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The Shadow Girl of Birch Grove – Marta Acosta
wishing that I could rub it away. It was oval-shaped with a higher ridge running
lengthwise, crossed horizontally with narrow pale marks caused by hasty
stitching.
Then I touched the tattoo below my left breast. Hosea would have been 18
now.
My own sixteenth birthday had not brought on any miraculous
improvements. My eyes were an unremarkable brown, as was my hair which fell
straight halfway down my back. My nose was a nose, and my mouth was a
mouth. I thought my best feature was probably my teeth, which were even and
white.
I shoved my small breasts together, but the resulting cleavage looked like a
luxury accessory on an economy car. I turned around and checked out my butt. It
wasn’t completely flat, but it wasn’t curvy either. I was as I’d always been, plain
Jane.
At least here, at an all-girls school, I’d be spared the misery of lusting after
guys that would never look my way. Even among the Alphas, I was seen as a
sexless friend type. Even though it had been safer to be ignored, my heart still
longed for love and my body still yearned for caresses.
It was another overcast day, so I dressed in jeans, a t-shirt and a sweater.
As I ate a bowl of granola, I read the
Birch Grove Academy Handbook
. The
schedule for classes was an elaborate grid of short and long blocks, and no two
days of the week had classes in the same order. After I skimmed the handbook, I
decided to explore the campus.
I didn’t see another soul as I walked along the drive back to the stone pillars
at the entrance. I turned back toward the school buildings and took paths that led
through a rose garden and a terrace shaded by a vine-covered trellis. A stone
statue of nymph stood in a fountain. I cut through a sports field and found myself
at the back side of the birch grove.
The sky above cleared for a moment and sunlight flickered through the
graceful branches. I thought I saw something,
someone
, but it was only the
shadows of the branches dancing in the breeze.
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The Shadow Girl of Birch Grove – Marta Acosta
In the center of the birch grove, I discovered an amphitheatre that was about
20 feet in diameter. Two concentric tiers of white marble benches surrounded a
flat empty space. I sat there listening to birds and watching squirrels scamper
through branches.
As I was enjoying the beauty, I had a moment of déjà vu. It was gone so
fast that I could only hold onto an image of leaves, dampness, joy. I didn’t know
what it could mean.
I resumed exploring, going in the opposite direction from my cottage. I
was gazing into the grove as I walked, trying to see if there were more surprises,
when I heard a loud crunching.
I turned my head toward the sound and saw a bicycle hurdling straight at
me.
“Watch out!” the rider shouted as he swerved to avoid hitting me. His tires
skidded on the leaves, slid sideways, and he went flying off the bike, tumbling
into the underbrush.
I rushed to him. “Are you all right?”
The rider was sprawled on the ground. He lifted his head and I saw a tangle
of long dark curls and a scruff of beard. He wore khaki shorts and a gray t-shirt.
A silver chain around his neck slipped beneath the collar of his shirt.
I studied him while he glared at his bike and cursed lowly. He was older
than me by a few years. He had strong features and wide green eyes with thick
black eyelashes.
“What the hell were you doing there?” he asked with a scowl as he slowly
stood. He was about a head taller than me, more if I counted the wild curls.
His abrupt tone was much more comfortable to me than Mrs. Monroe’s
polished manners. “I was taking a walk.”
“You came out of nowhere.” He winced and leaned to one side. He
brushed the dirt and leaves from the torn skin on his leg, exposing long, bloody
scratches.
“You’re hurt. Stay here and I’ll get help.”
“I’m okay. Get my bike for me.”
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The Shadow Girl of Birch Grove – Marta Acosta
Something about him made me keep my place until he said, “Please.”
As I picked up his mountain bike, he asked, “Where did you come from?”
“I live here.”
“No one lives here. It’s a day school.”
“I just moved into the cottage.”
“A pixie living in the fairytale cottage,” he said with a laugh. “What are
you doing out here?”
“You ask a lot of questions,” I said. “I was thinking of walking up to Mrs.
