"I can't wait," Gisselle said. "Only I'm not sure I can take the excitement." Kate laughed and Samantha smiled, but Vicki looked shocked by what amounted to blasphemy at Greenwood.

"So," Gisselle continued, "when's the first monthly social, the one with boys?"

"Oh, not for nearly a month. Didn't you read the social calendar in your packet?" Jacqueline said.

"A month? I told Daddy this was like being in a nunnery," she wailed at me. "What about getting into the city?" she quickly asked. The girls looked at each other.

"What do you mean?" Vicki said.

"Getting into the city. What's so hard to understand? You're going to be the valedictorian."

Vicki blanched.

"I . . . well . . ."

"None of us ever left the campus on our own," Jacqueline said.

"Why not?" Gisselle demanded. "There must be places in the city to go where we can meet boys."

"For one thing, you have to have a permission form on file to be able to leave the campus on your own," Vicki explained.

"What? You mean I'm really a prisoner here?"

"Just call your parents and have them file the form," Vicki said with a shrug.

"What about the rest of you? Are you telling me none of you cared before?" No one spoke. "What are you all? Virgins?" Gisselle cried in frustration. Her face was as red as a steamed lobster claw.

Samantha's mouth dropped open. Kate stared with a half-amused, half-amazed smile on her face. Vicki remained nonplussed, but Jacqueline looked ashamed. Abby and I exchanged quick glances.

"Don't tell me you've been obeying all these dumb rules," Gisselle continued, shaking her head in disbelief. "Demerits can—" Vicki began.

"Ruin your chances to become a Tea Queen. I get it," Gisselle said. "There are more important things to pin on your walls than old tea bags," Gisselle snapped, then rolled her wheelchair across the room toward Vicki, who stepped back. "Like love letters. Ever get one?"

Vicki looked around and saw that all eyes were on her. She stammered for a moment.

"I . . . I've got . . . to start my assigned reading for European history," she said. "See you later." She turned and walked quickly to her room. Gisselle spun around and fixed her gaze on Jacqueline.

"Last year a couple of the boys from Rosewood wanted to sneak into our dorm on a weekend night," she revealed. "And?"

"We didn't have the nerve," Jacqueline confessed.

"Well it's this year, and we have the nerve now," Gisselle said. She looked at me. "We'll show them how girls from New Orleans party. Right, Ruby?"

"Don't start, Gisselle. Please."

"Start what? Living? You'd like me to be an obedient little Greenwood girl and roll around quietly in my wheelchair with my mouth shut, my lap full of dried old tea bags, and my knees bound together, wouldn't you?"

"Gisselle, please . . ."

"Who's got a cigarette?" she demanded quickly. Kate's eyes widened. She shook her head. "Samantha?"

"No, I don't smoke."

"Don't smoke. Don't see boys. What do you girls do, read fan magazines and masturbate?"

It was as if thunder had shaken the dorm. I was so embarrassed by my sister's outburst I had to look down at the floor.

"All right," Gisselle continued, "don't worry. I'm here now. Things will be different. I promise. It just so happens," she said with a smile, "I smuggled in some cigarettes of my own."

"Gisselle, you'll get everyone in trouble, and the first day too," I protested.

"You're not chicken, are you?" she asked Jacqueline, Kate, and Samantha. "Good," she said when they didn't respond. "Come into my room. You can help me organize my records and we'll share a cigarette. Maybe I'll get us something better soon," she added, smiling. She spun her chair around and headed for our room. No one moved. "Well?" she snapped.

Jacqueline started after her first, and then Kate and Samantha followed.

"Close the door," Gisselle ordered when they were all in our room.

"I never thought twin sisters could be so different," Abby remarked and then realized what she had said. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean . . ."

"That's all right. I never thought so either. Until I met her," I said and bit my tongue. But it was too late.

"Met her?"

"It's a long story," I said. "I wasn't supposed to tell it to anyone here."

"I understand," Abby said. From the way she looked when she said it, I believed she did understand.

"But I don't mind telling it to you," I added. She smiled.

"Why don't we go into my room," she suggested. I looked back at the closed door behind which Gisselle was holding court with her new protégées. It was a scene I wanted no part of at the moment.

"Good idea," I said. "While we talk, I'll organize the things of Gisselle's you had to take. I'd better go through some of it too," I said, throwing a glance back at our room. "No telling what else she smuggled in here."

A little over an hour later, Mrs. Penny came to our quad to see how we were all doing. If she had smelled any smoke coming from our room, she didn't reveal it. Frankly, I didn't see how she could miss it. The stench was on the girls' clothing and lingered in the air despite their opening our windows.

"I'm also here to formally pass on Mrs. Clairborne's invitation to Abby, Gisselle, and Ruby to attend tea at her home on Saturday at two," she said. "You can wear what you wish, but you should dress appropriately," she added, winking. "It's a formal tea."

"Oh no! And I left my formal tea dress home," Gisselle said.

"Pardon, dear?"

"Nothing," Gisselle said, smiling. I saw how Samantha and Kate were smiling behind Mrs. Penny's back. Jacki was wearing her usual smirk, but it was clear that all three were still in awe of my sister.

"Good. Well then, dinner's in less than fifteen minutes," Mrs. Penny sang out. "New girls don't have chores until the second week," she added and then sauntered off.

"What was that supposed to mean?" Gisselle inquired, wheeling herself into the center of the sitting room. "What chores?"

