Brooke (Orphans 3)

She looked at me and relaxed again. "I'm just concerned about you. I want you to be happy with us," she explained.

I tried to smile This whole day was so overwhelming, so full of surprises and excitement, I couldn't keep my eyes open. Peter laughed and suggested I get a good night's rest.

"It's all just starting for you now, Brooke. This has only been a taste of what's to come," he promised.

"I'll come up with you and show you the proper way to take off your makeup," Pamela said, "and then give you something to put on your face."

"Put on? But I'm going to sleep," I said, confused.

"That's when your body is best able to replenish itself," she explained. "You want to wake up looking beautiful, don't you?"

Peter laughed. "Just listen to Pamela," he said. "You can see she knows what she's talking about."

Put on makeup every day, wash with special soaps, filter your air, eat a special diet, avoid being upset, chant, meditate, put something special on while you slept. It seemed like so much effort. If this is what I had to do to be beautiful, I thought, I think I'd rather be plain old me.

But I would never say so, not if I wanted Pamela to love me like a daughter or even a sister.

I knew that much, but what I didn't know was that what I knew was not enough, not hardly enough.

4 Secrets

For the next few days, Pamela took over my life as if I had nothing more to say about it. She set schedules for almost every waking moment and left nothing to chance. The Olin was to enroll me in the Agnes Fodor School for Girls, a private school designed only for those born with silver spoons in their mouths. However, before I could be brought to the school for registration, Pamela wanted me to learn enough about poise, etiquette, and style to "fool any of the blue bloods?'

"Blue bloods," she explained, "are those who are born into wealth and position, whose family l

ineage goes back to the most respectable and important people in our social and political history. They are taught from day one how to behave and conduct themselves, and that is how I want you to appear, as well."

"But I'm not a blue blood," I pointed out. "You are now?' she said. "Peter and I come from the best stock, and you will carry our name. Most important, when someone looks at you, they'll be looking at me. Understand?"

I nodded, but I didn't like it. I didn't like becoming an instant blue blood. I needed more time to get used to having servants at my beck and call and more time to learn my way about a house that resembled a palace. I didn't like Joline drawing my bath every night and laying out my nightgown and slippers. I felt like an invalid. Pamela decided what colors I would wear and how I should brush my hair. When I said I had never worn nail polish, she looked at me as if I was some sort of alien creature.

"Never? I just can't believe that," she said.

When I laughed at the idea of polishing my toenails, she grew angry. "It's not funny. It's as serious as any other part of your body," she insisted.

"But who will see them?" I asked.

"It's not important who else sees them. You must understand. We're beautiful first for ourselves, to make ourselves feel special, and then, when we feel special, others will see it and think of us as special, too."

"I don't understand why we would be so special," I muttered.

"Your clothes, your coiffure, your makeup, your walk, and your smile, everything about you must coordinate, must work together. Women like us," she taught me, "are truly works of art, Brooke. That's what makes us special. Now do you understand?" she asked.

I didn't, but I saw that if I didn't look as if I did, she would grow angry.

The one time she did get very angry with me occurred three days after I had arrived, when I asked if I could call someone at the orphanage. I wanted to talk to Brenda Francis, my one close friend. I knew she missed me. I was practically the only one she spoke to, and I wanted to see how she was doing. I had left so quickly, we never really had time to say goodbye.

"Absolutely not!" Pamela said forbiddingly. "You must drive that place and everyone in it out of your memory forever.

"Very soon," she continued, "you will completely forget that you were ever an orphan." She clenched her teeth and grimaced as if pronouncing the word orphan filled her mouth with castor oil.

Deep inside my heart, I worried that if my new mother found orphans so distasteful, how could she ever come to love me? Maybe she was worried about that, too, and that was why she was so intent on my becoming a new person as soon as possible. For both our sakes, I thought I would try.

The first thing we did after Pamela instructed me on my morning makeup was go to the shopping mall to buy more clothes for me. In the lingerie department, she chose a padded bra. I felt foolish trying it on and even more silly when I gazed at my exaggerated figure in the mirror. I looked years older just with that cosmetic change and complained that I didn't look like the real me.

"That's exactly what I want for you," she insisted. "I know these contest judges. When you're in a Miss Teen this or that contest and you look older, they're impressed, especially the men."

I was still so surprised that she really believed I could be in any such contest. What did she see in my face that I couldn't see, that no one else saw? I thought I was plain-looking, even with the appearance of bigger breasts. Moving with the bra on reminded me of wearing a baseball catcher's chest protector. I felt bulky and thought everyone was looking at me because my bosom didn't fit the rest of me.