"Boring without you, but I keep busy with the football team and all. What's it like there?"

"The school's nice and so are most of our teachers. I'm not fond of the principal. She's a tyrant made of cold stone, and Daphne has already filled her ear with tales about my evil Cajun background. She thinks I might be Annie Christmas."

"Who?"

"The flatboat bully who could chew off a man's ear." I laughed. "She just thinks I might be a bad influence on her preciously perfect young Creole ladies."

"Oh."

"But I am enjoying my classes, especially art."

"And what about . . . boys?"

"There are none here, Beau, remember? When are you coming? I miss you."

"I'm trying to work it out so I can get there weekend after next. With these weekend football practices and all, it's hard."

"Oh, please try, Beau. I'll be half mad with loneliness if you don't come."

"I'll come . . . somehow," he said. "Of course, I've got to do it on the sly, so don't let anyone know . . . especially Gisselle. It would be just like her to get it back to my parents somehow."

"I know. Her mean streak has gotten even thicker since the accident. Oh, I've made friends with one of the girls in my quad, but I'm not sure I want you to meet her."

"What? Why not?"

"She's very pretty."

"I have eyes only for you, Ruby," he said. "Hungry eyes," he added softly.

I leaned against the wall and cradled the receiver against my ear as if I were pressing a precious little baby to my cheek. "I miss you, Beau. I do," I said.

"I miss you, Beau, I do," I heard Gisselle mimic, and I spun around to see her behind me in the corridor with Samantha and Kate at her side, all of them smiling.

"Get away!" I screamed. "This is a private conversation."

"It's against the rules to say sexy things on the telephones in our dorm," Gisselle quipped. "Read page fourteen, paragraph three, line two of our handbook."

Kate and Samantha laughed.

"What's going on?" Beau asked.

"Just Gisselle, up to her usual self," I said. "I can't talk anymore. She's determined to spoil it."

"This is too much of a tease anyway. I'll call you again as soon as possible," he said.

"Try to come, Beau. Please."

"I will," he promised. "I love you and miss you." "Same here," I said, flashing a look of anger toward Gisselle and the girls. "Bye."

I hung up the phone sharply and spun around.

"Just wait. Just wait until you want some privacy," I told her and marched passed the three of them.

Being angry at Gisselle did little good. If anything, she enjoyed seeing me upset. It was better to simply ignore her. She didn't mind; she had the girls in our quad, who seemed just as comfortable spending most of their time around her during the times before homeroom, between classes, and in the cafeteria. Rushed along by Samantha, with Kate and Jacki at her sides, Gisselle and her entourage quickly became a separate entity, a clique that moved so tightly through the building they all looked attached by invisible wires emanating from Gisselle's wheelchair.

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?"

"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?"

"Just to get someone in trouble."

"That's ridiculous. Especially when you consider that I'm going to have to copy it over!"

"Then you'd better start before too much of the ink runs," Gisselle suggested. She turned her chair and the girls followed her out.

"Abby and I will help you, Vicki," I said.

"Thanks, but I’ll do it myself." She wiped her cheeks.

"Sometimes, when you rewrite, you make corrections anyway," Abby said.

Vicki nodded. Then she fixed her eyes on me coldly. "We never had things like this happen before," she said.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I'll speak to Gisselle."

Later that night we had an argument about it. Gisselle insisted that she hadn't dipped the report in the toilet and even pretended to be hurt that I would accuse her of such a thing, but I didn't believe her.

The next day Gisselle surprised me with a suggestion.

"Maybe we shouldn't room together," she said. "We don't really get along all that well, and we can't really get to know other people if we see only each other most of the time."

"We don't see each other. I've hardly seen you all week," I said. "But that's not my fault."

"I didn't say it was. I just think it might be better if you roomed with Abby, who you've become close with, and I room with someone else."

"Who?"

"Samantha," she said.

"You mean Vicki doesn't want to room with her since the practical joke, don't you?"

"No. Samantha can't stand rooming with Vicki, who is so involved in her schoolwork, she doesn't even pay attention to personal hygiene."

