She Was the Quiet One

“Wow, I got an invitation to tea with Mrs. Donovan,” Rose said. “Did you get it, too?”

Emma read the e-mail over Rose’s shoulder. “No, it’s just for you,” she said. “The e-mail says she’s your advisor. You’re lucky. Mrs. Donovan is so nice. I had her for Algebra last year. The Donovans are a huge improvement over the last dorm head. Thank God they fired him.”

“Did he do something wrong?”

“He let Moreland get totally out of control. This dorm has a rep, you know. It’s the slut dorm.”

“Seriously?”

“I hate to use that word, since it shames girls for behavior boys get high-fived for. But, yeah. Which brings me to a rather awkward subject.”

“What’s that?” Rose asked, alarmed.

“You may have noticed that Bel and I haven’t exactly hit it off. At dinner, I invited her to sit with me, and she went and sat with those seniors instead. You know. Darcy and Tessa?”

“I’m so sorry. I apologize for her rudeness.”

“Oh, I don’t care about that. I have more friends than I know what to do with. But I feel it’s my responsibility to warn you that Bel’s hanging with a bad crowd.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Darcy Madden and her cohorts are notorious. Trust me, you don’t want your sister messed up with them. You need to say something.”

“I’ll try,” Rose said, shaking her head. Just when she’d been feeling like they’d dodged a bullet by coming to Odell, history started repeating itself. “I don’t know if it’ll do any good, though. This has come up before.”

“What do you mean?” Emma said.

“Oh, well—”

Rose realized she was on the verge of saying too much. She liked Emma immensely, but she didn’t know yet whether she could trust her. If Rose blabbed, Bel might get in trouble.

“Nothing,” Rose said. “I didn’t mean anything.”

“No, really, Rose. You should tell me. I live with Bel. You don’t. If I know there’s something to watch out for, I can help keep her on the straight and narrow.”

Emma had a point there. Rose was on a completely different floor, and wouldn’t be able to look out for Bel as much as she would like.

“Okay, well, back home, when our mother was sick, Bel got . . . a bit wild.”

“Wild, how? Drugs? Boys?”

“I’m not entirely sure. She would cut class, though. You shouldn’t hold it against her. It wasn’t her fault. She had no guidance.”

“You didn’t cut class, did you?”

“Oh, no. I wouldn’t do that.”

“You can’t cut class at Odell. You get a demerit every time, along with early check-in for a week. Two demerits and you can’t compete for the school in sports or other activities. Four demerits is a suspension.”

“I’ll let Bel know,” Rose said.

“You should. I will, too. Word is the Donovans are planning a big crackdown. If Bel doesn’t get her act together, she could get DC’d.”

“‘DC’d’?”

“Sent to the Disciplinary Committee. That happens for serious infractions, and then it goes on your record for college applications. You can even get expelled.”

“That would be awful. You’re right. I need to say something to her.”

“You seem very loyal,” Emma said. “I wish I had you for a roommate instead of her. She strikes me as a real flake, but I bet you and I would be a great fit.”

Rose flushed with pleasure, though she felt guilty for talking about her sister like that with Emma. Then again, Bel was flaky. You couldn’t deny it. Rose shouldn’t feel bad if Emma had figured it out for herself.

5 (#ulink_29b4c662-e3d1-51ee-a478-5d52da77d4a9)

Rose woke up on the first day of classes to find that a perfect ray of sunlight was streaming through a crack in the window blinds. It felt like an omen. Life started fresh today. She jumped out of bed and hurried to get dressed, humming under her breath. Skyler groaned and pulled the covers over her head.

“Are you always this cheerful in the morning?” Skyler said. “I can’t handle it.”

“I’m just excited to go to class.”

Rose had stayed up late last night doing her introductory assignments, but she didn’t feel tired in the least. On the contrary, she was energized. Every word she’d read was emblazoned on her brain, and she couldn’t wait to get into the classroom to talk about the material. Like all the great boarding schools, Odell used the Harkness Method. Rose had read up on the Harkness Method before starting here, and it sounded like the perfect fit for her. Small classes, discussion-based learning. At her old school, she’d hated the big, chaotic rooms. The teachers turned their backs and talked to the chalkboard while kids surfed the Web or goofed around. If Rose spoke up in class, kids rolled their eyes. Odell was different. She could be herself here. She could be smart, and learn a lot, and people would like her for it.