"All of us help out in the dining room. The responsibilities are scheduled and posted on the bulletin board in the main lobby," Jacqueline said. "This week Vicki, Samantha, Chubs, and I have bus-girl duties. We have to clean off the tables and bring the dirty dishes and silverware into the kitchen after everyone's finished eating. The girls in B and C quad are waitresses, and the girls in D quad set the table."

"What?" Gisselle spun her chair around to face me. "You didn't tell me this."

"I just found out myself, Gisselle. What's the big deal?"

"What's the big deal? I don't do maid's work."

"I'm sure no one will expect you to do anything since . . ." Vicki started to say but stopped.

Gisselle glared at her. "Since I'm crippled? Is that what you wanted to say?"

"I was going to say 'since you're in a wheelchair.' You can't be expected to carry dishes into the kitchen."

"She can set a table," I said and smiled at my sister, who, if looks were fire, would have burned me to a crisp.

"What I can do and what I will do are two different things. If these other dopes want to pay all this money to go to a private school and work as maids as well, then let them," she said.

"All the girls do it in all the dorms, especially the two big ones," Samantha said. Gisselle threw a glance at her that had the same effect a slap would have had. She bit her lower lip and stepped back. "They do," she muttered to me and Abby.

"Why should any of us be afraid of a little work?" I said.

"You would say that. You . . ." Gisselle stopped herself from revealing my Cajun background and glanced quickly at the others. "I'm hungry. Let's go. Samantha," she cried, and Samantha jumped forward to push Gisselle's chair.

In the dining room we met the other girls in our dorm. With the upstairs quads, there were fifty-four in all. Three long tables were set up in the large room that was brightly lit by four big chandeliers. The walls were paneled in a dark wood, with framed prints of plantation scenes and scenes on the bayou evenly hung on each wall. Everyone was chattering excitedly when we arrived, but the sight of Gisselle in the chair quieted them down some. She returned every gaze with her own fierce look of condemnation, causing eyes to shift in every direction but hers. Vicki showed us to our places. Because of her wheelchair, Gisselle was situated at the head of our table, something she enjoyed and quickly used to her advantage. In moments she was determining the subjects of the conversation, ordering this be passed and that be passed and going off on long descriptions of her exciting lifestyle back in New Orleans.

The girls seemed fascinated with her. Some, who looked even snobbier to me, gazed at her as if she were a ghost from the cemetery of bad manners, but Gisselle let nothing slow her down. She treated the girls who were serving our food as if they were no better than hired servants, demanding, complaining, and never once saying "thank you" for anything.

The food was good, but not nearly as good as the food Nina made for us back home. After the meal had ended and the girls from our quad began clearing the table, Gisselle ordered me to take her back to our room.

"I won't wait for them," she said. "They're absolute idiots."

"No they're not, Gisselle," I said. "They're just participating in what's ours. It's fun. It makes you feel like this is your place, your home away from home."

"Not to me. To me it's a nightmare away from home," she said. "Take me to the room. I want to listen to some records and write some letters to my friends, who will want to know about this poor excuse for a school," she said, loud enough for everyone around us to hear. "Oh, Jacki," she said, calling back. "When you girls are finished with your chores, you can come to my room to listen to my records and learn what's up to date."

I pushed her out as fast as I could. She screamed I was going to crash her into a wall, but that's just what I hoped to do. Abby followed us. We had already decided that she and I would take a walk to the lake after dinner. I was going to ask Gisselle to come along, but since she had already decided on what she wanted to do, I didn't mention it.

"Where are you two going?" she demanded after I had brought her to our room.

"Outside, for a walk. Do you want to come?"

"I don't walk, remember?" she said curtly and shut the door.

"I'm sorry," I said to Abby. "I'm afraid I’ll be apologizing for my sister forever."

She smiled and shook her head.

"I thought I had a cross to bear and should feel sorry for myself, but after seeing what you have to put up with . Abby said when we walked out of the dorm.

"What do you mean, you thought you had a cross to bear? What could be your cross? Your parents seemed very nice."

"Oh, they are. I love them very much."

"Then what did you mean? Are you suffering from some disease or something? You seem as healthy as a young alligator."

Abby laughed. "No, thank God, I am very healthy."

"And pretty, too."

"Thank you. So are you."

"So? What's your cross to bear?" I pursued. "I trusted you with my story," I told her after a moment.

She was quiet. We started down the walkway, heading toward the lake. She kept her head down, but I looked up at the half moon peeking over the shoulder of a cloud. The silvery rays coolly illuminated the warm night and made our new world ethereal, like the setting of a dream we were all sharing. Off to our right, the other two dorms were all lit up, and here and there we spotted other girls taking walks or just gathered in small groups talking.

When we made the turn that would take us down to the water, we could hear the bullfrogs, cicadas, and other nocturnal creatures coming alive in their ritualistic night music, a symphony full of croaks and clicks, rattles and thin whistles.

Because we were so far from any highways, the sounds of traffic never reached us, but in the distance I could see the red and green running lights of the oil barges on the Mississippi and imagined the sounds of foghorns and the voices of riverboat passengers. Sometimes, on nights like this, people's voices could carry for more than a mile over the water, and if you closed your eyes and listened, you could feel either your movement or theirs as more and more distance fell between you.

Below us, the lake had taken on a metallic sheen. It was so still that I could barely perceive a bobbing in the rowboats tied at the small dock next to the boathouse as we approached. It was a good-sized lake with a small island in the middle. We were nearly down to the dock before Abby spoke again.