The chair itself metamorphosed into a rolling throne from which Gisselle issued her requests and commands and pronounced her judgments about other students, teachers, and activities. After school the three girls would obediently follow Gisselle back to the dorm, where she continued to hold court, tutoring them in misbehavior, describing her exploits back in New Orleans, getting them to smoke and neglect their homework. Only Vicki, driven by her desire to excel academically, remained aloof, which was something for which Gisselle did not forgive her.
Gradually Gisselle turned the other girls against Vicki. Even poor little Samantha, who was quickly evolving into Gisselle's alter ego, spent less and less time with her roommate and began to mimic Gisselle's contempt for her to her face. On Thursday night as a practical joke, Gisselle had Samantha steal Vicki's first research report for European history, a report about which she was very proud, since she had gotten right to it and completed it a week ahead of schedule. The poor girl was frantic.
"I know it was with my books in the closet," she insisted, pulling on her hair and biting her lip. Gisselle and the girls sat in the sitting room, listening to her turmoil as she recalled and reviewed her actions, trying to figure out where she could possibly have misplaced it. I took one look at Samantha's face and realized what Gisselle had talked her into doing.
"It was my only copy. I spent hours on it, hours!"
"Knowing you, you probably have it
memorized anyway," Gisselle said. "Just start writing it over."
"But . . . my references . . my quotes . . ."
"Oh, I forgot about quotes," Gisselle said. "Anyone have any quotes?"
I pulled Samantha aside, pinching her upper arm roughly. "Did you take your roommate's report?" I demanded. "It's just a little joke. We're going to give it back to her soon."
"It's not funny to put someone through so much pain just to get a laugh for yourself. Give it back to her right away," I commanded.
"You're hurting my arm."
"Do it or I'll go get Mrs. Penny, who will have to tell Mrs. Ironwood."
"All right." Her eyes were filled with tears of pain, but I didn't care. If she was going to be Gisselle's little slave, she was going to pay for it too.
Vicki went back into her room to tear everything apart again.
"This wasn't funny, Gisselle," I said.
She looked at Samantha and at me. "What wasn't funny?"
&
nbsp; "Getting Samantha to take Vicki's report."
"I didn't get her to do anything. She did it herself. Didn't you, Samantha?" Gisselle's fixed gaze was enough. Samantha nodded.
"Give it back to her this minute," I said. Samantha reached under the sofa to pull out the report. There was a look of shock on her face. She knelt down and searched.
"It's not there," she said, surprised. "But that's where I put it."
"Gisselle."
"I don't know anything about it," she said smugly.
Suddenly we heard a scream from Vicki and Samantha's room. All of us rushed in to discover Vicki sitting on the bed, bawling. In her lap was her report, soaked.
"What happened?"
"I found it like this under the dresser," she cried. "Now I'm going to have to copy it all over." She looked at Samantha hatefully.
"I didn't do that," Samantha said. "Honest."
"Someone did."
"Maybe you did it yourself and you're trying to blame it on one of us," Gisselle accused.
"What? Why-would I do that?"