She was so full of smiles and enthusiasm that I forgot to be shy. “We can carry everything,” I told her, “if you’ll just show me where my room is.”
“Okay,” she said. “Follow me!” We grabbed my stuff out of the car and followed her into the house and up the stairs.
“This is it,” she announced, throwing open a door. “Room nine. Of course, your roommate is already all moved in, because she’s been here since September. But Alexis won’t be back until tomorrow, along with the other students. Only you brand-new girls are arriving today. That should give you plenty of time to move in.”
“Alexis?” I replied.
Pam nodded. “Alexis DeCamp. That’s your roommate’s name. She’s — she’s looking forward to meeting you, I’m sure.”
For the first time, Pam didn’t sound sure. But maybe that was my imagination.
“And now I have to fly. I have a meeting with my sculpture teacher. So make yourself at home. The bathroom’s down the hall — I’m sure you’ll find it — and there’s a living room downstairs. You have orientation in a couple of hours, over at the meetinghouse. I’ll see you after that.”
With one last smile and a big wave, she was off.
My parents and I looked around the room, trying to figure out where to put all the things I’d brought. “There doesn’t seem to be much space left,” my father observed.
He was right. It wasn’t a big room, and it seemed as if Alexis had claimed most of it. The room was square with white walls and woodwork. There were two beds, one on either side of the room, and two desks, one at the foot of each bed. Between two windows ran a long, low dresser with three big drawers on either side. There was a small closet as well.
One of the beds was bare; that was obviously mine. The other was covered with a vivid purple spread made of crushed velvet. The top of the dresser, which we were obviously meant to share, was covered with Alexis’s things: perfume and makeup bottles and photos in silver frames. I wondered if she’d left me any drawer space and was relieved when I opened the top drawer on “my” side and saw that it was empty. Well, mostly empty. Except for three mismatched socks.
The closet was pretty full. That wasn’t a big problem, since I hadn’t brought too many clothes. I hung up a few things and put the rest, neatly folded, into my bottom drawer.
I looked around for a spot to hang up the collage my friends had given me, which was made up of pictures of everyone in the BSC as well as of our charges. But Alexis had already hung up several posters — mostly of slightly scary-looking rock stars — and there didn’t seem to be a bare spot big enough for my collage. I slid it under my bed to keep it safe until I could make room for it.
Mom helped me make my bed. My navy blue bedspread looked kind of boring next to Alexis’s purple one, but I didn’t care. It was familiar, and I was going to need all the help I could get to feel at home in this room.
We arranged my books on the desk nearest my bed, and I set my small collection of crystal horses on the windowsill next to the desk, not wanting to move Alexis’s things from my half of the dresser top. She’d move them herself when she came back. I figured she must have left in a hurry for vacation, forgetting that she’d have a new roommate when she returned.
It didn’t take long to unpack my stuff. Still, by the time we were done, it was almost time for orientation.
“Would you like us to walk you over there before we go?” asked Mom.
I shook my head. “No, I think I want to go alone.” It was time to begin my new life, and I couldn’t do that with my parents holding my hand.
My dad smiled. “Mal, we want you to know how proud we are of you. This is a big step for you, and you made the decision all by yourself. You’re really growing up.”
Oh, man. That lump in my throat? It was suddenly the size of Nebraska. I couldn’t say a thing. I just hugged him. Then I hugged my mom. Then I said good-bye to them and let them walk out the door.
Without throwing myself at their legs.
After they’d gone, I looked around the room. Now that my stuff was unpacked, it looked a teensy bit more familiar. I lay down on the bed for a second, and stuck my nose into my pillow. It was the one from my bed at home, and I hope this doesn’t sound too weird, but smelling it made me feel calm and peaceful. Somehow it reminded me that I was still me, Mallory Pike. Even though I was in a brand-new place where I didn’t know anyone, I still had myself. Weird? I don’t care.
