False Magic
by
J M Brown
***
Copyright (c) 2011 by J M Brown
ISBN: 978-0-9838705-0-0
Published by graMix Publishing at Smashwords
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Dedication:
Tamiko Moore
Teresa Smith
Karen Zhang
and always, to H.T.T.M.
Also in respectful memory of Michael Stern Hart (March 8, 1947 - September 6, 2011), inventor of the eBook and founder of Project Gutenberg.
Acknowledgements:
I gratefully acknowledge the many helpful critiques from my generous beta-readers:
Karen Bradwell
Tim B. and Kris M.
Clayton Fan
Ally Medvec
T. Moore
Kate S.
Jennifer Sutton
Also in grateful recognition of the support and friendship of:
C. Dimmick
Brian Ampolsk
Table of Contents
1. Amor Omnes, Fide Nemo - Brenda
9. All Blondes are Sluts - Amy
18. Wash Whites Separately – Amy
25. Magical Mystery Tour - Amy
32. Stranger than We Can Imagine - Amy
38. Year of the Dragon - Brenda
46. Third Time the Charm - Amy
1. Amor Omnes, Fide Nemo (Brenda)
“There is not nearly enough love in this world, but there is far too much trust."
I was just a little girl when my daddy told me that.
"Whenever someone asks you to trust them, they're either a used car salesman, a politician, or some other kind of con man," he said.
"Most people say that you can't have love without trust, but that is wrong, and I'll tell you why.
"I used to have a dog named Ralph, a beautiful golden-haired shepherd-collie mix, and he was my best friend for many years. I loved him. But he got older, and he got sick. He developed arthritis in his hip and couldn't run or jump like he used to. When he would lift his leg to pee, he would sometimes fall over because it hurt too much to keep his leg lifted. He would look embarrassed when he'd lose his balance like that. Some people say that dogs don't have the same feelings that humans do, but if you've ever lived with a dog, and looked him in the eye, you'd know that's wrong too. He got worse. Near the end, he hurt all the time, and sometimes he cried, or seemed to. The vet couldn't do anything for him. I couldn't do anything for him. I couldn't even explain to him why I couldn't make him better. His last night, I fixed him a big steak for dinner and sat with him while he chewed the bone, eventually crushing it in his jaws. I slept on the floor next to him that night. In the morning, we went for our last ride in the car together, down to the animal shelter.
"He must have sensed something was wrong when we entered the little room in the back because he growled at the vet. The vet had a rope with a noose on one end. He slipped this around Ralph's neck, and wound the slack of the rope around his snout a couple of times. 'They bite, sometimes,' the vet said. I could tell Ralph was frightened, so, against the vet's advice, I removed the rope, and lifted Ralph onto the table myself, laid him down and held him. With hair clippers, the vet shaved a patch of fur from his foreleg to expose the vein. Ralph struggled a little bit at that but I calmed him and held him tighter. 'Don't let him bite you,' the vet reminded me.
"I put my hand over his snout. I knew he could easily bite me, and I knew how strong his jaws were, but my hand was better than the noose. Now, the question is, did I trust him not to bite me?"
That was just what I was wondering too.
"No. I didn't 'trust' him. He was a dog. It would be natural for him to bite when he felt the sting of the needle. I expected him to bite me.
"Let him bite, I thought. If biting my hand made him feel easier then let him bite it clean off. He was my friend. I loved him."
My dad paused his story there.
"So, daddy," I asked, "did he bite you?"
Dad smiled and looked me straight in the eye. "What do you think, Brenda?" he asked.
"The vet eased the needle into the vein and pushed the plunger in slowly. The prick of the needle startled Ralph, but he relaxed in my arms right away, and slumped down. He blinked once, and then closed his eyes. I could feel all his muscles relax more and more until he was completely limp. It took less than ten seconds. I was a grown man by then, but when I got back in my car, I cried like a little boy.
"No, Ralph didn't bite me. Of course he didn't. He was my friend, but I was his friend too. He trusted me."
I've never forgotten my dad's story. There is nothing simple about simple friendship.
Today, everyone thinks I am such a nice person, but really, I'm not.
I am someone who never forgives an injury or forgets a slight. I know this is probably a character flaw, but in my defense, I never forget a kindness either. And while I may not repay every injury done to me, I always repay every kindness.
I believe children feel things much more intensely than adults. For a little kid, every small misfortune is an inconsolable tragedy.
I was in first grade, and somehow, I had lost the lunch my dad had packed. I probably left it on the school bus. Everyone else had their lunch, but I was empty-handed. I was ashamed that I'd lost it, and I was feeling alone and abandoned. My stomach was growling and I remember the tightness in my chest, my face hot with embarrassment, and the moistness in the corner of my eyes. But just before I burst out sobbing, Amy put her hand on my shoulder and said, "It's ok, Brenda. We can share my lunch! You like peanut butter! We have a cookie, too!"
She gave me half her peanut butter and jelly sandwich, half of the slices of the orange her mom had peeled and packed for her, and broke her cookie in half, giving me the bigger half. We shared the same straw in her juice-box.
