more than the discontents of children—but in these past hours she had come to realize how the world could change, and, though she knew she could still stop it, she also knew she would not.
She sat in the antechamber outside the principal’s office of the boarding school, in a richly-upholstered chair that for all its luxury could not seem to sit her comfortably. Her eyes stared out the window, watching the rain as it washed down the glass and soaked into the closely clipped lawn outside, somehow looking but still not seeing—Phyllis Ann was in there now, talking with the principal. If she would only tell the truth, tell what had actually happened—but Elise knew she would not. Phyllis Ann would lie, or she would remain silent, whichever she thought would better suit her purposes; and Elise would be called in to answer questions she did not want to answer, make choices she did not want to make—choices she should never have to make.
Only the day before, everything had been fine. Elise had studied through the afternoon and late into the night, using a small, shaded lamp after lights-out had been called on their hall, studying for a history examination that was due in Miss Jackson’s class that following day. Phyllis Ann had come in long after curfew had been called on the school grounds, having gone out riding with several of the boys from town after Elise had refused to go; and she had gone directly to sleep—Elise had reminded her of the examination, and of her near-to-failing grade in the class, but Phyllis Ann had not seemed concerned. She had only groused about the light and the late hour, and then had gone to sleep, as if she had not one care in the world.
But, still, when the examination had begun that next morning, Elise had been surprised to see her friend referring to a small bit of paper she kept hidden in her hand. Elise had stared in open disbelief until Phyllis Ann’s angry glance made her turn her eyes away—Phyllis Ann was cheating, when Elise had never before seen anyone cheat in all her months at the school. The other students knew better, for they all knew that cheating garnered the most immediate and the worst possible punishment—expulsion, with no defense heard, and none to be given.
About a half-hour into the examination, Phyllis Ann had dropped her notes—it had been an accident, a clumsy movement of a hand, a shifting of papers, sending the small scrap of cheat notes onto the floor between Phyllis Ann’s desk and Elise. The two girls had looked at each other nervously, that small scrap of paper lying like a damnation between them. Neither could bend to pick it up, for Miss Jackson’s sharp eyes would be sure to catch such a movement, and she would then demand to see what it was that had been retrieved from the floor—but they both knew the notes could never remain where they were.
Miss Jackson moved about the classroom, first up one aisle and then down another, pausing at the front or rear for just a moment, and then moving on. Elise’s eyes met Phyllis Ann’s in a desperate nervousness. Phyllis Ann would be immediately expelled if the notes were found, packed up, sent home—Elise could see the fear clearly written on her friend’s face, not at the possibility of expulsion itself, but at what she knew could happen to her once she reached home. Ethan Bennett, Phyllis Ann’s father, was well known to have a violent temper, and Elise herself knew he had beaten both his daughter and his wife on more than one occasion in the past—she had seen the bruises, the bloodied nose, the blackened eye, even the fractured collarbone from when he had slung Phyllis Ann against the stair rail on her tenth birthday. Elise could little doubt the reception Phyllis Ann would receive at home—or the honesty of the fear that now filled the other girl’s eyes.
Miss Jackson started up the aisle that passed between the girls’ desks, and Elise found herself praying fervently to a God she hoped was there—please, let her go on by. Please, God, just let her go on by—
The teacher stopped before their desks, and Elise sat, almost holding her breath, as she stared down at the words she had written only moments before on the examination paper. She dared not look up to know for certain—
Miss Jackson bent, picking up the small scrap of note-covered paper from the floor between them. It was a long moment before she spoke, staring down at the cheat notes in her hand. “Miss Bennett, Miss Whitley, would you please come with me.”
They had followed her out into the hallway and directly to the principal’s office. There had been only one brief moment when they had been left alone in the antechamber, one brief moment, and hurriedly whispered words.
“If we stick together, she can’t do a thing to either of us—” Phyllis Ann had said, clinging to her arm, her fingers biting into the flesh until Elise’s wrist hurt. “She doesn’t know who had the notes—if you don’t talk, and I don’t talk, she can’t prove a thing. She won’t expel both of us, knowing one of us hasn’t done anything wrong—you’ve got to stick with me. It’ll be all right; you’ll see—”
The door had opened before Elise could say a word, but she knew that Phyllis Ann expected her to remain silent, that Phyllis Ann believed—
Elise sat now wondering if for once in her life she might not disappoint her friend—but she knew she could not. If she told the truth, if she told that the notes had belonged to Phyllis Ann, then her best friend would be immediately expelled from the school, sent home—and Phyllis Ann would go back to Endicott County to face her father, and her father’s temper, and a hell that Elise could only imagine. But, if she remained silent—
Elise stared out the window now, at the rain washing away the self-assurance of a world she thought she knew. If Phyllis Ann was wrong, then they both could be expelled, sent home in disgrace—but she could not let herself think about that, about going home now to face her own father should everything go wrong. Damn you—Elise thought. Damn you for putting me in this situation. Something inside of her told her that she should protect herself, that she should tell the truth, that she should make the other choice—
The door to the principal’s office opened and Phyllis Ann walked out. The girl stopped for a moment, looking at Elise, the fingers of one hand toying at the long strand of beads that hung about her neck, a clear confidence in her eyes that her friend would never betray her—damn you, Elise thought again, staring at her as she rose to her feet. Damn you for knowing me so well.
Eva Perry sat behind her desk, looking at Elise Whitley as the girl sat with her head lowered, her eyes staring down at the hands folded quietly in her lap—Elise looked frightened, worried, more ill-at-ease than Eva had ever before seen her in all the months she had been at the school, allowing the principal at least the brief hope that she might be able to get the truth out of her. But she knew she would not. She had known that from the moment Elise had walked into the room, had read it in her eyes, and, for once in her life, she wished she did not know girls of that age so well, for she would have liked nothing more now than to hear Elise Whitley speak the truth.
Phyllis Ann Bennett had been the one to cheat; Eva knew that, just as surely as she also knew she could do nothing without proof. The cheat notes had been so hastily scribbled as to make the handwriting unrecognizable, and their position on the floor could have laid either girl to blame, but Eva knew, of the two girls, that Phyllis Ann would have had to have been the one using the notes. Elise was too good a student to have a need to cheat, and, besides, the girl was not even the type to think of employing such a device. But Phyllis Ann Bennett was another matter altogether. There was not much in this world the principal would put past a girl like Phyllis Ann.
“Well, Elise?” Eva prompted, hoping against her own instincts that the girl would tell the truth and admit it had been her friend using the notes—but something in the girl’s expression dashed that hope. Elise would remain silent, or she would deny any knowledge of the cheat notes altogether as Phyllis Ann had done—but there had been an underlying nervousness behind Phyllis Ann’s denial, a poorly-concealed fear that had spoken the truth, and a twist to her words that had said she would very much have liked to have laid the blame at Elise’s feet, if she had only known how to do so. But this girl before her now would protect
