“Yes.” I imagined she had been told that I was someone with Asian features.

“I’m Mrs. Knox. Dr. Steiner wanted me to bring you to her as soon as you arrived. Come through,” she said, stepping back.

I followed her to the principal’s office door. She smiled at me and knocked.

“Yes,” we heard.

She opened it enough to peer in and told Dr. Steiner I was here.

“Send her right in, Louise,” I heard her say. Mrs. Knox stepped back and held the door open for me.

Dr. Steiner was a stout woman with a heavy bosom. She wore a dark brown skirt suit with a frilly-collared blouse. She had curly, gray-stained dark brown hair and looked about five foot two at the most. Except for lipstick, she wore no makeup, not even to cover what looked like tiny freckles or age spots on the crests of her cheeks. She was standing behind her desk when I entered and for a few moments simply stared at me the way someone would study a stranger to see if he or she was what was expected.

“Welcome to Pacifica High School, Sasha,” she said, and nodded at the chair in front of her desk. “I’m Dr. Steiner.”

I sat. I didn’t realize it, but I was clutching my new book bag against my stomach as if I was afraid someone would steal it. It reminded me of the way Mama had worn her purse in front to avoid it being stolen when she walked through the streets. Dr. Steiner looked at the way I was holding my book bag, smiled, and sat. I relaxed my grip.

“I imagine you’re a little frightened about entering a new school, but I want you to know you needn’t be. I have a wonderful, bright, and caring staff working here. You’ll discover we’re like one big family,” she said.

When she spoke, she sounded a little nasal, like someone with a bad cold. Her grayish blue eyes widened at the ends of her sentences. She had her left hand palm down on the desk, but she held her right hand up with her index finger out and pumped it up and down to emphasize what she was saying. When I didn’t say anything, she continued.

“I’ve spoken with your tutor, Mrs. Kepler, and she is confident that you are ready for the ninth-grade work ahead of you. I have a high regard for her opinion, so I’m sure she’s correct. This is your class schedule,” she said, lifting a card no bigger than a pack of cigarettes. “Your classes and your teachers’ names are on it. On the back is our motto.” She turned it over and read, “Pacifica High School, where everyone strives to be all he or she can be.”

She leaned forward.

“Despite your recent history, Sasha, there is no reason for you not to be all you can be. I want you to know that I personally will do all that I can to help you achieve that, and I feel confident that your teachers here will do so, as well. They’re a dedicated bunch.

“Now, then,” she continued, sitting back. “I promised Mrs. March that I would personally see if you had any problems and personally escort you to your homeroom. There is a very nice young lady classmate of yours, Lisa Dirk, who has volunteered to be your big sister for today. She has the same schedule you have and will show you around, okay?”

I could see that it was bothering her that I hadn’t spoken.

“Is there anything you’d like to ask me before we go to your homeroom and meet Mr. Hoffman?”

“No,” I said.

“No? Well, I’m sure there will be things as you get started, and if you can’t get the answers from your teachers or other students, you come knocking on my door, okay?”

I nodded.

“I have been told you are artistic. I know that Mr. Longo, our art teacher for the senior high, will be excited about that.”

“I don’t know if I’m artistic.”

“Sasha,” she said, leaning toward me and smiling, revealing tiny teeth. “You will quickly discover that at this school, modesty is a disadvantage. Take pride in what you can do. Of course,” she added, “many of our students take pride even though they can’t do. I don’t know all that much about you, of course, but I’m willing to bet that self-confidence doesn’t come easy to you right now. I hope that will change.” Her eyes narrowed. She sounded and looked as if it had better change. “Okay, then, come along,” she said, rising. “Let’s get you started on a wonderful school year. I’ll take you right to your locker first and give you the combination.”

She reached out for me as she came around her desk and surprised me by putting her arm around my shoulders. When she opened the door, I saw that the students who had been in the outer office were gone. Mrs. Knox and her associate both

turned and looked at us with a surprised smile. Dr. Steiner still had her arm around me.

“Mrs. Knox. Mrs. Frazer, this is Sasha March, our newest student. Please make her feel at home. We’re going to her locker and then to Mr. Hoffman’s homeroom,” she told them. “Man the fort.”

They both nodded and looked at me as if I, not Kiera March, were the rich man’s daughter. Was Dr. Steiner giving me this special treatment because of Mrs. March or because of what Mrs. March had told her about me? Whichever reason it was, I didn’t feel good about it. I hoped this would be the first and last time I’d be singled out for any privileged treatment. It wasn’t that long ago since I was last in school, and I remembered all too well how students would resent others whom their teachers favored.

When we stepped into the lobby, it was empty and very quiet. So was the hallway we entered. Where had everyone gone so quickly? Dr. Steiner saw the confused look on my face.

“The bell for beginning of homeroom has rung, but the bells don’t ring in my office,” she said. “I have enough outside noise as it is. Loitering in the hallways after the bell rings will get you into detention as quickly as anything else.”

I couldn’t help but wonder if Kiera had made it to school on time. After Dr. Steiner showed me my locker and gave me the combination, we continued down the long corridor. We walked to the last room on that wing of the building. When we entered, the dozen or so students all turned to look. Mr. Hoffman, a man Mama would have called as slim as a butter knife, stopped what he was reading and looked at us.

Tags: V.C. Andrews Storms
Source: readsnovelonline.net