We'd been casual friends in pre-school and kindergarten, but for the first time, I understood what it was like to have someone I could count on, a real friend. Nothing in the years since has convinced me otherwise. I know this doesn't sound like a big deal. Amy just shared what she had because she thought it was the right thing to do. It was just one lunch box. I'm sure it didn't mean anything to her at the time. But to a six year old Brenda on the verge of bitter tears, it meant absolutely everything. None of my other friends offered to share; Amy was my life-saver when I needed one.
Amy would never do anything to hurt me.
The cookie was oatmeal-raisin.
2. Lost (Amy)
I was looking all over for Brenda.
Of all the things I hated about this school, the uniforms were at the top of my list. White blouse and stupid striped school tie under a dark blazer with a plaid skirt and long socks that made me look like some cloyingly cute Japanese schoolgirl with a blonde wig in some kind of teen porn movie... Well, at least my skirt was a little longer. By early September there was already a fall nip in the air and if the winters in Baltimore were anything like the winters back home in St. Louis... I was dreading the wind swirling up under the outfit. At least Catonsville was a boarding school, so I wouldn't have to appear in public wearing the damn thing.
Still, nobody else was complaining. It wouldn't do to whine too much. My folks had sacrificed a lot to get me in the same school as Brenda, and it really was a good school. Or so they said. Brenda had her heart set on Catonsville for years, it seemed, and she had made it a part of our Plan. We'd been here most of the summer already, since as new students, we had to start near the end of July. The skirt was not too bad when it was hot, but...
I still hadn't decided if the fact that there were no boys was a good thing or not. They might be jerks most of the time but not having them around at all was just plain weird, and getting weirder as the weeks passed by.
Brenda's aunt was supposed to come pick us up to stay with her for the weekend, and maybe take us shopping, so I was looking all over campus for her. That was another thing that was embarrassing. Neither Brenda's family nor mine had ever had much money, and even now, we were both on tight allowances, but after every visit with Aunt Diane, we would find twenty bucks or so had magically appeared in our purse or pocket. Brenda's aunt was a big-name doctor at Johns Hopkins and she and her husband didn't have kids of their own, so they were always spoiling us.
I crossed the quad to the library, passing a couple of seniors with their luggage, moving in. They looked so much older to me. Seniors had a dress code, but except for special events, they didn't have to wear the uniforms. They smiled at me as they passed. Probably laughing at my silly skirt.
Bitches.
The school library worked on the honor system - we scanned our card and books ourselves and did our own checkout. Brenda said this was more about the school saving money on a librarian's salary than it was about demonstrating trust in the students. Brenda had said she planned to stop here, but I didn't see her, so I sat down across from Cleo to wait. She gave me a smile and returned to her reading. The words on the spine of her book were "Malleus Maleficarum."
Catonsville International Academy made all the girls work as part of the curriculum. Brenda and I didn't know any better when we arrived, and we got stuck in the laundry room two evenings a week, but Cleo worked as the library aide. She was there nearly any time she wasn't in class, and seemed to know the library even better than Professor Ross, our English teacher. Everybody knew that Cleo was our go-to girl whenever we wanted to find anything, whether it was a book or something on the web. Since I was trying to find my BFF, I asked her.
"Have you seen Brenda?"
Cleo looked up and smiled again. "She was sitting in your chair two minutes ago, waiting for you. She went to go pee. She'll be back in another minute."
I looked around. The library was empty except for the two of us and a couple of older girls, surfing on their tablets at the far end of the room. I took a deep breath.
"Cleo, can I ask you something?"
"Sure, Amy," her voice dropped to a fake conspiratorial whisper, "sounds serious."
"Well," I said, "I guess. I worry about Brenda a little. If she is really comfortable here."
"Is this about race?" It was a little scary how quick Cleo was to catch on.
I nodded. "Do you mind me asking you?"
"No, Amy, not at all. But you and Brenda have been buddies since pre-school. Why can't you talk to her directly?"
"I did ask her. She says I'm being silly, but I'm not sure she's being honest with me, or with herself, maybe."
"And you think that because Brenda and I are both black, she might be more forthright with me?" Cleo's face adopted an expression of indignation. I knew she was just teasing me, but my ears burned all the same. I took another deep breath.
"All through grade school," I said, "since at least first grade, I was the minority, one of the few white girls. Lots of times, I was the only white kid. I was fine with that. It's the way school has always been. It's always seemed normal to me. But when I got here, it was just plain freaky to be surrounded by all these other white faces, and I found myself looking around for the normal dark faces, and they're missing, and it's been very... discomforting for me. Now I'm thinking the shock must be greater for her. Am I crazy?"
"Crazy? Well, maybe not for that reason." Cleo chuckled. "Look, I can tell you not to worry about it, but I know you will. I've watched the two of you together. Your bond is stronger than that of most lovers."
She held up her hand to ward off any protest before continuing. "I know you're both straight. We often say people are 'just' friends, adding the 'just' as if to indicate a kind of love that is somehow 'less'. It's not. True friendship isn't anything 'less'. It can be as fundamental as that of a mother for her child, as fierce as that between a boy and his dog, as powerful as the romance between true lovers, as solid as the bond between soldiers in combat, or as strong as any other kind of love."
Sometimes, when Cleo was serious, she seemed much older than the sixteen years she claimed.
