Pearl in the Mist (Landry 2)

"What did she make you do, Samantha?"

"They all did," she cried. "They taunted and cheered until I gave in."

"Gave in to what?"

"I had to take a pillow and pretend it was . . . Jonathan Peck. They made me stroke it and kiss it and . . ."

"Oh no, Samantha." She shuddered with sobs.

I stroked her hair. "My sister is a sick person. I'm sorry. You shouldn't have listened to her."

"They all hated me," she cried in defense, "even the other girls in the dorm and the girls in our classes. No one would talk to me in the girls' room or in the lockers, and someone poured a bottle of ink over my social studies notebook today, blotting out all the pages." She cried harder.

"All right, Samantha. It's all right," I said. I rocked her until her sobbing subsided. Then I stood up. "My sister and I are going to have a little chat right now."

"NO!" Samantha said, seizing my hand. "Don't." Her eyes were wide with terror. "If you get her angry, she'll turn the girls against me again. Please," she begged. "Promise you won't say anything. She made me promise not to tell you what they made me do and she'll just accuse me of betraying her again."

"She would make you promise that because she knows I'll go right in there and heave her out the window," I said. Samantha bit down on her lip, the alarm filling her face. "All right, don't worry. I won't do anything, but Samantha, are you all right?"

"I'm okay," she said, wiping her face quickly. She forced a smile. "It wasn't so bad, and it's over. We're all friends again."

"With friends like that, you don't need enemies," I said. "My grandmere Catherine used to say that even if we lived in a world without sickness and disease, without storms and hurricanes, droughts and pestilence, we would find a way to make the devil comfortable in our own hearts."

"What?" Samantha asked.

"Nothing. Are you moving back in with her?"

"No. She still wants to live alone," Samantha said. "Is it all right if I continue to room with you?"

"Of course. I'm just surprised. The second shoe hasn't dropped yet," I muttered, wondering what scheme Gisselle was designing to make life more unbearable for everyone, especially me, at

Greenwood.

The remainder of the week passed quickly and without incident. I didn't know whether being alone in the dorm and being responsible for taking care of her own basic needs was what exhausted her, but every morning when Kate finally wheeled her to the breakfast table, Gisselle looked half drugged. She sat there with her eyelids drooping and nibbled on something, barely paying any attention to the chatter around the table. She was usually the first to interrupt or to ridicule something someone else said.

Then on Friday Vicki stopped me in the corridor after science class to tell me she had heard that Gisselle had fallen asleep in remedial reading. I imagined Gisselle was too stubborn to admit that caring for herself was draining her of whatever energy she possessed. Toward the end of the day, I stopped her in the corridor.

"What is it?" she snapped. Fatigue made her even mor

e irritable than usual.

"You can't go on like this, Gisselle. You're dozing in class, dozing at lunch, moping in your chair. You need help. Either take Samantha back in with you or move back with me," I said.

The suggestion brought color to her face and perked her up.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" she replied in a voice loud enough to attract everyone nearby. "You want me to be dependent, to have to scream for help whenever I want to brush my hair or my teeth. Well, I don't need you or darling Samantha in order to get myself around this school. I don't need anyone," she added and whipped the wheels of her chair hard to push herself off. Even Kate was left standing with her mouth open.

"Well," I said, shrugging, "I'm glad she's trying to be independent. Let me know if she seems to be getting sick, though," I told Kate, who nodded and then ran after Gisselle. I went on to my art class.

That night Beau phoned. I had been waiting anxiously for his call all week.

"I thought I would sneak away tomorrow and come up to Baton Rouge to see you, but my father has restricted my use of the car since Daphne had a talk with him and my mother. She told them about my taking you up to the institution."

"And that made them that angry?"

"She said we disturbed Jean so much he has had to be given shock treatments."

"Oh no. I hope it's a lie," I cried.