I had one last thing to unpack: my journal. I pulled it out of my backpack and stuck it under my mattress.
Then I stood up and checked myself in the mirror on the inside of the closet door. Yup, I was still Mallory. Curls, glasses, braces, and all. Oh, well.
I headed for orientation.
There weren’t many of us in the big meeting hall. In fact, there was only one other new sixth-grader. I learned her name when Ms. Maxwell, the dean of students, asked us to introduce ourselves.
Smita Narula.
Now that’s a much more interesting name than Mallory Pike. Smita looked beautiful, with her shiny black hair, black eyes, and light brown skin. She was Indian, she explained. Her parents had come to America the year before she was born. They used to live in New Delhi, and now they lived in New York City. Smita already had some friends who attended Riverbend, which is how she’d heard about it. I liked her right away. Her serene way of speaking made me feel calm and relaxed.
Smita and I sat together during Ms. Maxwell’s presentation about Riverbend. I’d already heard most of the information during my visit last fall, but it was good to hear it again.
Riverbend is a special place. It’s an alternative school with progressive ideas about education. The focus is on drama, writing, dance, visual arts, and music. Even the other courses such as math and gym are given a creative twist. Ms. Maxwell said we were expected to call our teachers by their first names, which I knew was going to be hard for me at first. (Ms. Maxwell told us to call her Jane.) The youngest students are in fifth grade, the eldest in twelfth. Everybody lives in the dorms, and every dorm has a prefect.
Riverbend is collectively run, which means that all the students and teachers work to keep the school community going. Jobs are assigned on a monthly basis, and they include things such as yardwork, helping in the library, or working in the faculty day care center (yes!). As new students, we wouldn’t be expected to help out until we’d settled in, so our jobs wouldn’t start for a few weeks. Riverbend students and teachers also work in the larger community, doing volunteer projects in Easton and other local towns.
We met with Ms. Maxwell — Jane! — for about an hour. Then we sat down to a dinner of steak and salad (and pasta for any girls who were vegetarian). After that, orientation was over. Smita and I had discovered that we both lived in Earhart (she lives on the first floor), so we walked back to our dorm together.
Pam greeted us and showed us in to the living room. We sat and talked for a while, but before long I realized that I was too tired to keep my eyes open. It had been a long day. I said good night to Pam and Smita and headed upstairs to bed. I was so sleepy I didn’t even take time to write in my journal. I’d catch up the next day, which would be my first full day at Riverbend. As I drifted off to sleep, I crossed my fingers and hoped that it would be a good one.
“Who are you?”
That was a tough question. Not only did I not know who I was, I didn’t know where I was, or why I was there.
Did you ever wake up that way, on your first morning in a new place? Nothing seems familiar, and just for a second you feel lost in space. Then, after a moment, you start to put all the pieces back together.
“I’m Mallory,” I answered groggily.
Mallory Pike. Waking to face my first day as a member of the Riverbend Hall community. And this girl standing over me must be my new roommate.
“Alexis?” I asked.
“Well, duh.”
Oh, great. That was a good start.
“Are your parents here?
” I asked.
“No. They just left.”
“Oh.” So it was just the two of us. Alone. For the next five months.
Suddenly, having a roommate seemed a little scary. I hadn’t given it much thought; after all, I’d spent practically my whole life with a roommate. I was used to it. But a younger sister was one thing, and Alexis was another.
I sat up in bed, put on my glasses, and took a good look at Alexis DeCamp. My first impression? She was intimidating. She looked very mature, very sure of herself. Her blonde hair was cut short and spiked with gel. (I didn’t know a single sixth-grader back in Stoneybrook with the guts for that kind of cut.) She wore a black sweater, a short black skirt, and black high-tops. No wishy-washy navy blue for this girl. Her jewelry? Well, I bet you can guess she wasn’t wearing unicorn earrings or a smiley-face ring. No, she wore tiny black metal hoops, three in one ear, two in the other.