"You may not have noticed it at the time," Cleo continued, "but your bond was one of the things that sustained you both back when you were the freakish color. Now, it can be one of the things to help sustain her, not that I think she needs it. You needn't and really shouldn't do anything different. Just continue being her friend and the rest will take care of itself. Besides; Brenda's cute, she's smart, and she's tough. That, and a little bit of luck, is all that a woman needs to make it in this world. Don't worry about her."
3. Inquisition (Brenda)
My three inquisitors frowned at me from behind the big desk while I sat alone in the chair in the middle of the room. Their faces told me my fate had already been sealed.
For a moment, I wished Amy was beside me, but I dismissed that idea right away. I sure didn't want her mixed up in this. It was all over for me now, but at least, maybe I could keep Amy out of it.
It had been a long school year and I was weary. My mouth was dry and my heart beat slow and heavy. I wanted to close my eyes and sleep.
I thought back to how excited Amy and I had both been when we started at this school last summer, nearly a year ago now. We'd been through a lot since then. It was already May, with the end of the school year only two weeks away.
We'd had high hopes. We knew we'd be challenged academically like never before, but we were both fine with that. "Only the hard things are worthwhile," my dad used to say. Amy and I had each other and we had The Plan, and for the first time, we had the chance to measure ourselves against some really smart girls. We had our fears, of course, but we thought we had the confidence to match those. I guess I'd misjudged what the challenges would be and how big the obstacles.
A year of hard work, the toughest year of my life, and now, all down the crapper. I'd worked so hard. I'd come so close.
Catonsville was the finest high school in the country, or at least the finest girl's school, and certainly the toughest. My grades had been good, and despite what everyone now thought, my conduct impeccable, but none of that mattered now. We all make plans, but I guess the universe has its own plan and doesn't care about ours. This school had been my dream, but now the universe was slapping me awake.
This crap was going to break my mom's heart. Chuck and Di's too. I wondered if anyone would even believe my side of the story. Not that the truth matters much in this world.
I could feel the rage building inside me. No one was listening to me, and no one cared that I was being treated unfairly.
Any temptation to lie down and take it evaporated right then. If they were going to burn me, I wouldn't make it easy for them. I was tired, but I was going to fight.
The door opened up behind me.
4. Ninth Circle (Amy)
"The Way of the Warrior has been misunderstood. It is not a means to kill and destroy others. Those who seek to compete and better one another are making a terrible mistake. To smash, injure, or destroy is the worst thing a human being can do. The real Way of a Warrior is to prevent such slaughter - it is the Art of Peace, the power of love." - Osensei Morihei Ueshiba, Kaiso Aikido
Brenda’s parents and mine talked about us a lot. I think it was in the summer just before third grade that they presented us with a choice. They wanted us to take up some after-school activity.
Our moms wanted us to take up ballet, their heads no doubt filled with images of us prancing around in precious pink tutus, but our dads were more practical. They suggested we take Tae Kwon Do at the community center. The picture of us in pink tutus filled Brenda and I with absolute horror, and since Brenda could always be counted on to agree with her dad, we chose to break our mother's hearts instead.
So, our dads signed us up, but for Aikido instead of Tae Kwon Do. I think Harvey was convinced of this when he learned that Aikido had been founded by a pacifist.
Within the heart of each of one of us is a reservoir of rage, added to by each injury or injustice we suffer in life. I think my own reservoir is more like a shallow pool that bubbles up and vents a little steam from time to time. But Brenda's reservoir is more like a deep ocean of molten magma, which, if ever released, could consume the world. And while I may vent a little, I have never known Brenda to unleash her anger, except maybe that one time.
I also believe that these reservoirs are not fed by the hurts and injustices themselves, but by our sensitivity to them. Brenda has always been much more sensitive than I, and she has always had much better control. Only a very few have sensed the potential danger in her. When we went to Riverplace JHS, the gang leaders clearly sensed it, and gave her the proper respect and care in dealing with her. But most people are just blissfully ignorant of what lies behind Brenda's calm and sweet and smiling face.
I've often wondered if her dad had sensed it and if that was why he wanted her to study Aikido. Certainly, Aikido stressed restraint and peace, and it had to have benefited her. We stopped going in seventh grade, it was not part of The Plan, and that is when we both started studying in school with a real purpose. Her rage was an inexhaustible fire that fueled her to work with a fiendish passion that swept me up in her wake. So rage can be a valuable tool, if channeled properly.
We were half way through seventh grade when we started to think about college. I don't remember which of us thought about it first--probably Brenda, and probably not our parents. The idea grew on us gradually. We had no idea what it would cost except that it would probably be more than we could afford.
At the time, we didn't even realize that our families were poor.
I remember when we talked about it with one of our guidance counselors, he told us not to worry about it until we got into high school. If we graduated from high school, he told us, then maybe we could get into community college later.
He'd been completely useless.
Brenda and I both figured out that if we did get into college, we would have to do it on our own. Nobody was going to help us.
Seventh and eighth grades were good for us academically. We studied like demons, delighting a few of our teachers, confusing most, and astonishing all of them.
Brenda even started studying Chinese. Three evenings a week, after school, she would ride the bus all the way out to Laoshi Sun's house in Clayton for private lessons. She tried to talk me into joining her, but after the first two sessions, even though Mrs. Sun seemed nice, I decided it was way too hard for me. I wasn't even sure my folks could afford it. I'd just gotten a "C" in Introduction to Chemistry, and knew I had to put in extra effort to pull up my grades. So while she was busy learning how to write characters with a brush, I was trying to learn the difference between ionic and covalent bonds. There were many times when I thought Brenda had taken the easier path.