Monroe’s house. She’s the headmistress.”
“Have you met the Monroe family yet?”
“Another question.” I stared at him and he stared back. His direct gaze
made me want to be direct, too. “I haven’t met them yet. I’m having dinner with
them tonight. Are you trespassing?”
“Would you care if I was?” He tried to swing his leg over the bike and
almost lost his balance. “Come here. Please.”
I stood by his side. He smelled like warm earth and pine. When he leaned
on my left shoulder as he got on the bike, the heat from his hand went through the
thin cotton of my worn shirt. My scar pulsed in response, something that had
never happened before, and heat spread through my body.
“Later, pixie,” he said and rode off.
I wondered who he was. I glanced at the place he had put his hand. There
was a smear of blood and dirt.
Blood stains
. Instead of going to Mrs. Monroe’s house, I went back to the
cottage and took off my shirt to wash it before the stain set in. I glanced in the
mirror at my bare torso. Blood had soaked through the shirt to my scar; it was
mottled rosy red and scarlet like an autumn leaf.
I turned on the tap to wash it off, yet when I looked up again, my scar was
its normal pale color. The blood must have been a trick of the light and the
nervousness that now made my body tingle in a way it never had before.
I changed into my nicest pants, brown corduroys, a blue blouse, and fake
leather sandals that were a size too big. I didn’t have any makeup or any jewelry
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The Shadow Girl of Birch Grove – Marta Acosta
other than Wilde’s earrings.
As I walked up the hill, it seemed as if everything was brighter and more
vibrant, from the individual notes of birdsong to the serrated edges of the birch
leaves. I felt like I’d been drowsy all my life, and now I was wide awake.
The Monroes’ house was easy to find. The two-story building stood apart
from its neighbors and was the same pinkish hue as the school. The main entry to
the house was a turnoff from a street that ran above it, at the top of the hill.
Massive emerald-green pine trees surrounded it.
I wiped my sweaty palms on my cords before I rang the doorbell. I
expected to see Mrs. Monroe, but the door was opened by a handsome, tall
teenager with thick amber and gold hair. His broad shoulders filled a blue-green
polo shirt, and his eyes were the same shade of blue as Mrs. Monroe’s. Although
it was the end of summer, his skin was pale and creamy with hint of pink on his
cheeks.
He was like those boys who used to bash me aside as they walked down the
halls at school because I didn’t even register as being there. But he was different
from those boys, just as real silk was different from the too-shiny synthetic of my
blouse.
He smiled and said, “You must be Jane. I’m Lucian.” He reached out and
shook my small sweaty hand with his firm dry one, and the tingling in my body
made the handshake more intense than those furtive gropings I’d had with some
of the Alpha boys.
“Hello, Lucian,” I said, my voice cracking with my nerves.
“Everyone calls me Lucky,” he said. “Mom’s all excited about having you
here. Come on in.”
He led me through the foyer, where a large vase of flowers was displayed
on a circular table, and then past an elegant ivory and gray-green living room.
Although evening was still bright outside, the interior of the house was dark.
Still, I spotted polished wood furniture, rich fabrics, and framed paintings.
Lucky said, “Mom thought you’d be more comfortable in the family room.
That’s where we usually hang.”
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The Shadow Girl of Birch Grove – Marta Acosta
The family room was at the back of the house with windows facing toward
Birch Grove Academy below. It was open to the large kitchen, where Mrs.
Monroe stood over a six-burner stove, checking the contents of a pot. “Jane, good
to see you again. Lucky, offer Jane a drink.”
“Water or soda?” he asked.
Was one better than the other? “Anything is fine.”
Lucky took a bottle out of the wide glass-fronted refrigerator and said, “Try
this lemon soda. It’s kind of tart. Makes your mouth go
smack
.”
“Pour it into a glass for Jane, dear,” Mrs. Monroe said. She opened the
oven and pulled out a tray of something that looked like breadsticks.
