Rain (Hudson 1)

Her smile was friendly and warm, however.

"Hi," she said quickly.

"Hi. I'm Rain Arnold," I said.

"Yes, Mrs. Whitney is expecting you." She took my folder. Why couldn't the girl out in the lobby have left it with her to start with? I wondered. Everyone here must have his or her little job, I thought.

"Just have a seat," she told me and rose to go into the inner office.

I sat on the leather sofa and gazed at the Dogwood yearbook from the previous year. Aside from the obvious richness of the book production itself, the pictures weren't all that different from any other yearbook I had seen, except for the fact that there were only girls in almost all of them. I saw how many clubs and activities there were, how the girls competed against other all girl schools in just about every sport, including horseback riding, swimming, and fencing. Fencing? This was like training for the movies.

The theater looked so big and professional. They had done a musical last year, The King and I. I noted that the boys in the production were from Sweet William. They had also done a production of The Diary of Anne Frank I knew that book and loved it. I recalled reading passages to Beni, who pretended she wasn't interested but listened anyway and finally asked so many questions, I made her read it too.

"Mrs. Whitney will see you now," Susan said from the doorway.

I rose quickly and walked into the office. This one was quite large, but very neat and organized, one wall covered with plaques and awards, citations with pictures of important politicians and benefactors, and another with two oil paintings, each depicting Dogwood from a different perspective, revealing the pond and beautiful gardens.

Mrs. Whitney looked trapped behind her large, maple wood desk. I was surprised at how small she was, maybe just an inch or so taller than five feet. I didn't imagine her to weigh an ounce more than one hundred pounds. Her blue-gray hair was brushed and styled with a slight wave through the center, but her hair was thinning so that her scalp was clearly visible in spots. She wore simple gold teardrop earrings, a dark blue suit and an expensive looking gold watch. I noticed she wore a wedding ring, but no other rings.

What she lacked in physical size, she made up for in stature and voice. There was a strong, nononsense demeanor about her, a firmness in her eyes and face that telegraphed about as much grit and strength as I had seen in any woman. I thought her to be in her sixties, but later found out she was seventy with no intention, not even a passing thought, of retiring. She was, I would soon learn, the

personification of Dogwood. It was her school to give over to a new headmistress and she was in no mood to even consider it.

"Please have a seat," she said, directing her dark blue eyes toward the chair in front of her desk. I took it quickly. "Thank you, Susan," she said, nodding at the secretary who then closed the door.

For a long moment, Mrs. Whitney simply contemplated me. I was almost ready to ask her why she was staring at me so hard, but I didn't have the nerve to utter a syllable. She had a way of

commanding with her eyes, dominating with her firm posture.

"I am fully aware of your situation," she began. "Mrs. Hudson and I are close friends and Mrs. Hudson is a significant benefactor of Dogwood."

Mrs. Whitney wore only a trace of lipstick and some powder on her cheeks. Her chin was sharp and the skin was taut up to her ears, so that the very bones of her face seemed to rub when she spoke. Her forehead was as wrinkled as one of Ken's shirts and the lines at her eyes and around her mouth were like sharp, dark slices, but if her face was aging, her mind was not. She looked like she could leap out of her old body anytime she wanted and challenge anyone to anything.

I was truly impressed.

"The moment you walk out that door today, this part of our conversation is buried and forgotten unless Mrs. Hudson herself resurrects it. You understand?"

"Yes, ma'am," I replied, afraid my voice would crack or that I wouldn't get up enough air to make a sound. "Good. Now to the school and you," she began opening my folder. "We already have your transcripts and you do look to be a worthwhile academic candidate, although I have my doubts as to the quality of your education up to this point. We'll see:' she added cautiously. "Maybe I'll be pleasantly surprised.

"Dogwood is one of the oldest private institutions of its kind in this state. We are dedicated to offering not only a rigorous college-preparatory program, but a well-rounded education. Our girls leave here fit for the intellectual, ethical and

emotional challenges of life. We instill confidence, leadership, independence, self-esteem. Recent studies strongly suggest that girls who attend single sex institutions possess more positive attitudes toward academics.

"At the same time," she continued, "we recognize that young women need to become aware of different viewpoints and have to learn how to work with young men in a variety of -settings. That's why we encourage our girls to participate in the

cooperative ventures between Dogwood and Sweet William.

"You've been given a wonderful opportunity, my dear. I hope you appreciate it and will make every effort to live up to our standards of behavior and excellence.

"I won't take up your time now to go over these rules," she said, handing me a small pamphlet, "but I do expect you will read this and commit them to memory. I know you will find vast differences in the level of expectation here and what you were accustomed to in the inner city. We are proud of the fact that we have never had a single instance of drug abuse, vandalism or violence at our school. We won't tolerate even a suggestion of such a thing."

"Neither would my Mama:' I said sharply.

She raised her thin eyebrows, but I was tired of everyone who looked at me and knew where I was from assuming I had been either a member of a gang, a girl with loose morals, or a thief just because I had darker skin and came from a low income neighborhood. People rose above their problems and situations, didn't they?

"Good," Mrs. Whitney said. "I don't want to waste the precious time you'll need to get accustomed to your new surroundings. Just be assured that I will take a personal interest in your progress as a favor to Mrs. Hudson."

I was going to say, "Thank you, I think," but I just said, "Thank you."