"The atmosphere is dirty here? Dirtier than where you came from?"
"There are coal mines and cotton gins where I come from, and the coal soot is carried on the wind to dirty clean clothes on the line, and curtains have to be washed once a week. And the airborne cotton lint invades the lungs of the millworkers, and even the lungs of people who live downwind. But since I came to Winterhaven I have experienced nothing but clean, wholesome, American fun. I cannot wait to write my thesis about my experiences at Winterhaven. It should be very enlightening to those who don't know what goes on in private schools like this."
Suddenly Pru Carraway was smiling, smiling broadly. "Oh, come now, Heaven, are you any the worse for wear? We always play that joke on a new girl. It's fun to mislead them and let them dress incorrectly. It's all part of our initiation. Now, if you complete the last ritual, you can become one of us, and pull the same tricks on the next new girl."
"No thanks," I said coldly, the memory of those awful cramps that had left me weak still very much with me. "I don't care to become a member of your club."
"Of course you do! Everyone always does! We have oodles of fun, and food and drinks stashed away that you wouldn't believe. And the next step will complete our requirements; we don't like girls who chicken out." She smiled at me winningly, with more charm than I had previously suspected she possessed. "All you have to do is slide down the dirty linen chute, then find your way out of the cellar, which is always kept locked. There is a way out, but you'll have to find it."
The pregnant pause stretched and stretched as I thought this over. "But how do I know the chute isn't dangerous?"
"Why we've all done it, Heaven, every last one of us, and none of us were harmed!" Pru smiled at me again. "C'mon, be a good sport . . . besides we want to visit you this Christmas."
An anger difficult to describe was building within me. There were all kinds of petty tricks they could have played that wouldn't have been so physically violent. And down there on top of all the dirty linen was a double bag of filth just waiting . . .
"If someone would prove to me that the chute is safe, and there truly is a way out of the locked basement, maybe . . ." I said. "I wouldn't want to be caught down there in the morning by one of the washwomen, who would immediately report me for being off limits--then maybe . . ."
"We've all done it!" flared Pru, as if she considered my caution utterly overdone. "It's only a swift downhill ride and you end up on damp towels. No big deal."
"But I want to make sure I can find my way out of the basement," I insisted.
"All right!" shouted Pru. "I'll do it first myself to prove it can be done! And when you see me again, you'll realize I'm the only truly brave person here, for someone other than the president of the club should have volunteered."
Destiny was at hand. Whatever happened next was none of my doing, I thought, as I watched Pru Carraway preen and praise herself, then prance toward the very largest of the clothes chutes where I'd dropped my plastic bag. With a great show of bravery, and a flourish of her hand, waving farewell as she called "See you later," she crawled through the round opening while the strong, heavy door was held open by one of her friends.
With Pru out of sight, the door was released, and with a loud bang it slammed shut. Beyond and out of sight Pru was telling the world in a loud, shrilling yell that the ride down was fun, fun, fun!
I held my breath. Maybe the double plastic bags would hold, maybe.
Then, quicker than I anticipated, came a different kind of scream. Horrified! Disgusted! Anguished!
"Doesn't she always overdo it?" said some girl I didn't turn to identify.
Amy Luckett leaned to whisper. "Forgive us, Heaven, for what we did. But all of us have to endure some ordeal, and I overheard your guardian tell Mrs. Mallory not to give you any help or protection from what the other girls did. It seems he wants to 'test your mettle' and see what you're made of."
I didn't know what to think. Far away Pru was still screaming and sobbing. Her wails began to drift away, becoming fainter and fainter. And with each passing second the nineteen girls who surrounded me became louder and louder with their comments, wondering why it was taking Pru so long to return.
Finally Pru Carraway showed up. She was pale, shaken, and so darn clean. Even her hair had been freshly shampooed. Her skin had been scrubbed with such force it looked shiny and raw. Her pale and stony gaze riveted on me. The girls around me grew very quiet. "Okay, I've proven it can be done. It's your turn now."
"I don't really care to belong to your club," I pronounced in a cold and haughty manner that rivaled her own. "Fun is fun, but anything that is dangerous and insulting and embarrassing physically goes beyond good taste, and good sense. I will go my way, and the rest of you can go yours."
Every one of those girls stared at me with absolute shock in her eyes, but in the glittery eyes of Pru Carraway glowed something else--relief that I hadn't exposed her shame, and resentment and hostility because, while she was gone, I had somehow managed to make a few friends.
Nine Logan
. I NEVER BECAME ONE OF THE SELECT IN WINTERHAVEN, but at least the majority of the girls accepted me for what I was, different and independent in a shy and uncertain way.
Subconsciously I had found the same old shield that I had used in the Willies and Winnerrow; indifferent, that's what I'd pretend to be. Let them throw slings and arrows, what did I care? I was here, where I wanted to be, and that was enough.
When Troy called the day after the dance to see how it had gone, I told him someone had played a terrible trick on me, but I was much too embarrassed to tell him what the trick had been. "You weren't harmed were you?" he asked, seemingly very worried. "I've heard those Winterhaven girls can be quite nasty to new girls, especially those they haven't grown up with."
"Oh," I answered in a new, nonchalant way, "I think this time the trick was also on them."
The very next Friday evening, sooner than expected, Jillian and Tony came back from California, full of holiday spirits. They gave me gifts of clothes and jewelry, and Troy in his small cottage was a constant, dependable comfort, just knowing he was there, every weekend, my secret friend. I more than suspected he didn't really want me there, distracting him from his chores, and if he hadn't been so polite and sensitive to my needs he would have sent me away.
"How do you entertain yourselves on
Saturdays?" Tony asked one day, when he saw me scurrying from the library with an armful of books.