Lucky tipped the soda into a glass, plunked in ice cubes, and took a
strawberry from a bowl on the counter and dropped it in. “There you go.” He
winked at me.
It was only a friendly wink, and a strawberry was only a piece of fruit.
Most girls, pretty girls, were accustomed to attention. They could differentiate
between friendliness and flirtation. But I wasn’t one of those girls, and I had no
idea what to make of Lucky’s gesture.
I could barely whisper, “Thank you.”
Mrs. Monroe said, “Lucky, please ask your brother to join us.”
“I’ll try to drag him out of his den,” he said to her, and to me, he said, “He’s
like a caveman.”
“No name calling,” Mrs. Monroe said as her son sauntered off whistling
off-key.
I took a sip of the soda. It was a little sour, yet tasty. “Do you have more
children, ma’am?”
“I only have Lucien and Jacob. Of course, I have all my Birch Grove
girls.” She put the breadstick things on a platter. “Would you mind taking these
cheese straws to the table, dear?”
I was glad I put the platter down before Lucky returned with his brother.
The bicyclist, still wearing his dirt-smeared shorts, limped in with a bandage on
his leg.
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The Shadow Girl of Birch Grove – Marta Acosta
He smirked and said, “This is the pixie who crashed my bike.”
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The Shadow Girl of Birch Grove – Marta Acosta
“The dignity of each Birch Grove student is recognized and supported by the
collaboration of our rigorous academic and co-curricular programs.”
Birch Grove
Student Handbook
“Jacob!” Mrs. Monroe said, “That is no way to greet our guest.”
“It’s not
my
fault she knocked me over,” he said as he grabbed a handful
of the cheese straws and popped one in his mouth. “Yowh, hot!”
“I did
not
knock you over,” I said. “You fell of your own accord.”
“She defends herself like a lawyer!” Jacob said. “She’ll probably want to
sue me for libel with a talking squirrel as her witness and a troll king as a judge.”
Lucky slugged his brother on the shoulder and said to me, “Don’t let Jack
bother you. He’s an idiot.”
“I believe I said no name calling, Lucien, but, honestly, Jacob.” Mrs.
Monroe gave her grimy son a critical up-and-down look and crossed her arms.
Jack ate another cheese straw and said, “These are great, Ma.”
I tensed, waiting for her to yell at him, but she reached out to brush his
curls off his face. The loving gesture shocked me more than if she’d slapped him.
“Jane, this young man is Jacob, my oldest son. It’s no secret that a
headmistress’s biggest challenge is her family. Jacob, say hello to Jane.”
“Hello to Jane,” he parroted, pulling out the pockets of his shorts in a silly
curtsey.
I couldn’t decide if it was the dumbest thing I’d ever seen, or the funniest,
so I stared back at him.
“Jane can appear out of nowhere,” Jack said.
“Jack, please stop being inane and go make yourself presentable,” Mrs.
Monroe said. “Jane, would you mind helping with the salad while Lucian sets the
table?”
“Sure. What do you want me to do?”
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The Shadow Girl of Birch Grove – Marta Acosta
The headmistress showed me to a cutting board and set me to cutting
tomatoes and cucumbers. I was glad to have something to do while I observed the
Monroes.
At the group home, we’d eaten off plastic plates with mismatched forks
and the thin paper napkins that Mrs. Richards grabbed by the handfuls whenever
she ate at fast food restaurants. Now I studied how Lucky placed the plates, cloth
napkins, glasses, and silverware on the long rectangular table.
“What year are you?” Lucky asked.
“I’ll be a junior.”
“Me, too,” he said. “What’s your favorite subject?”
“It’s a tie between math and science. They make the most sense.”
“I hate science,” he said. “I’m stupid that way.”
Mrs. Monroe brought a basket of bread to the table. “Lucky, you are not
stupid. You simply don’t apply yourself. In fact, I thought that Jane might like to
tutor you in chemistry to earn some pocket money. Would you consider that,