Ivy Secrets, page 7
Charlie ran along the walkway, past the crew house and the pond on her left, the greenhouses on her right. She thought about Marina, who deserved to be a Quad Bunny, but who was stuck, instead, in one of the old houses so that Viktor could keep a watchful eye on her. As she rounded the bend and looked up to the president’s grand house on the hill, Charlie wasn’t so sure that Marina would like being a bunny. For all her sharp tongue around Viktor, Charlie sensed Marina was a loner, one who wasn’t really happy with her place in life.
God, Charlie thought, are any of us satisfied?
For now, though, Charlie knew she was right where she needed to be. And though she wouldn’t admit it to anyone, it had made her feel good last night when she and Marina walked downstairs together and went into the common living area, where Viktor waited to take Marina to dinner. Several girls were seated on large sofas and overstuffed chairs, and as she entered the room with Marina, the girls had stared, obviously mesmerized by the presence of a princess. Charlie had smiled and nodded at them, and realized that she had now risen another rung on the ladder to her goals.
“You’re judged by the company you keep,” Charlie’s mother had harped when Charlie befriended a girl with a “loose” reputation. Well, Mom, Charlie said to herself now as she wiped the perspiration from her face, the company I’m keeping now would please even you.
She smiled, checked her watch, then headed back to the house. For until Charlie O’Brien had become “someone,” she would still have to wait tables at breakfast.
English 101, Charlie’s first class as Smith, would, she hoped, be forever etched in her memory. As she sat at the desk in the small auditorium-like room, she tried to focus on the instructor, tried to listen to his course introduction. But Charlie was distracted. There were so many things to take in, so much that seemed more important.
The room itself was rather small. She had chosen a seat on the top tier, in order to get a better view. Behind her the autumn sun poured through the tall windows and warmed her back. Around her—everywhere around her—were new faces. She wondered where these girls came from, how rich their families were, and if they had boyfriends that came from as much money, and if they would wait until after graduation to get married. She glided her palm over the edge of the shiny wood desk and noted that no initials were carved in it, no suck-my-dick or eat-shit messages had been scrawled in felt-tip marker. Smith College, after all, was not West Central High.
“I’ll hand out the syllabus now,” the instructor was saying. “We’ll go over it in detail. If you miss any classes, there will be no excuses for not getting the work done.”
Charlie watched as he passed a stack of papers to a blond girl in the front row. She’d never heard the word syllabus before—she deduced it must be an outline of the course. Why couldn’t he just say outline? she wondered, then smiled. In Pittsburgh, the instructor would have said outline. At Smith, it was called a syllabus. Syllabus was so much more sophisticated. Syllabus, syllabus, syllabus. She wasn’t sure how to spell it; she’d have to look it up later, to memorize it, to savor its definition. Syllabus. Her first new word at Smith. She might even toss it across the dining room table when she went home for Thanksgiving. It would certainly impress her parents, and would probably piss off her brothers and sisters.
A sudden tap on Charlie’s right shoulder startled her from her daydream. She turned and smiled at the classmate beside her, a plain-looking brunette in a faded black turtle-neck and a limp expression of boredom on her un-made-up face.
“Take one, pass it on.”
Charlie’s eyes fell to a stack of papers in the girl’s hand. “Oh,” she said quickly. “Sorry.” She plucked a sheet from the top, handed the rest to her left, and hoped she hadn’t turned red with embarrassment.
After class the turtlenecked brunette fell into line behind Charlie.
“Pretty gross, huh?”
Charlie was, once again, surprised. “Gross?” she asked as they walked into the hall.
The girl raised her eyebrows. They were thick and brown and matched the short hair that framed her round face. “A five-hundred-word composition every Friday? Plus all that vocabulary … and grammar? God, I hate grammar.”