I looked down at my flowered flannel pajamas, feeling about six years old.
And I felt a knot begin to grow in my stomach.
What if I’d made a terrible mistake? What if the girls at Riverbend were just like the kids at SMS? What if — what if they were even worse? Maybe I wasn’t going to fit in at all.
I tried to keep from panicking. I reminded myself about Smita and Pam and the other girls at orientation who had all seemed friendly and pleasant. I took a deep breath and tried to relax.
“So, here’s the deal,” Alexis announced as I got ready for brunch. “I’ve been at Riverbend for a year and a half now, and believe me, I know the ropes. Pay attention to what I tell you and you’ll fit in just fine.”
It was as if she’d read my mind. How could she know I was worried about fitting in?
“And as for our room, well, there are just a few basic rules. Rules that make life easier for everyone.” Alexis began to pace around the room. She didn’t seem to notice that I hadn’t said a word since “Oh.”
“First of all,” she said, “we crack the window at night. It’s healthier to have fresh air while you sleep.”
I nodded, thinking I was going to have to ask my mom to send a heavier blanket.
“Quiet time is from four until six, after classes and before dinner. That’s the best time to study.”
I usually concentrate better after dinner, but I supposed I could adjust.
“I see you’ve taken over the windowsill for your stuff; that’s fine,” Alexis continued. “In that case I’ll keep my things on the dresser. If you need more space, you can use the other windowsill too.”
I opened my mouth, ready to say something about how little space two windowsills equaled, compared to that whole dresser top — but then I closed it. Was it really worth arguing over?
“It looks as if you don’t need much closet space,” Alexis observed, “which is great, because I don’t know how I could spare it.”
Yeesh. Okay, so I’ll keep things in my drawers. As I said, I didn’t bring many clothes.
“That’s about it,” Alexis said. “If anything else comes up I’m sure we can work it out.”
Right. It wasn’t taking me long to get the Alexis picture. Kristy, I thought to myself, forgive me for ever thinking you were bossy. I didn’t know what bossy was.
Just then, there was a rapping on the door and Pam stuck her head in the room. “Oh, great,” she said, smiling. “I see you two have met. Excellent. By the time you’re up and done with all your unpacking, it will be time for Sunday brunch in the meetinghouse. See you there?”
“Sounds terrific,” I said.
“Brunch.” Alexis groaned. “Fabulous.”
I think she was being sarcastic.
Pam didn’t seem to notice. She just waved and headed off down the hall.
After she’d left, Alexis began to unpack her suitcase. She didn’t seem to want to talk anymore. I decided it was a good time to catch up on my journal, so I reached under my mattress and pulled it out.
“What’s that?” Alexis asked as soon as I’d started writing.
“Just a journal,” I answered.
“Oooh, you mean where you write down all your most private and innermost thoughts?”
“Kind of.” I shrugged.
“Aren’t you worried someone will steal it and read it?”
“I never have been,” I said, thinking I’d have to consider a new hiding place. “It’s not like there are any big secrets in it.” That wasn’t exactly true. I was always honest in my journal, and that meant that what I wrote wasn’t meant for other eyes.
Alexis continued to unpack, and I continued to write. But I couldn’t help noticing that she kept sneaking glances at my journal. I wasn’t used to that kind of interest. Vanessa had always seemed to understand that my journal was private. I guess I’d taken that kind of consideration for granted.
Suddenly, I heard a scuffling in the hall and a burst of giggles. “Knock, knock!” someone called out.
I recognized Smita’s voice.
“Smita?” I called. “Come in.” I stuck my journal back under the mattress.
“Not just Smita,” said another voice. “Presenting … Sarah!” The two girls swept into the room. Smita, led by the other girl, was giggling and blushing. “You already know Smee, but you don’t know me,” the girl announced. “Sarah Bernhardt, at your service.” She took a deep bow.
“Smee?” Alexis repeated snidely.
