"How peachy! Once a month, just like a period," Gisselle quipped.
"What?" Samantha said, her little heart-shaped face in shock. Kate giggled and Jacqueline smirked.
"A period," Gisselle repeated. "You know what that is, or haven't you gotten yours yet?"
"Gisselle," I cried, but not before Samantha's face had turned bright crimson as the other girls laughed.
"Oh, how nice," Mrs. Penny said, following Daddy and our driver in with some of our things, "the girls are already getting along. I told you everything would be all right," she said to Daddy.
3
Getting Along
.
A half-hour before we all had to leave for the
main building to attend Mrs. Ironwood's assembly, Abby Tyler and her parents arrived. I thought she was the prettiest of us all. About my height; but slim with dainty features like Audrey Hepburn, Abby had turquoise eyes and thick ebony hair, the strands brushed straight to her shoulders. Her rich, dark complexion was almost mocha, suggesting she had spent a great deal more time than the rest of us at the beach.
She spoke with a soft, melodic voice, her accent clipped and different, with some French intonation, obviously influenced by her mother's side. When she smiled at me, I felt there was something sincere about her. Like us, she was tentative and unsure of herself, being a Greenwood student for the first time.
After she was introduced to all the girls, Mrs. Penny asked her if she minded having some of Gisselle's things in her room. I knew that Gisselle didn't want to appear that she was asking anyone for anything, but Abby was very cooperative.
"Oh, no," she said, smiling at Gisselle. "Come in and use whatever space you want." "I hate the idea of having to go from room to room to get my own things," Gisselle whined.
"You just tell me what you want when you want it and fetch it for you," I said quickly.
"Or I'll be glad to bring it to you," Abby offered. She glanced at me with an understanding and sympathetic look in her eyes, and I felt an immediate kinship with this soft-spoken, dark-haired girl.
"Sure, I have to go around and beg people to get me my own things," Gisselle continued, her voice shrill. I was afraid that at any moment she would burst into one of her tantrums and embarrass Daddy.
"You don't have to beg. That's a ridiculous thing to say. Asking for something isn't begging," I said.
"I don't mind getting things for you," Abby said. "Really, I don't."
/> "Why not?" Gisselle snapped back instead of being grateful. "Are you practicing to become somebody's maid?" The blood drained from Abby's face.
"Gisselle! Why can't you be gracious and accept someone's kindness?"
"Because I don't want to be dependent on the kindness of others," she cried back at me. "I want to depend on my own legs."
"Oh dear," Mrs. Penny said, pressing her palms to her plump cheeks. "I just want everyone to be happy."
"It's all right, Mrs. Penny. If Abby is willing to share the space in her room with my sister, my sister will be happy," I said, glaring down at Gisselle.
Frustrated, she turned on Daddy after all our things had been brought in, and she started to complain to him about having to wear a uniform, especially when she set eyes on it: a drab gray skirt and a drab gray blouse with thick-heeled black shoes. The dress code on the second page of our booklet also specified that makeup, even lipstick, was forbidden, as was any ostentatious show of jewelry.
"I'm trapped in this horrible wheelchair all day," Gisselle protested, "and now I have to wear those horrible, uncomfortable clothes too. I felt the material. It's too rough for my skin. And those ugly shoes will hurt my feet. They're too heavy."
"I'll go speak to someone about it," Daddy said and rushed out. Fifteen minutes later, he returned to tell Gisselle that, under the circumstances, she had been given permission to wear whatever made her comfortable.
Gisselle sank into her wheelchair and sulked. Despite every effort she made to complicate things and make our arrival at Greenwood difficult, someone figured out a way to placate her and make things smooth.
Daddy was ready to say his goodbyes.
"I know you two are going to do well here. All I ask," he said, gazing down at Gisselle, "is that you give it a fair chance."
"I hate it already," she fired back. "The room's too small. I have to go too far to class. What do I do when it rains?"