Charlie pushed through the outer doors and headed down the stairs. “Me, too,” she lied. There was no reason for her to know that English came easily to Charlie. Learning new words had always made her feel cultured, educated, a step above the blue-collar sidewalks of Pittsburgh. And she loved taking apart sentences, dissecting each phrase and fragment, then neatly rearranging them onto a structured diagram: a place for everything, like her jewelry box with its symmetrical squares for earrings, and the individual zippered plastic bags for her sweaters. Charlie liked order, in her studies and in her life. But, other than Marina, this was the first person who’d started a conversation with her, and even more than all A’s in English or a systematic existence, Charlie wanted friends. Best of all, she didn’t recognize this girl from Morris House—maybe she wouldn’t have to know Charlie was on a scholarship. “Are you going to the bookstore now?” Charlie asked.
“Might as well. I don’t have another class until eleven.”
“I don’t have one until two. U.S. History,” she groaned.
“I’m putting that one off until next year. I want to get started on my art classes.”
“You’re majoring in art?”
“Yeah. My parents are thrilled.”
Charlie smiled and relaxed. The girl—for all her plainness—seemed to be the kind of friend Charlie would like. “My parents are thrilled just by the fact that I’m here.”
The girl slung her bookbag over her shoulder. “I didn’t exactly have a choice. My mother is an alumna.”
“Your mother went to Smith?” Charlie’s mother was considered “educated” in their neighborhood, because she’d not only gone to high school, but had taken a one-year secretarial course as well. She’d worked at an insurance company until the babies started coming, and had never used her “credentials” since. “What’s your name?” Charlie asked, as they started to cross the campus.
“Tess Richards. I’m from San Francisco. What’s yours?”
San Francisco. God, Charlie thought, what a glamorous city. It was on her list of “someday, maybe …”
“Charlie. Charlie O’Brien.” She could not bring herself to say she was from Pittsburgh: the mere thought of the word brought a taste of soot and steel to her lips. “I’m staying at Morris House,” she said. “What about you? Are you living on campus?”
Tess nodded. “Same house as my mother. If my parents had given a few more hundred thousand, I’m sure I could have had the same room.”
Charlie tried to act nonchalant. “Which house is it?”
“Laura Scales.”
“Laura Scales?” Charlie had heard the name briefly.
“Over there.” She pointed between two ivy-covered buildings. “In the Quad.”
Charlie clutched her notebook and the papers from English 101 and felt a disheartening sense of resignation: The girl she thought would be her new friend was a rival, a Quad Bunny. The odd thing was, she didn’t even look like one.
The next day Charlie had to work the dinner shift. She was exhausted from her classes—three today, plus a Spanish lab. None of the other students had been friendly to her: they all seemed to know each other; they had already established their own groups. Quad Bunnies, Charlie suspected. The “other” girls.
She scraped the remains of steamed fish and rice pilaf from the plates—several dozen in all—stacked them in the dishwasher, and thought about Tess Richards. She had seemed nice. They’d stood in line at the bookstore yesterday and discovered that the only class they were taking together was English 101. Charlie was surprised they had that much in common. Tess’s background bore no similarity to Charlie’s, and Charlie had let her carry the conversation. As much as she wanted to fit in, Charlie had found she simply had nothing to say.
She scooped up a bundle of silverware and stood it in the rack. Just then the door from the dining room swung open and Marina stood there. Until now, Charlie hadn’t seen her in the dining room. She’d deduced that Marina ate her meals with Viktor, probably to avoid being poisoned, she thought, and suppressed a grin.
“I’m surprised to see you here,” Charlie said.
“I got rid of Viktor early. Told him I had to study.” She flopped on a stool beside the metal counter.
Charlie tossed the napkins into the laundry bin, then stacked the pots in the sink and began to scrub. She wasn’t sure what to say to Marina; she didn’t know why the princess had sought her out. Certainly, not to talk about dishpan hands. She wondered if Marina had ever been inside a kitchen, had ever watched anyone with their hands in soapy water. The steel wool pierced her fingers as she tried to think of something to say.