"Now what are you saying?"

"Samantha said Vicki got her period two days ago but hasn't taken the time to get herself any sanitary napkins. She stuffs her panties with toilet paper," Gisselle replied and grimaced.

"I don't believe it."

"Well, why should I lie? Go ask her yourself. Go in there and ask her what she has in her panties. Go on!" she shrieked.

"Gisselle. All right, relax. I believe you."

"Just don't blame all this on Samantha," she said. "Well?"

"What?"

"Do you want to move in with Abby and let Samantha move in here or not?"

"But what about your special needs?"

"Samantha is willing to do everything I require her to do," Gisselle said.

"I don't know. Daddy might not like this."

"Of course he will like it. If it makes me happy," she added, smiling.

"I don't know how Abby would feel about it," I said softly, secretly loving the idea.

"Of course she'll love it. You two have become like . . . sisters," Gisselle said, her eyes fixed on me sharply. Was that jealousy and envy in her eyes or just plain hate?

"I'll talk to Abby," I said. "I suppose I could always move back if it doesn't work out. But what about all your other things, the things you insisted on bringing here? There might not be room enough for my things in Abby's room now."

"I'll have Mrs. Penny put some of it in storage just as she originally suggested," Gisselle replied quickly. Obviously, she would overcome any obstacle to get what she wanted. "Besides, you don't have that much anyway."

"I know why you want to get rid of me," I said sternly. "You don't want me nagging you about your schoolwork. Well, just because I'm in a different room, it doesn't mean I won't try to make sure you do well, Gisselle."

She sighed deeply.

"All right. I promise to work harder. Samantha happens to be a good student too, you know. She's already helped me with math a great deal."

"Did your homework for you is what you really mean. That won't help you learn it," I said. Gisselle rolled her eyes.

I had never told her about my meeting with Mrs. Ironwood on the first day of school. I thought that if she knew what had been said and how I had been given the responsibility of watching over her, she would go into a rage and demand to go home. But I was tempted to tell her about it now.

"If you do poorly, I’ll be to blame somehow," I said.

"Why? You'll do well. You always do well," she muttered.

"It's expected of me," I said, coming closer to describing my meeting with Mrs. Ironwood. Of course, Gisselle didn't understand.

"Well, I don't expect it! See, you do nag! I need a break. I need to be with different people too."

"All right, Gisselle. Calm down. You'll have all the girls in here."

"Are you going to go ask Abby?"

"Yes," I said. Maybe I shouldn't have given in so easily, but the prospect of escaping from her looked too good. I left and discussed the proposal with Abby, who was very happy about the idea.

That night we made the moves. Vicki, rather than being insulted, was obviously pleased to have a room all to herself. She even helped Samantha carry out her things. Of course, we had to inform Mrs. Penny, who looked very troubled about it at first, but she quickly changed her attitude when she saw how happy Gisselle was.

"As long as you girls all get along, I suppose your private arrangements don't matter," she concluded. "But don't forget, Gisselle: You, your sister, and Abby are going to Mrs. Clairborne's for tea tomorrow. We'll leave the dorm at one-fifty sharp. Mrs. Clairborne likes everyone to be right on time."

"I can't wait," Gisselle said. She flicked her eyelids and turned her shoulder. "I've already picked out my formal afternoon dress and matching shoes. Is light blue an acceptable color?"

"Oh, I'm sure it is," Mrs. Penny said. "Isn't this wonderful? How I wish I were a young girl again, just starting out, just experiencing everything. I suppose that's why I love my work. It gives me an opportunity to be a young woman over and over through you delightful girls."

The moment she was out of earshot, Gisselle slapped her hands together and began to imitate her, performing for her clique.

"How I wish I were a virgin again," she cried, "so I could experience lovemaking over and over."

Gisselle's fan club, as I had soon begun to label them, laughed and encouraged her. Then she drew them all into what had been our room to spin another tale of promiscuity to her faithful audience. I was glad to shut the door and retreat to the quiet of Abby's room, which had now become mine too.