Ninth grade was hell.
Brenda's aunt wanted her to attend her old high school in Baltimore, but her mom wasn't ready to let go. It took a long time for Aunt Diane to convince Miz Sally that it would be best for Brenda's future, and it had taken just as long to convince my folks to let me go with her. By that time, it was too late to apply. Brenda had picked out Catonsville for us, but we kept that a secret from our folks for as long as we could, while we pretended to check out other schools in the Baltimore area.
So, we wound up going to public school near home for ninth grade. Somehow, we got transferred to Riverplace Junior High School. It was not too far from our homes, but the only part of it that was not in disrepair was the double chain link fencing topped with barbed wire that surrounded it. The gang presence was real, not just a bunch of juvenile gangster-wannabes like before. Armed security guards were posted at every entrance and they had even locked and chained the fire exits. Most of the security guards hung out on the roof, though, smoking dope all day, so we rarely saw them.
There is a line from Dante's inferno that says: "The road to Paradise begins in Hell." At Riverside, if Paradise existed, it was much too far away to see. But we had no illusions about where our high school education was beginning.
We figured out right away that we were probably screwed, but there weren't any realistic options, so we just stuck together and to The Plan tighter than ever. It wasn't just the school facilities that were run down. The teachers and students were united in their goal of just marking time; the other parents were either angry and critical or simply uninvolved.
The administration's only interest in learning was how to prevent it from happening.
Getting good grades should have been easy, but unexpectedly, it was some of the teachers who decided we needed to be taken down a peg and gave us poor grades out of some kind of spite. Brenda played this game better than I did, and she still pulled straight "A's". I counted myself lucky to get no "C's" and a few "A's".
We went out of our way to befriend the leaders of the girl gangs. I helped out by assisting part time in the front office, and made sure to pass on any rumors about shakedowns to the right people, and to see that some truancy reports and disciplinary paperwork somehow got misplaced. Brenda and I both acted tough but we were careful not to participate in any illegal activity, or take sides or look down on anyone. She had an attitude that signaled to everyone that while she would help anybody, she was not to be messed with. My association with her extended that coverage to me and to the handful of other students who really did want to learn what they could. Four years of Aikido, and our willingness to share what we knew didn't hurt. We sort of gathered up our own tiny gang of studious kids and after a few initial problems, soon had the other gangs guaranteeing our safety.
When we graduated junior high in May, even a couple of the girl gang leaders hugged us and cried to see us leave.
All this while, we were working out our strategy for Baltimore, picking out schools (the one in particular) and sowing the seeds with our parents. Both our families got together for a graduation dinner where Brenda and I sprung our trap. We announced that we'd chosen a short list of schools in Baltimore where we would go. Brenda's aunt Diane had said she would be overjoyed to have us live with her and Charlie in their big house, and that she could almost guarantee us admission and scholarships to Bryn Mawr. But our first choice was Catonsville International Academy, and we laid it on thick praising its virtues. The kicker was when we pointed out how we'd worked together the last few years to pull up our grades, and it would be a shame and a risk to split us up now. We promised that if we could not get admitted to the same school together, and I couldn't get a full scholarship to pay for it, we'd drop the whole idea. My folks and Brenda's mom probably agreed because they figured the odds of us making it all happen in time were unlikely.
They really should have known us better by then.
5. Bloody Drill (Amy)
Back in June, when we flew out to Baltimore, it was my first time on an airplane. Brenda had flown out a few times before to visit her aunt and uncle, so I had myself a guide through the airports. I'm sure I would have gotten lost and been even more freaked out by the groping at security without her beside me.
Chuck and Di had a big house near Johns Hopkins. They had fixed up one of their guest rooms for us. It was freshly painted, had brand new twin beds, separate new dressers for each of us, a desk big enough for two, and a private bath. They clearly planned to have us living with them, no matter what happened. I expected Brenda to complain about having to share the bedroom that used to be her own when she visited, but she didn't say anything about it.
The very next morning, Aunt Diane drove us out to Catonsville. We were both nervous. The admissions exam was supposed to be as hard as or harder than the college-entrance SAT.
Before we went into the room, Brenda and I huddled together in the hallway.
"You're smart, Amy," She told me. "You'll do fine."
I wasn't so sure, but I answered, "You're the smart one. But we've both studied hard for this. Even if we don't make it, your Aunt Di can get us into Bryn Mawr."
Brenda wrinkled her nose at that. She didn't want to go to the same school as her aunt. She had nothing against it, but she wanted to follow her own stars.
I was thinking about all the practice exams we'd taken back home and I was reminded about something I'd read about the Roman army: "Their drills are like bloodless battles, their battles are like bloody drills." I was about to mention this, but then we were called in, and I didn't get the chance. I kept thinking about it though. We'd done our drills, now we were going into battle, and our future lives really were on the line.
About half way through, my throat got really dry and I started coughing. I'd gone easy on the fluids that morning because I was afraid I'd have to pee and that would be a distraction I didn't need. The math section was much harder than I expected, and math was usually my strength. English was my weakness, but that part seemed easy; much too easy, and that worried me a lot too. I barely managed to suppress the coughing and concentrate, and then the proctor called time.
