Bad Girl School Read online

  “That’s your bed,” Evelina said. “The one with the cat.”

  “I can’t sleep there,” I retorted. “I hate cats.”

  “Oh, don’t worry. Jag ignores everybody. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen him in here.”

  She made shoo-ing noises until the cat left, shooting me a glance of disdain on his way out. He had ugly yellow eyes and a too-long tail that stood straight up in the air and curled at the end like a monkey’s.

  “Your drawers are that one there, and the one below it. The top one has your uniforms in it— shorts for gym, long pants for everything else. The other is for your other clothes. Unpack and change, please.”

  I put my suitcase on the bed and opened it. It contained seven pairs of white cotton panties, four white cotton bras, five pairs of white cotton socks, two pairs of pajamas, and a pair of sandals in a plastic bag. In a little hanging bag that I’d never seen before were a hairbrush, toothbrush, tube of toothpaste, bar of soap, contact lens supplies, and shampoo. That was it in the way of grooming aids.

  Just like Dad, I thought. He hadn’t packed a razor, tweezers, make-up, any of the stuff I needed just to make it to breakfast.

  I said to Evelina, “Is there a little store here? Where I can get some, like, lipstick and mascara?”

  “Cosmetics aren’t allowed here.”

  “Oh.”

  “Neither is money.”

  “This sucks, you know that? Why don’t you just go ahead and call it a prison?”

  She said, “I don’t think of it that way. You could look at it as a great opportunity.”

  Opportunity for what? I thought. To turn into a robot?

  “You know what?” I said. “That’s the whole problem with the adult world. You think we’re idiots.”

  And then, to my humiliation, I started crying again.

  Ignoring my complete and utter anguish, Evelina said coolly, “I need you to change, please.”

  “What if I don’t?”

  “You get a consequence.”

  “And that means?”

  A storm blew in and threw her books on the disheveled bed. She was slightly heavy and looked okay at first glance, with this cool black bob and a scorpion tattoo on her ankle, visible because she was wearing gym shorts. But there was something strange about her energy, something weirdly hostile, I thought. And she was a muddy mustard color I didn’t much care for.

  Evelina stood up. “Kara, Deborah,” she said. “Your new roommate.”

  “Reeno,” I said.

  “Huh?”

  “What people call me.”

  “I beg your pardon,” Evelina said. “Reeno.” That was just about the last thing I expected to hear. I was actually going to get something I wanted? It had been so long I didn’t know how to deal with it.

  “Kara, could you take Reeno to the dining room for orientation?”

  “Do I have to? I’ve got to…”

  “Yes, you have to,” Evelina answered, so perfectly catching Kara’s whiny tone I snickered. Kara shot me the evil eye.

  At the same time, blinding pain ripped through my head. I grabbed my face in my hands. “Ow!”

  “Reeno, what is it?” Evelina sounded frightened.

  I pulled myself together as the pain began to subside. “I don’t know. I must have moved wrong. Sudden headache, that’s all.”

  Evelina looked from Kara to me, then back to Kara. “That’ll be five consequences,” she said to my roommate.

  “For what? I didn’t do anything.”

  “Really?” She said it that sarcastic way people have. And Evelina didn’t strike me as a sarcastic person.

  If they were going to fight, fine. “Never mind,” I said. “I’m sure I can find the dining room,” and I left both of them standing there speechless.

  ***

  It felt great to be outside and on my own— so great I considered making a run for it. But where was I going to go? I was contemplating that when I ran smack into a tall skinny dude walking ahead of me. He turned around, looking bemused, an expression that quickly changed to something between kindness and appreciation. Like maybe he liked my extremely eccentric appearance. Or felt sorry for me or something, I couldn’t quite read him. At any rate, he seemed perfectly nice, even gave me a little smile. And promptly began spewing vile poison at me. “What the hell are you doing out of uniform? You are so pathetic. What a crybaby!”

  I was on the verge of tears, and that tipped me over. I felt my cheeks go wet and the skinny kid turned slightly pale. “Oh shit!” He was clearly horrified, definitely one of those guys disgusted by female tears. “That way,” he said, pointing. Then he turned and ran— exactly in the direction he’d pointed.

