only a tutoring session.
Then noon came. I paced up and down the small living room, biting my
nails, and finally there was a knock at the door. I counted to three before opening
it with a smile.
Lucky stood there in a snug long-sleeved Evergreen Prep t-shirt holding a
chem book and a paper bag.
“Hey, Jane,” he said with a flash of smile that went right through me. “Bet
you hate spending Saturday teaching a knucklehead.”
“I’m happy to help you.” The words sounded stiff and stupid to my ears,
like a customer service rep.
“Yeah, right. You don’t have to be nice about it, because I’d hate having to
tutor a dunce.” He held out the paper bag and said, “My mom sent cookies
because she thinks we’re ten years old.”
Lucky Monroe walked into my cottage, and I struggled to look calmer than
I felt. While he looked around, I tried not to stare at him. He looked as if he’d
just gotten up; his golden hair was tousled, and he had stubble on his jaw. He
wore a silver bracelet, one slim lustrous band on his pale strong wrist.