I felt faint. I hadn't finished. I glanced over at Brenda at the far side of the room. She looked dazed and worn out.
"I didn't finish," I moaned.
The proctor lady gave me a warm smile. "Don't worry about that, dear," she said. "Nobody finishes. It is a four hour exam, but we give you less than three hours to complete it."
That sounded incredibly unfair to me.
Fifteen minutes later, I was called in for my interview.
The headmistress turned out to be the lady who had proctored the exam, Dr. Ruth Davis.
"Are you still worried about not finishing the test?"
"A little bit," I said. "I think I understand your strategy, but I'm not used to leaving something unfinished. I don't think I've ever not finished an exam."
"Everyone has that same complaint," she said. "All our applicants take the same test, and they are all given the same amount of time, and none of them ever finishes it. So, it's a fair test, but it comes as a shock to everyone when the time runs out."
"Yes, ma'am. I guess it was the shock that got to me for a moment."
"As I said, don't worry about it, Miss McDonald. May I call you Amy?"
"Yes, ma'am, 'Amy' is fine."
"We are usually rather formal around here, Amy. If you are admitted, your teachers will always call you 'Miss McDonald' rather than 'Amy' and expect you to call them, 'Dr. Ross, 'Dr. Kramer', or 'Ms. Dunham'. We will always speak to you respectfully, and expect you to do the same to us."
Dr. Davis leaned back in her chair before she continued: "But this is just an informal interview, and I want us to be relaxed."
"I understand," I said. "You don't rely on just our grades and the entrance exam and the application essay, you also want to know if we have a personality that will mesh well with the school."
She smiled at me. "I could not have put it better. I know you are smart enough, and your grades, at least for the last few years, may be good enough, but I don't know yet how well you and our school will fit together. That is obviously one reason for this interview. We usually don't hold the interviews the same day as the exam, but since you are visiting from out of town, I'm happy to schedule it this way."
I nodded my head.
"So," she said, "why are you interested in attending Catonsville International Academy. There are plenty of other good schools. Why us?"
I took a deep breath. I had anticipated this question, and rehearsed my answer. "Brenda and I did our homework. We drew up a list of the best High Schools in the country, and especially those in the Baltimore area. Our aunt, I mean, Brenda's aunt, lives in Baltimore, and that makes it easier to get our parent's approval, having a family member next door, so to speak. Aunt Diane is an alumnus of Bryn Mawr, and would like us to go there, but based on our own research, we think this school will help us the most in preparing for college, especially if we earn a good recommendation from Catonsville. As you say, there are plenty of good schools, but we believe Catonsville Academy is the best."
"Mm. You do realize that some of our young ladies started applying to their favorite colleges in their freshman year here? You would be entering as a sophomore. Have you chosen a college yet?"
"No, ma’am. We have not yet picked a college. We have a short list of possibilities, but are not ready to commit to any one of them. We know we're starting late and have major challenges ahead, but that does not scare us."
"Tell me about ninth grade."
I'd expected this question too, and I had my answer ready. "We feel that ninth grade could have prepared us better. We felt it necessary to do most of our studying outside the limited curriculum that was available to us. One of the things we did was download the various syllabi that you post on your website for freshmen so we could study those areas on our own."
"You've done a lot of studying on your own, haven't you?"
"Yes ma'am. We started working our way through the Great Books Program. Also, I recently finished all the theorems and proofs in Euclid, and Brenda has been studying Chinese for the past two and a half years with a private tutor. False modesty aside, I think we are well prepared to work successfully here."
The smallest of smiles twitched at the corner of her mouth, but I saw her suppress it right away.
"Tell me about seventh grade."
This is a question I should have anticipated, but hadn't. I knew I had to be careful not to mention The Plan, so I stayed quiet for as long as I could while I tried to come up with something. "Well, Dr. Davis," I told her, "I guess we just looked around at where we were going, and realized that we had to do better in school if we wanted to do better in life. We made a kind of resolution to work harder at our grades, and we've been able to follow through."
She nodded, slowly, as if she thought there was more to it than that, but she didn't ask a follow-up question, so that danger passed.
"Amy," she said, "you keep saying 'we' instead of 'I', as if you and Miss Dickens were a partnership. Tell me about that, please."
"We have been friends for almost our whole lives. We have similar goals and the same determination to succeed. We have worked together and pushed each other to do well. We're best friends, or business partners, I suppose, in the business of achievement, and that business has been good for us, at least the last few years."
"Amy, suppose we were to admit just one of you, and not the other. What then?"
"Respectfully, Dr. Davis, if you admit me but not Brenda, I would have to decline any offer of admission. Brenda and I have been successful because we have worked hard together. Aunt Diane has said she can get us both into Bryn Mawr, but Catonsville International Academy is definitely our first choice. We are a package deal, ma'am. Please don't take that as a slight against this school, but that is the truth of things."
She nodded again.
"Well," she said, "I always appreciate an honest answer. I've studied your application. I don't have any other questions for you at this time; do you have any for me?"
"No, ma'am," I replied. "I'll just add that we've studied your policies and code of conduct and I can assure you that we would have no trouble agreeing to comply with any part of them."
At the door, we shook hands, but before opening the door, I had to add one more thing.