“That’s what Sarah calls me,” Smita explained. “Like the pirate in —”
“Peter Pan,” Alexis finished. “Right. Cute.”
I was still staring at Sarah. She was quite a presence. She was tall, for one thing, almost as tall as Kristy’s brother Sam. She was dressed in flowing purple clothes — a long skirt and a silky shirt that seemed to shimmer when she moved. And she had a halo of flaming red hair, in wild ringlets. Her skin was pale with not one freckle. (How did she do that?) “Sarah Bernhardt?” I asked. “Like the famous actress?” I’d read about her. She was a French woman who became the most famous stage actress of her time (the late 1800s).
“Two points!” Sarah cheered. “Not everybody recognizes the name. But yes, I am named after La Bernhardt. And that means I have quite a reputation to live up to. Not that it’s any trouble.” She cracked up. “I live for the theatah,” she said in a fake British accent.
There was something immediately likable about Sarah. Some people might be put off by her dramatic flair, but I loved it. I immediately began to imagine what her childhood had been like. No doubt she was the child of two actors who had led an incredibly romantic life barnstorming around the country.
“Sarah lives on your floor,” Smita explained. “I just stopped up to visit her. We know each other from our old school.”
“And now we’re off to brunch,” Sarah said. “Join us?”
I noticed that the invitation was aimed mostly in my direction. I figured Sarah and Alexis already knew each other, but I didn’t sense any friendship there.
“I’d love to,” I said. I was flattered. After all, both Smita and Sarah had other friends at Riverbend. They didn’t have to include me. It felt great to be welcomed. “Um, Alexis, are you coming?” I asked, feeling a little awkward.
“I’m not hungry,” she said flatly.
Oh. “Okay. See you at assembly, then?”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Alexis yawned, as if to show how much the idea bored her.
An assembly was scheduled for later that afternoon, the first one of the semester. I was looking forward to it. It would be my first chance to meet the whole Riverbend community.
The day went by in a blur. At brunch, Sarah and Smita introduced me to at least a dozen girls, but their names became jumbled in my head. The food was awesome: stacks of pancakes, homemade muffins, and fresh-squeezed juice. We ate and talked and ate some more, until we could barely move. I found out that instead of being the child of actors, Sarah is from the Midwest and her parents are teachers. When we finished eating, Smita suggested a walk. The three of us
strolled around together, Sarah playing tour guide as she showed us the school.
Walking around the campus was like taking an introductory course in women’s history. Sarah pointed out several other dorms: Stanton, named after the women’s suffragist Elizabeth Cady Stanton; Truth, named after the abolitionist Sojourner Truth; and Jordan, named after the politician Barbara Jordan. Then there was the art building, which was known as O’Keeffe, after the famous artist Georgia O’Keeffe, and the science building (Curie, of course), and finally, the drama building.
“Someday it’ll be named after me,” Sarah vowed, striking a pose in front of the building, which is now known as Katharine Hepburn Hall.
I couldn’t help thinking that she was probably right.
Our tour ended back at the meetinghouse, where the assembly was just about to start. Girls were streaming into the building, girls of every age and type, from childish-looking fifth-graders to seniors who looked like grown-up women. It was going to be interesting being in the same school as twelfth-graders. I spotted Alexis and waved to her, but she either didn’t see me or pretended not to. Pam passed by and smiled at me.
Sarah, Smita, and I took seats near the front. I didn’t want to miss a thing. Once again, Jane Maxwell stood up to talk. Then several teachers took turns talking about special projects they’d planned for the semester. Every speaker was full of enthusiasm; they were so inspiring. Finally, Jane Maxwell asked me and the other new girls to stand as we were introduced to the community. I was blushing like mad, but the loud, welcoming applause made me feel warm and accepted.
As we headed back to Earhart after the assembly, Sarah and Smita and I talked excitedly about the classes that would start the next day. I was feeling more positive by the moment that my choice to come to Riverbend had been the right one.