  What the hell to make of any of that?

  But there was something even more puzzling. He was a color I call oily olive, a color I’d seen only once before. It was Haley’s color.

  The boy’d steered me right. The building he indicated housed a giant room with a vaulted ceiling and gothic windows, furnished with heavy wooden tables and chairs like you might find in a monastery. Very nice, actually. Some kids were eating in the far left corner, where the skinny kid was just sitting down.

  I was still trying to get my bearings when a lavender girl called my name. My real name: Reeno. Evelina must have called her. I was pleased with that— maybe I had one friend here, even if she was faculty.

  “Orientation, right? Come over here.” The lavender girl beckoned me to join her and an orangey dude with a truly excellent build, but kind of shy-looking. “I’m Rachel, Level Four. Carlos, meet Reeno, fellow Level One.” Rachel had green eyes and long wavy brown hair, parted on the side and a little messy. But nothing else about her was messy. She was so completely one hundred percent Good Girl material. I couldn’t imagine how she’d come to be at Bad Girl School. Maybe she was a perfect example of how brainwashing works. A major prissy-lips, not remotely my type, but Carlos was definitely my type— kind of rough and tumble, with a couple of macho tattoos, very spiky and tribal.

  While I was assessing my tablemates, someone brought us lunch: One hot dog, one small cup of chili. No mustard, ketchup, or other condiments. Gingerly, we picked at the meager fare while Rachel filled us in on the set-up.

  “There are six levels of progress in the remedial unit. You are Level Ones. As such, you will operate under a stringent set of rules and you will receive consequences for breaking them.”

  I was dying to know what a consequence was, but I knew enough to keep my mouth shut.

  “You will reach the next level by earning points. A consequence removes five points.”

  Oh.

  “You may receive mail only from parents and approved family members. Your incoming mail will be monitored, and anything inappropriate will be withheld. You will receive e-mail in the form of printouts from your adviser. All letters you write to friends or family will be read first by us and then sent to your parents, who may then withhold any they wish.”

  As if that didn’t suck enough, she started in on the “no’s.” No make-up and no money was the least of it. It went like this:

  No phone calls, period; even from parents.

  In fact, no phones— which meant no texting.

  No visitors.

  No weekends at home.

  No Internet access.

  No care packages.

  No food or beverages, except what you got in the dining room.

  No gifts, except on birthdays and Christmas.

  No sharp objects.

  No tweezers, nail files, or nail clippers.

  No matches.

  No music.

  No television.

  No mustard.

  No ketchup.

  No salsa.

  No salt.

  No pepper.

  Do I need to mention no drugs, cigarettes, alcohol, guns, gum, or explosive devices?

  I didn’t think so.

  But I could have lotion. And one stuffed animal. Both of which Dad had forgo
tten.

  CHAPTER FOUR—HOMEROOM

  I was totally freaked. The only thing I had left were my snakes. Well, those and my hair, which is a total disaster, according to Chief Patricia Dimond of the Fashion Police (aka my mom), but which actually rocks. She’s always trying to get me to cut it, have it straightened, thin it, preppy-chick-it. Forget that. Nobody has hair like mine.

  I wear it kind of like a lion’s mane, and it’s a totally fabulous color. My dad calls it pink, but it’s actually raspberry, the exact color of the ice cream. My mother ranted for two hours when she saw it, but it’s been this way for months. She would have grounded me, but she got distracted. That was the day Haley cut her hand and hemorrhaged.

  After the initial rant, Mom just kind of forgot my hair, so I figured it was safe to get the snakes. Now that I did get grounded for— and cried over and yelled at too— but it blew over like I knew it would. Those days Mom had bigger things on her mind than me. So for the moment I had my snakes, each winding sinuously around one of my upper arms.

  And I had my green nail polish, but that would grow out. At least emery boards were allowed. I could request some through Evelina, I learned, and my parents could send them. They couldn’t send care packages, but they could send a last-minute cache of things they’d forgotten. And I needed stuff. Where was my lotion? And my one stuffed animal? I felt very forlorn.