"Dr. Davis," I said, "Brenda is more reserved and private than I am. There may be some questions she might decline to answer. Please don't be offended if that happens or think she is being disrespectful in any way. She was the driving force in wanting us to come here. Catonsville has been her dream for years. I said we were a package deal, but if you can only admit one of us, please admit her. I can make other arrangements for myself."
She raised her eyebrows at that. "You just told me you wouldn't come unless we admitted your friend. Are you now saying that she would come if we declined to admit you?"
"If it comes to that, I'll convince her to accept. As I said, ma’am, Catonsville is her dream. She will make you proud if you admit her."
I waited with Aunt Di in the lobby while Brenda had her interview. When she emerged, she looked as exhausted as I felt.
Aunt Di then took us to Lexington Market for lunch, but we just wandered around the food stalls, not talking much, neither of us feeling hungry. We knew not to expect an immediate answer from the Academy, but we still had the silly hope they would take one look at us and admit us right away. Of course that didn't happen.
The next day, Di took us to tour Bryn Mawr, but that only made us more depressed. She kept telling us how nice it was, how good it was, and she was probably right, the campus and library were beautiful, but we weren't in any mood to listen.
The day after that, Uncle Charlie was going to take us to the inner harbor to see the National Aquarium, but we just stayed home in front of the TV, watching old movies, eating burnt microwave popcorn, waiting for the phone to ring and feeling miserable.
The following day was a Monday, and we were hoping to hear how we did, but the day just dragged on and on with no word. We were about to sit down for an early dinner when the phone rang with the news. We were invited back for a meeting the next day, both of us. Aunt Diane was smiling when she hung up. "Dr. Davis said you both did well on the exam."
"So, did we get admitted?" We asked, almost in unison.
"We'll find out tomorrow," Aunt Di said. "But if they weren't going to admit you, I don't think she would have said you did 'very well' on that test."
We barely got any sleep and were up early.
Dr. Davis welcomed us into her office together to break the news to us.
She peered at us over the rim of her glasses. "I am extremely impressed with how high you both scored on our entrance exam. As you discovered, it is not an easy one," she said. "I was not so pleased with your marks prior to seventh grade, however, and neither was the admissions committee. But, Miss Dickens has had straight A's for the last two years, and Miss McDonald has shown significant and steady improvement, which we value even more.
She continued. "Some of our students think this is a hard school, and it is. But it is not because we make it hard, it only seems that way. Your dramatic improvement in seventh, eighth and ninth grades suggests that you may already understand.
"Native intelligence won't lead to success. I've been teaching for a long time, and every year I'm less sure that above some minimal threshold anyone is more 'intelligent' than anyone else. I am absolutely certain that even if 'intelligence' is something real, it cannot be measured accurately. You will succeed here, and later in life, not because you are any smarter, but because you work harder. We will provide an environment that encourages you to work hard, but we will not push you. You must push yourselves. Your scholastic history suggests that you realized this on your own in seventh grade, at least intuitively, and then made the decision to apply yourselves. It was your recent good grades that persuaded us. We'll give you all the resources and guidance and encouragement you need to push yourselves further and farther, but it will, always, be entirely up to you."
She then handed us each a big envelope, and said: "I am pleased to offer you both admission to Catonsville International Academy. After reviewing your applications and knowing that the two of you insist on being a package deal, this includes contingent scholarship offers for you both as well. We think you have great potential. We don't want to lose you to one of our rivals." She nodded to Aunt Diane, a clear reference to Di's alma mater. "Welcome to your new school and your new home."
Brenda and I both qualified for full scholarships, but she failed the means test because she had that insurance money. However, the Academy had something they called an honorarium, for just such cases. She got listed as an academic scholarship student, and she got a token stipend every month for incidentals, same as me. But while I also got my tuition and room and board and most of my books for free, she had to pay for hers.
6. Impressions (Amy)
We'd sort of expected to be roomed together, but they split us up. The stated reason was to force us to mingle and make new friends. We were told that even twin sisters weren't allowed to room together. Still, our rooms were right across the hall from each other, so we'd still be able to borrow each other's stuff. My room had a Chinese calendar above the desk and a big poster of the town of Xian, China above one of the beds, so I guessed my roommate was Chinese. But there was no sign of her when I unpacked my suitcase. Brenda's roommate was also missing. We were thinking we might not see them until September when the regular classes started, which would give us each a private room until then.
We were sitting in Brenda's room looking at the schedules we'd been given when a freckle-faced girl with red hair and poked her head in and introduced herself. "Hi," she said. "You're both new. It's Brenda Angela Dickens and... Amy Josephine McDonald, right? I'm Ann Warren."
She quickly sorted out which of us was which and explained that our roommates were already on campus, having just started the day before. They were probably at dinner, which was served early on Sundays, and Ann had in fact been sent to fetch us.
"The dining hall is pretty empty right now," Ann told us. "They told me the total student body for all four grades is going to be a hundred eighty-six this year, and only about forty students are attending summer classes. A lot of them are spending the weekends with nearby friends and family."
I hadn't realized that a weekend off-campus was an option. Judging by the high walls and the guards at the gate, I'd already started thinking of the place as a well-manicured prison.