“I think botany is going to be my hardest course,” Charlie said, as she wrung out the steel wool pad and grabbed the linen cloth. “Are you taking botany?”
Marina slid off the stool, stuffed her hands in the pockets of her jeans, and paced the room. “Do you want to do something tonight?” Marina asked.
Charlie set down the dried pot and began wiping the counter, “What do you mean?”
Marina laughed. “You know—do something. Do whatever it is that American college girls do on a Thursday night when they do not feel like studying and do not have to worry about bodyguards hovering over them.”
Charlie found herself smiling. Marina’s deep voice and delicate accent sounded almost comical talking about American college girls.
“We could go for a walk, maybe?” Marina asked. “Get a pizza? Isn’t that what everyone else does, get a pizza?”
Charlie gestured across the now clean kitchen. “I just ate,” she said. “And besides, we could go for a walk, but Viktor would never allow it, I’m sure.”
“Viktor would not have to know.”
Charlie turned and looked at her.
“I did not pull up my shade to one-quarter. As far as Viktor knows, I am sound asleep in my cozy little bed.”
Charlie checked her watch as though she had another engagement. “Well …”
“Please, Charlie. I need to get out of here. I need to do something without Viktor watching over my shoulder.”
Charlie looked at Marina’s suede coat. “With my luck, he’d spot you. He’d have the hounds after both of us in nothing flat.”
Marina thought for a moment. “Not if I were dressed in your sweatshirt.”
“We could switch clothes? But I’m so much taller than you.”
“Exactly. If Viktor looked out his window he would be looking for a five-foot-two-inch girl in a suede jacket. How tall are you?”
“Five six. Almost five seven.”
“Perfect,” Marina answered and began slipping off her coat.
“But what if …” Charlie began.
“What if something happens?” Marina laughed. “Do not be absurd. Nothing is going to happen. We are in Northampton, Massachusetts. In the United States of America. The only people who get shot here are drug dealers and presidents.” She reached out her hand for Charlie’s sweatshirt.
Charlie hesitated a moment, then pulled it over her head. She assumed Marina knew what she was doing. “We could go down by the pond,” Charlie said, as she handed the princess her shirt. “I jog down there. It’s beautiful. There are ducks—even two swans. Though I don’t know how much we’ll see in the dark.”
“I don’t care where we go,” Marina answered as she got into the sweatshirt and tucked her long hair inside the hood.
Charlie picked up Marina’s jacket. A warmth spread through her as she felt its softness. She ran her fingers across the smooth, butter suede, savoring its touch. It was not unlike some of the garments that Felicia sold: supple, luxurious, and extremely expensive.
She glanced at Marina, who looked ridiculous in Charlie’s gray sweatshirt: a princess dressed like a pauper. Charlie slipped her arms into the cool silk lining and zipped the jacket. The sleeves were too short, but surprisingly, the jacket fit. She tried not to let Marina see her feel the suede again. Someday, Charlie promised herself, she would have a jacket like this of her own; someday she would have more than one.
“Lead the way,” Marina said.
Charlie hesitated again, then stepped in front of her, and headed out the kitchen door.
It felt strange, walking beside a princess. Charlie looked around, hoping someone—some of the girls—would see her, would see them together again, Charlie O’Brien and the princess. She wondered if any of them would notice that she wore Marina’s jacket, and if they would then conclude that they were best friends.
“What is that building?” Marina asked, pointing toward the crew house.
“That’s where they keep the boats,” Charlie answered. “Canoes, row boats, crew boats.”
Marina looked thoughtful. “I have never been on a boat. Except for a yacht.” She laughed. “I guess it is not the same thing.”
Charlie laughed, too. “Not really. Canoes are fun. My older brother taught me how to paddle one summer when we went to the lake on vacation.”
Marina scuffed her feet. “It must be nice to have an older brother.”
“Are you kidding? That’s the only thing he ever taught me. After that, I became something too much like a girl. We could take a boat out sometime if you’d like. I could show you how to paddle a canoe.”