  But just the same, I was through with crying. Instead, I was going to fight.

  You don’t even know how to fight.

  I heard it as clearly as if Rachel had spoken. But it was a man’s voice, an older man’s, a smug kind of voice with maybe a slight British accent.

  Only it couldn’t be.

  One thing, the speaker would have had to read my mind to know what I was thinking. Another, there wasn’t a speaker. We were in the hall at the time, the three of us, on our way to Evaluation, whatever that was. Just us and that fat, ugly cat lying across the doorway in front of us, sprawled out like Jabba the Hutt.

  I don’t notice you getting any modeling contracts, the voice said, just as Rachel shooed the cat. It was the same voice I’d hallucinated in Santa Barbara, exactly the same! But it couldn’t be, right?

  “Jag. Out of the way.”

  Must be lack of sleep— The Dream had awakened me at four o’clock and I’d never dozed off again.

  Evaluation meant tests, it developed.

  And after the tests, I had my schedule: English, Biology, Gym, and my two electives, Second-year Spanish and Latin-American History, which went nicely together. Plus, I figured Carlos, who had a slight accent, would pick those two as well. So far he was the only person on campus I liked, if you didn’t count Evelina.

  He walked me back to the dorm. Woo-hoo, I was scoring! “So,” I asked, “is it bad form to ask what you’re in for?”

  “I don’t know, I just got here. But I don’t care who the hell knows. The calico’s unbagged anyhow. I’m here because my parents don’t want me at home. They trumped up something and got me in on a technicality.”

  I was kind of amused. “You were framed? Don’t they all say that?”

  “Uh-uh, I wasn’t framed. I did exactly what they thought I did. But St. Joan’s wouldn’t have thought it was grounds for admission. They could care less.”

  I was mystified. “What did you do?”

  “Took a guy to the homecoming dance.”

  Oops! Not scoring after all. But I had to laugh. He was so matter of fact about it.

  “It’s not funny. Ted and I can’t see each other till I get to Level Five.”

  “Forget about Ted. You can be my girl friend.”

  He stopped and stared at me. “Hey. Nobody in Bakersfield talks like that.”

  “This ain’t Kansas, Toto.”

  “All right, Miss Thing!” He paused, like he’d surprised himself. “Hey! I’ve been waiting my whole life to say that to somebody.” He raised a hand for a high-five and just like that, I had my first friend.

  “I had a feeling about you,” he said, “the minute I saw you.”

  “Yeah, well, I had a feeling about you— only it wasn’t the same feeling.”

  He laughed, but only to be polite. He had something on his mind. “That’s not what I mean. I just feel like…”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know. Like we have something to do together.”

  “You mean like… a science project?”

  “Go on, laugh. It’s weird.”

  “You get these feelings a lot? I’m pretty sure they’ve got a campus shrink.”

  “I’ll tell you what else. Somebody in that dining room was thinking about you.”

  “I didn’t even know anyone in there!”

  “Yes, you did. Tall dude? You know, that preppy-looking type with the clothes that always look ironed even when they’re wrinkled? Hair like a Kennedy?”

  “Oh, him! Probably thinking up murder methods. He hates me.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Something funny about that guy.”

  “Yeah. Like he’s crazy. And mean.”

  “Uh-uh. He’s sad. Just really sad.”

  “Like you.”

  I stared at him. “It shows, huh?”

  “Want to grab something to drink and talk about it?”

  “Where? The dining hall’s only open for meals, right?

  “My room. The lady’s choice: Red Bull, vitamin water, some kind of peach tea thing…”

  “You’ve got Red Bull?”

  “And some delicious bottled coffees.”

  Oh, man! Not only a friend, but one with contraband.

  So we drank forbidden elixir and showed each other our tats and poured out our sad stories, his about being a gay kid in a working class family, mine about Haley. And stealing, of course.