The dining hall held only little more than a dozen students seated at a few tables. Brenda spotted a couple of Asian girls sitting together and headed straight for them, leaving Ann and I trailing behind. Brenda seated herself across from them and introduced herself without any preliminaries. They seemed a little annoyed by the intrusion, but gave their names. Karen (Qiǎojiě) Jin was the taller one, and Xuěyàn Jin was the shorter of the two. A little reluctantly, I joined them while Ann stalked off to a different table.
The Asian girls were about to resume their dessert when Brenda said something to them in Chinese. Their astonished expressions resembled what yours would be if your family dog pulled out a chair at Thanksgiving dinner, sat down, and asked you, in perfect English, to please pass the mashed potatoes. Brenda had to say another long sentence before the girls recovered from the shock. The tall one replied cautiously, but when Brenda again responded smoothly, the attitude of our table companions instantly became friendly and excited.
They tried to engage me, but their ching-chong-ding-dong talk was all Greek to me. Brenda said something else, and they all switched back to English. Karen, the tall one, turned out to be Brenda's roommate. She spoke English clearly and perfectly, without any kind of accent that I could hear. Karen said she was "ABC", which I guessed meant "born in the USA", but Xuěyàn was "fresh off the boat". Her parents worked at the Chinese Embassy in DC. Xuěyàn spoke rapid-fire English with a thick accent and mangled the grammar to an incredible degree. Despite getting her verbs, plurals and gender pronouns wrong almost every time, I actually had no problem following her. Xuěyàn was my roommate. Both girls seemed genuinely delighted to meet us. I could tell that Brenda's Mandarin was limited from her occasional pauses while she racked her brain for the right word, and she spoke it slowly, but the fact that she spoke it at all had made a good first impression.
Since they had the same last name, I asked, "Are you sisters?"
They responded together, but Xuěyàn said "No," and Karen said "Yes."
Brenda explained that Chinese who shared the same surname considered themselves to be the same family, even if not actually related. The two Jins exchanged looks that made me suspect Brenda might not be completely right, but they didn't contradict her.
I could see immediately that Karen and Brenda shared a similar sense of humor. As roommates, they would either get along great, or wind up killing each other. There were certainly times when I had fantasized about strangling Brenda.
Xuěyàn revealed that her English name was "Maud" and that she had chosen it from some James Bond movie, but I decided to try to call her "Xuěyàn" so she wouldn't think me a complete barbarian. The girls pointed us to the buffet and then stayed with us at the table while we ate.
At one point, I glanced over at Ann's table. She was sitting with a brown-haired girl with dark eyes that did not look friendly. I knew we'd probably snubbed her by sitting with the Jins, and made a mental note to do something about that later.
Back in the room, Xuěyàn helped me hang up the clothes I'd left strewn on my bed and made sure I had my share of the closet space. I was shocked when she told me she was almost a year older than me - I'd guessed she was a young prodigy, maybe fourteen, but not sixteen. We were both sophomores so we'd be sharing most of the same classes.
Xuěyàn admitted she thought Brenda seemed very nice, but looked a little bit "scary". She said she was glad I was her roommate, and then asked me a lot of questions about "black people". It was obvious she'd garnered more than a few dumb ideas from movies and TV, but her curiosity seemed genuinely innocent and certainly without any hatred.
At breakfast the next morning, I saw Ann sitting with her friends, so I abandoned Brenda and our roommates and went to her. I came straight out with it. "Good morning, Ann," I said. "I just want to apologize for last night."
She smiled at me, but I noticed her brown-haired friend frowned. I continued. "You were nice enough to bring us down for dinner, but then we sat with the Jins. I just wanted you to know we weren't snubbing you. Brenda just thought we should get to know our roommates first since we'll be living with them." I rested my hand lightly on her shoulder and added, "So, anyway, thanks for coming to get us last night; that was very thoughtful."
She was about to reply, when the brown-haired girl pasted an obviously fake smile on her face and said, "Ann knows you weren't trying to be rude. I'm Mary Putnam, by the way."
We shook hands and she said, "You don't have to sit with them," she nodded back towards Brenda and the Jins. "You are welcome to sit with us."
I wondered why I would want to, but I knew how to act nice, so I replied, "I'd love to chat with you later, but I can't right now." I pasted a fake smile on my own face and added, "It's great to meet you though, Mary. And Ann, thanks again for last night. See you later."
My immediate hunch was that this was a race thing with Putnam, but I sensed some deeper agenda on her part.
7. Foul (Amy)
A two-hour team sport class twice a week was required. But during the summer, the only thing they had to offer was soccer. Brenda and I had played in grade school, and while we hadn't been stand-outs, we'd been ok. They put us on separate squads, and we usually played against each other. She was faster than me, but not as good at ball control. We were usually assigned to different positions so we didn't come into contact much.
We were on the field one day, playing hard, really getting into it. Mary Putnam was on my team and she was covering Brenda at the far end of the field. They were both going for the ball, when another girl came up and kicked it away.
Just then, Mary collided with Brenda, knocking her sprawling. I saw it and it was more than just a simple foul. Mary had deliberately bumped hard into Brenda from behind after the ball had been kicked away from their area. I started toward them, but Brenda saw me and made a little gesture with her hand, signaling me to keep away.
I stood where I was, my fists clenched. I could feel the anger heat up the back of my neck.
Brenda got up and brushed herself off, while Putnam apologized. I was too far away to hear the words, and her gestures seemed sincere, but I had seen the hit.