It was a perfectly cool September morning. Delicate light filtered through towering elm trees as Rose walked to her first-ever Odell class. She couldn’t get over the beauty of the campus, its vast expanse. She’d walked five minutes from her dorm to get to breakfast, and then ten minutes back in the opposite direction to get to Founders’ Hall for class, all on brick paths that crisscrossed dew-covered lawns. When she stepped into Founders’ Hall, she felt the weight of centuries in the air of its dark paneled hallways, redolent of books and dust. Yet kids rushed by her on the stairs, laughing and goofing around as if the grandeur was old news. Rose couldn’t imagine getting to the point where she took this place for granted, and yet, she wished for it to happen, because that would mean she belonged.

The walls of the social studies classroom were lined with framed maps from another century. A marble bust of George Washington watched her from a pedestal in the corner. The teacher was eloquent and thoughtful, and the discussion lively from the start. Rose made her first comment about ten minutes in—something about how the Constitution was the result of compromise—and Mr. Mendez liked it so much that he wrote it on the board. For the rest of the class, kids kept referring to “Rose’s point,” and she was so proud of herself that she had to take care not to act cocky. English class second period was amazing, too. Mrs. Sunderland went around the room and asked each of them to name a favorite book and say how it had influenced them. Rose talked about the Little House books, which she’d read obsessively between the ages of ten and fourteen. Not only did nobody roll their eyes at her, but two other girls piped up to say they’d read those books over and over, too, and loved them just as much.

French was the best of all. Mademoiselle LeBlanc was a native speaker who insisted that the students speak only French in the classroom. (She also had a chic haircut and beautiful suede boots.) Rose was terrified at first. She’d been studying French since middle school, and had never been asked to do more than conjugate verbs on paper. Miraculously, when her turn came, her tongue knew what to do. “Bonjour, mademoiselle,” Rose said, the words flowing out almost effortlessly. “Je m’appelle Rose Enright. Je viens de Californie.” The teacher nodded approvingly, and Rose suddenly had a new ambition. She would become fluent in French, speak with a perfect accent, live in Paris. Odell had a study-abroad program where you could live with a French family for a summer. She would convince Grandma to send her. Oh, life was exciting.

Emma Kim was in Rose’s French class, and when the period ended, she fell into step beside Rose, as if it was perfectly natural for them to walk to lunch together. The cool morning had become a bright, sunny day, and the Quad smelled of warm earth. Rose chatted and laughed with her new friend as they headed to the dining hall. Emma was a returning sophomore like Skyler, but didn’t seem to mind that Rose was new. Rose cherished the hope that they would become close friends. The girls she sat with at lunch in her old school had never been much more than acquaintances. They didn’t hang out, didn’t text, didn’t invite her shopping or to the movies. It wasn’t like she hadn’t tried. She didn’t really understand why they didn’t want to be closer; maybe they didn’t consider her fun. Here at Odell, she hoped, the definition of fun would be different. Rose herself would be different here. If this morning was any indication, she would fit in, have friends, be liked and admired.

The new part of the dining hall, known simply as the New, was a soaring, modern space, all glass and white walls, with brightly colored flags hanging from the high ceilings (Odell had students from thirty countries). Giant photos of local flora decorated the walls. To Rose, the New looked like some space-age art gallery with tables. As they walked in, a warm buzz of conversation washed over Rose, and her heart lifted. Bel was here somewhere in the crowd. Rose wanted to find her, to gush to her twin about this amazing place. She searched the crowd as she followed Emma to the food line, but didn’t see Bel.

She noticed something else interesting, however.

“What’s that writing on the walls?” Rose asked Emma.

“The names of every graduating senior are carved on the panels.”

“Since when?”

“Going back, like, to the beginning of time. This is the new part of the dining hall, but if you go to the Commons, where they have the formal dinners, you’ll see names dating back to the early 1800s.”

“Seriously? My father and grandfather went here. Do you think I could find their names?”

Emma looked impressed. “Of course, you just need to know their class year. I had no idea you and Bel were legacies. She never mentioned it.”

“Oh, Bel doesn’t care about that sort of thing.”