  I hated the idea of going back to my room, but finally there really wasn’t any choice. I was going to have to face the bitch with the evil stare, the one who’d hated me on sight. With luck, she’d be out torturing puppies or something.

  But no, my luck, she was there, sitting on the floor with another girl, wearing a black leather skirt and fishnets, an odd choice for a Saturday afternoon. The other girl, looking equally eccentric in desert fatigues, was the color of coffee, no cream— so far the only black kid I’d seen— but to me she was eggplant. She looked good with Kara’s muddy mustard.

  Kara had her legs drawn up under her, so as not to show panties, and the other girl was cross-legged. Midway between them lay a deck of cards, but they didn’t appear to be playing a game. Their eyes were closed.

  I watched from the door a moment, trying to figure out what was going on, and saw Kara peek. “Is it working?” she murmured, and then, spying me out of the corner of her eye, “Eeeeeeeee!”

  The black girl’s eyes flew open. And the weirdest thing happened— the cards flew all over the place. I mean it. Literally flew. Like someone had picked up the deck and flung it.

  I stepped into the room, expecting to see a window open. “Hey, is there a windstorm in here?”

  Kara said, “What the frick did you just do?” and with that I went over the edge.

  “Listen, Headache Eyes, I think we missed a few beats. Could we go back to the beginning? ‘Hi, Kara, nice to meet you.’ ‘Hi, Reeno, welcome to St. Joan’s. Anything I can do to make you miserable?’ ‘Nice of you to offer, Kara, but that won’t be necessary today. I JUST GOT ABANDONED BY MY FAMILY AND DROPPED OFF AT ST. PSYCHO’S SCHOOL FOR LOSERS. EVERYTHING’S JUST CRAPTASTIC, THANKS!’ ”

  I screamed that last part so loud someone started running down the hall, no doubt to check on the murder-in-progress. Slightly ashamed of myself, I went out to apologize, nearly running smack into an old lady about half my size, Mexican-looking, wrinkled as a prune, and hair in a bun.

  “Everytheeng okay?” she said, surprisingly unruffled at coming face-to-face with Psycho Girl.

  “Sorry. I’ve just had kind of a bad day.”

  “Okay.” She gave
me a big smile and turned away, like this kind of thing happened all the time. We didn’t really talk, but something about her just seemed nice. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but I knew she had my back, I just knew it somehow. I wanted to stop her, do a more flowery apology, but she was already halfway down the hall.

  I turned back to Kara and the black girl. “I think I scared that lady.”

  “Nothin’ fazes Abuela. She’s our housemother,” the stranger said, “Used to way worse stuff. Usually before breakfast.” She got up and offered to shake hands. “I’m Sonya, by the way. Tell you what— why don’t I take Kara to my room, give you a little space?”

  Kara got up too and almost looked at me. Not quite— she kind of focused a little past my left ear— but I could tell she was addressing me because she too, stuck out her hand. “Peace?” she said, and we shook, me wondering what would happen if our eyes actually met.

  ***

  Okay then: alone at last. I needed a nap the worst kind of way, but who could sleep? My brain felt like a pretzel.

  I just lay there for awhile, crazy twisting around pycho, sad twining with miserable.

  Already I was missing Dad and Mom and Haley. Well, maybe Mom not so much, but Dad and Haley a lot. I fought off tears, thinking about it. Every day with Haley meant so much more than a day with anyone else.

  Because there probably wouldn’t be that many.

  So I needed to get out of there as soon as possible. I saw it as clearly as if I’d read it in Wikipedia: What I wanted was to get back home, and if I had to play their stupid game to do it, I was going to. Level One through Level Six, what could be so hard?

  Okay, then, that was that. I was doing it. Instant Suck-up Girl.

  What would it cost me to do what they wanted? As long as I had my snakes— and they couldn’t take those away— I knew who I was. Right now I had nothing else to do but earn points and avoid consequences. Why not do it?

  My dad used to really irritate me by saying, “When the going gets tough, the tough get going.” An old marine thing, I think. Major league annoying. But the first week of Bad Girl School, I said it over and over to myself, like a mantra.