Afterward, walking to our next class, I told Brenda, "That foul wasn't an accident. She went out of her way to hit you in the back. What did she say to you?"
"She said she was sorry; said she just wasn't paying attention."
I arched my eyebrows at her.
"I know," she said. "Her apology was lame. It was a deliberate hit. But I can take a few knocks. There's no need to stoop to her level."
"We're in high school," I said. "We're supposed to have left that childishness behind us by now. What the hell is wrong with that bitch, anyway?"
"That's a silly question," Brenda grunted. "Forget about it."
Not likely, I thought. Mary Putnam was showing herself to be a bully, mean and petty. Her only saving grace was that she wasn't good at being a bully. She was essentially harmless, or so I thought.
I knew Brenda could take care of herself. But I would make sure she wouldn't have to.
8. Perfect English (Amy)
Summer classes were generally very small. But there was only one English class and we were all lumped in there together. I'd been concerned about Xuěyàn's English, so I sat next to her in case she needed help, as I was sure that she would. On Thursday, we were assigned an in-class essay, and after I finished mine, I offered to help proofread hers.
"Thank you much please," She said.
Xuěyàn was my roommate, after all, and I figured I ought to put out some effort to help her. I had been wondering how she got into this school with such atrocious English. I even talked to Brenda about it. Xuěyàn had money and connections so I assumed she bought her way in, but Brenda insisted this school wouldn't do that.
"Admissions are purely merit-based," Brenda insisted, but I didn't see how that was possible with Xuěyàn. I was being cynical, and that was usually Brenda's job. Brenda was the one who was always accusing me of making excuses for other people, and it felt like we'd reversed our usual roles. Xuěyàn knew her math, but that alone shouldn't have gotten her past the gate. I wondered what her application essay had looked like.
Xuěyàn worked slowly and I kept my eyes on the clock. I worried that she wouldn't be done with enough time for me to fix all the errors I was expecting. She finally passed it to me when there was less than ten minutes left in the class.
Reading her paper, I was stunned. Not a single spelling or grammatical error that I could see, and the organization of the paper was clear and to the point, the thesis logical and well-argued. If I had not seen her writing it, I never would have believed it could have been written by Xuěyàn. The harder I looked, the better her essay looked. It was flawless. Even her penmanship was beautiful.
I handed it back to her. "I think it's perfect," I said.
After class, I was tempted to collar her, shove her up against the wall and demand she reveal by what magic or deviltry she had done it, but I realized what it was.
When she spoke, she spat the words out as fast as if they were bullets from a machine gun, not bothering to aim or think or check her ammo. When she wrote, she carefully planned and thought it all out in her head first. Clearly, she knew the rules of English grammar and spelling, but, at least when talking, ignored them. Getting the words out was her focus then, getting them correct was not even a goal.
Later, I decided that if I could teach her to slow down when she talked, maybe she could teach me how to write better English.
9. All Blondes are Sluts (Amy)
Brenda was telling blonde jokes when I sat down for dinner. I could tell Xuěyàn was having trouble deciding when to laugh; it was definitely a learning experience for her and I could see her excitement at sharing this new aspect of American culture. She looked a little worried or maybe embarrassed when I sat down, no doubt wondering if I'd overheard the last joke.
Brenda picked up on it too. "Don't worry about telling these jokes in front of Amy," she said. "She's a blonde herself; she won't understand any of them."
"I've already heard all her jokes," I said. "She never has any new material."
Xuěyàn's eyes darted between Brenda and me, and then asked, "You are both fifteen year. Isn't most girl sixteen year? Why not sixteen?"
"We're almost sixteen," I told her. "We've always been younger than most of our classmates. My mom told me it was because the cut-off date to start school was December 1st, and Brenda and I were both born in November."
"Your birth-day date same?"
"No, I'm older. November 5th. Brenda is November 22nd. Most people think she is older than me, though."
"I'm a Sagittarius," Brenda interjected. "But Amy's a Scorpio. That explains why she is such a slut."
I buried my head in my hands. I knew what was coming next.
"Amy's a Scorpio, and she's a blonde. All blondes are sluts." She smiled and patted me on the head like a dog.
Xuěyàn looked confused, but Karen laughed.
"Will you stop?" I pleaded. "They don't know us well enough for all of your stupid jokes."
Xuěyàn asked, "What is 'slot'?"
Brenda's eyes lit up at the mispronunciation, but thankfully, she let it pass and answered, "Someone who is crazy about boys."
Karen provided an apparently more detailed definition, in Mandarin. Judging by the expression of horror on poor Xuěyàn's face, I felt confident Karen's explanation was much more elaborate, more graphic, and exaggerated.
Xuěyàn's voice confirmed this when she whispered to me, "You have done sex thing with boy?"
"No, I have not!"
"Maybe not," Brenda said. "But you've been to second base so many times you might as well have..."
"No, no, no! I haven't done that either!"
Xuěyàn's voice was still hushed. "What is second base?"
Brenda explained in Chinese, illustrating further by sticking her hand inside her blouse.
Xuěyàn's eyes got as big as saucers and she stared at me.
"Bitch be crackin', she gotta..." I started to say, but a sharp glance from Brenda made me back up and remember my language. We'd both sworn off that kind of talk years ago, but it was still easy to forget sometimes.