Marina was quiet a moment.
“Oh,” Charlie said. “I forgot. Viktor.”
Marina raised her head and looked around. “How many kids in your family?”
“Six. Three boys. Three girls.”
“It must be fun.”
“Sometimes. Sometimes not. But didn’t you say you have a sister?”
“Not a sister. More like an arch rival. She is my twin, but we couldn’t be more unalike.”
“What’s her name?”
Marina stuffed her hands in her pockets and muttered, “Alexis.”
Charlie sensed that the princess wanted no more questions about her arch rival sister, so she kept silent. Yet to herself, Charlie repeated the name Alexis. Alexis, she thought, what a beautiful name for a princess.
As they made their way closer to the president’s house on the hill, sounds of music filled the air. Charlie pointed ahead. “That’s probably coming from the Quad. It must be party time.”
“Not like any party I have ever been to,” Marina said.
The music grew louder as they walked toward it. Then suddenly, above the music, came the sounds of thumping footsteps and loud laughter, moving in the direction of the president’s house.
“Let’s see what is going on,” Marina said, leaving the path and starting up the hill toward the house.
“I don’t think we’d better …”
“Come on.” She motioned impatiently to Charlie.
They crept up the hill through the rose garden, then slowly circled the garage. In the front of the house, throngs of girls stood, laughing, shouting. One of them went up to the door and banged on it with her fist.
“We want Mountain Day,” they began to chant.
Charlie could see cans of beer being passed around. “It’s the Quad Bunnies,” she whispered to Marina. She started to move forward; Marina stayed behind.
“We want Mountain Day,” the insistent chant grew in volume.
Finally the front door opened. A regal woman smiled and raised a hand to hush the crowd. “Not until I’m ready,” she said.
“When will it be?” someone shouted.
“Tomorrow?” someone else called out.
“Tomorrow!” several people joined in.
The woman at the door raised her hand again. “Okay, I’ll break tradition and tell you. Mountain Day will be—” she paused and let her hand drop. “Mountain Day will be before Columbus Day break.”
The crowd hissed and booed. Charlie ached to be a part of the laughter, part of their fun, one of them.
“Now if you’ll please excuse me girls, I’m having a dinner party.” The woman retreated and closed the door.
The crowd of girls mumbled and grumbled some more, then began making their way back toward the Quad. Charlie couldn’t see if Tess was among them; it was too dark.
When she turned back to Marina, the princess was already walking away from the crowd, hands in her pockets, head down.
“Marina,” Charlie called, and suddenly realized that this was the first time she hadn’t called her Princess. “Wait up.”
Marina slowed her pace and Charlie skipped up to her. “What is Mountain Day, anyway?”
“I have no idea. Some ancient primal tradition, perhaps. We have nothing like it in Novokia.”
Charlie noticed that the curiosity had vanished from Marina’s face, replaced by disinterest. Princesses, Charlie thought as she followed her around the garage and down the hill through the rose bushes, who can figure them?
Tess would know what Mountain Day was. She’d ask her after class tomorrow. Whether Marina cared about it or not, it seemed it was something important, something every Smithie should know.
Chapter 5
Tess Richards sat in her room, her head pounding from the loud music, the shrill laughter, and the boisterous shouts for Mountain Day. She flipped through the pages of her art history book. It was bad enough she’d had to listen to the nonstop noise for the past hour; it was even worse when several of them had banged on her door and demanded she go with them to the president’s house. She’d refused.
Tess knew what Mountain Day was all about, and it was no big deal. One day, before Columbus Day break, the president rang the bells on campus and all classes were canceled. The students were then supposed to go off to “the mountains”—bike, walk, or do whatever, to take in nature and “stop and smell the roses” or some stupid thing. And though Tess usually liked tradition, this one seemed asinine. Almost as asinine as the Quad Bunnies demanding Mountain Day after only two days of classes.
