"It's where our assigned seats are located," Vicki replied. "It's explained in your packet. Didn't you read any of it yet?"

"No, I didn't read any of it yet," Gisselle said, imitating Vicki's condescending tone. "Anyway, I can't have an assigned seat. I'm in a wheelchair, or haven't you noticed?"

"Of course I noticed. Even so, you should remain with us," Vicki continued patiently. "It's the way Mrs. Ironwood has organized assemblies. We are seated according to our dorm and quad."

"And what else is in this precious packet? When we should go to the bathroom?"

Vicki blanched and turned to lead the way. When we reached our row, everyone filed in. Gisselle remained in the aisle in her wheelchair, and I took the outside 'seat so I could sit next to her. Abby sat beside me. All around us, the girls laughed and chatted, many gazing our way with interest and curiosity. But no matter who smiled at Gisselle, she refused to smile back. When the girl on the aisle seat across from us kept turning toward her, Gisselle nearly snapped her head off.

"What are you staring at? Didn't you ever see anyone in a wheelchair before?"

"I wasn't staring."

"Gisselle," I said softly, putting my hand on her arm, "don't make a scene."

"Why not? What difference will it make?" she retorted.

Jacqueline waved to some friends, as did Vicki and Kate and Samantha. Then Jacqueline began pointing out other girls and giving us abbreviated opinions.

"That's Deborah Stewart. She's so stuck up, she gets a nosebleed every day. And that's Susan Peck. Her brother goes to Rosedown, and he's so good-looking everyone plays up to Susan in the hope she will introduce them to her brother when his school attends one of our socials. Oh, there's Camille Ripley. She looks like she got her parents to give her that nose job, doesn't she, Vicki?"

"I forgot what she looked like," Vicki said dryly.

Suddenly a ripple of silence began to pass through the assembly of girls. It started toward the rear and made its way toward the front, accompanying the arrival of Mrs. Ironwood, who marched down the aisle.

"There's the Iron Lady," Jacqueline said in a loud whisper and nodded in her direction. Abby, I, and Gisselle turned to see her start up the short stairway to the stage at the front of the auditorium.

Mrs. Ironwood looked no more than five-six or seven. She was stout, with gray hair pulled severely back and tied in a thick bun. She had a pair of pearl-framed glasses on a silver chain around her neck, the glasses resting on her bosom. Dressed in a dark blue vest with a white blouse beneath it and an ankle-length skirt, she walked firmly in her thick-heeled black shoes, her shoulders back, her head high, until she reached the podium at the center of the stage. When she turned to face the assembly, not a sound was heard. Someone coughed but quickly choked it to an end.

"How come she doesn't have to wear that ugly uniform too?" Gisselle muttered.

"Shh," Vicki said.

"Good afternoon, girls, and welcome back to Greenwood for what I expect will be another successful year for all of you." She paused, put on her glasses, and opened her folder.

Then she looked up, seemingly turning our way and gazing directly at us. Even from this distance, I could see how steely cold her eyes were. She had thick eyebrows and a firm mouth set in a jaw that seemed made of granite.

"I would like to begin by first welcoming all of the girls who are with us for the first time. I know that the rest of you will do whatever you can to make their arrival and familiarity with our school smooth and easy. Remember, once all of you were new girls.

"Next, I would like to introduce three new faculty members. Teaching freshman English, Mr. Risel," she said and gazed to her right, where some of the faculty were seated. A tall, lean, blond-haired man of about forty rose and nodded at the assembly.

"Teaching advanced French, Monsieur Marabeau," she said in a perfect French accent. A short, stout, dark-haired man with a dark mustache stood up and bowed to the assembly.

"And finally, our new art instructor, Miss Stevens," she said with a little more sternness in her voice than I had detected when she'd introduced the previous two.

An attractive brunette who couldn't be much more than twenty-eight or twenty-nine stood up. She had a warm, friendly smile, but she looked uncomfortable in her tweed suit and high-heeled shoes.

"Wait until she hears about your paintings and finds out how talented you are," Gisselle quipped. All of the girls in our row turned toward her, but Mrs. Ironwood shifted her gaze our way too. I could feel the sting of her reproach.

"Shh," Vicki warned.

"Now to review our rules of behavior," Mrs. Ironwood continued, her eyes still fixed in our direction. My heart was pounding, but Gisselle just glared back.

"As you know, we expect everyone to be serious about her work. Consequently, a grade-point average of less than C-plus will not be tolerated. If any one of you should fall beneath that acceptable threshold, you will lose all of your social privileges until you bring your average up."

"What social privileges?" Gisselle asked, again a little too loud. Mrs. Ironwood raised her gaze from her folder and glared our way. "I expect you to remain quiet while I am speaking. At Greenwood respect for teacher and staff is required. We do not have time for, nor will we tolerate, insubordination in class or in any classroom situation. Is that perfectly clear?"

Her words echoed in the deathly quiet hall. No one moved, not even Gisselle. Even though Mrs. Ironwood continued in a lower voice, her consonants were so sharp I thought she could slice the air between us with her words.

"I would advise you all to turn to page ten in your orientation booklets and memorize the rules set down. You will note when you read the list that the possession of any alcoholic beverage or any drug on campus will result in your immediate expulsion. Your parents know that means they forfeit the tuition. Loud music, smoking, or any act of vandalism carries severe punishments and high numbers of demerits.

"Last year I was a little more lenient than I should have been when it came to our dress codes. Unless you have prior approval, you are to wear our uniform, keep it clean and well pressed, and abstain from using cosmetics. Looking attractive at Greenwood means being clean and neat, not painting your face."

She paused and smiled coolly.

"I am pleased to announce that we will have as many dances this year as we had last. There were only one or two instances of inappropriate behavior, and those offenders were dealt with quickly before they ruined things for everyone else. We expect you to behave in a proper manner when you have guests visiting on visiting days. And remember: While your guests are on this campus, they are to obey our rules and regulations the same as if they were students here. That goes for the male guests as well as the female," she emphasized.

"I remind you," she said slowly, pulling her shoulders back and looking toward the ceiling at the rear of the auditorium, "you are all Greenwood girls now, and Greenwood girls are special. To the newcomers, I recommend that you memorize our slogan: A Greenwood girl is a girl who considers her body and her mind to be holy, and a girl who knows that what she does reflects upon us all. Be proud you are Greenwood girls and make us proud you are one of us.

"Those who have to be issued uniforms and shoes, proceed directly to the commissary in the basement. Everyone, study your schedule, note your times to be at class. Remember, one lateness is a single demerit. The second lateness is four, and the third is six."

"I can't get demerits for being late," Gisselle muttered. "Not moving around in this wheelchair."

Some of the girls who overheard her glanced her way and then looked quickly at Mrs. Ironwood, who once again seemed to be fixed on us coldly, as a butcher bird in the bayou. The long pause caused a ripple of discomfort to pass through the assembly. I felt like I was sitting on a hill of ants and couldn't wait for Mrs. Ironwood to look in a different direction. Finally, she did.

"Our enrollment has gone up, but our classes are still small enough for all of you to get the individualized instruction you need to be successful, if you work up to your full capacity. Good luck to you all," she concluded, then took off her glasses and closed her folder. She glared our way one more time and then marched off the stage. No one moved until she had left the auditorium. Then the girls, many of whom who had held their breaths, broke out in loud chatter as they got up to leave.

"Thanks a lot," Gisselle said, spinning around on me, her eyes full of fire.

"For what?"

"For bringing me to this little hellhole." She spun herself around in her chair, pushing other girls out of her way. Then she looked back. "Samantha," she called.

"What?"

"Push me back to the dorm while my sister goes for her pretty new outfit," she ordered and laughed. Samantha jumped to do her bidding and we all left the auditorium, following behind her as if she had just been appointed queen.

After Abby and I had been issued our uniforms and shoes, we returned to the dorm. On the way I told her the story of Gisselle's car accident and subsequent paralysis. She listened attentively, her dark eyes watering when I described Martin's funeral and Daddy's deep depression during the days immediately following.

"So you can't say the accident made her this way," Abby said.

"No. Unfortunately, Gisselle was Gisselle long before, and I'm afraid she will be this way for a long time yet." Abby laughed.

"Don't you have any brothers or sisters?" I asked her. "No." After a long pause she added, "I wasn't supposed to be born."

"What do you mean?"

"I was an accident. My parents didn't want to have any children," she said.

"Why?"

"They didn't want any," she replied, but I sensed there were deeper, darker reasons, reasons she knew but couldn't voice. She had already been more revealing than she'd intended, which was something I attributed to our getting along so well so quickly. It was natural for Abby and I to want to be close. Except for Gisselle, we two were the only girls in the dorm to be attending Greenwood for the first time. I felt that, in time, I could tell her my story; that she was someone I could trust to keep it locked away.

Back in our quad, we tried on our uniforms. Despite the sizes on the labels, they were big enough for us to swim in them. I decided these clothes were designed to keep our femininity a state secret. Dressed in a baggy blouse with a skirt that touched our ankles, we confronted each other in the sitting room and both fell into hysterics. Gisselle looked pleased. Our laughter brought the other girls out of their rooms where they had been organizing their things.

"What's so funny?" Samantha asked.

"What's so funny? Look at us," I said.

"The Iron Lady designed these uniforms herself," Vicki explained. "So don't complain too loudly."

"Or she'll burn you at the stake," Jacqueline added.

"At least we can wear our own clothes on weekends, at the socials, and when we get invited to Mrs. Clairborne's tea," Kate said.

"Mrs. Clairborne's tea?" Gisselle remarked. "I can't wait."

"Oh, she always has the best little cakes," Kate said. "And pralines!"

"A few dozen of which Chubs manages to shove into her purse and then hide somewhere in the room. I don't know why we don't have rats," Jacqueline said.

"What is this tea exactly?" I asked.

"It's not just one tea. It's frequent and by invitation only. Everyone knows who's been invited and who's not, and the teachers think more highly of you if you're invited more than once."

"Three times makes you a Tea Queen," Jacqueline declared.

"Tea Queen?" Abby looked at me, and I shrugged.

"You keep your tea bag each time you're invited and you pin it on a wall in your room like an award or a commendation," Vicki explained. "It's a Greenwood tradition and an honor. Jacki's right. Those who are invited often are treated better."

"She's saying that because she's a Tea Queen," Jacqueline quipped. "She was invited four times last year."

"And what about you?" Gisselle asked.

"Once. Kate was invited twice, as was Samantha."

"All new girls are invited to the first tea of the year, but that doesn't count because it's automatic," Vicki continued. "Where are the teas held?" Abby asked.

"At the Clairborne mansion. Mrs. Penny will take you up there and give you the history of the house. Here it's almost as important to know those facts as it is to know the facts in American or European history," Jacqueline said. Vicki nodded.