The Shadow Girl of Birch Grove (4 page)

This time I knew better than to say
huh
again. “Can you explain what you

mean?”

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The Shadow Girl of Birch Grove – Marta Acosta

“I was beginning to wonder if you even spoke English,” Lily said. “He

means that if you want to be more than knocked up dropouts, like most of these

girls,” she said and jerked her chin at a gaggle of girls shrieking with laughter as

they freaked and sang in the aisles. “You can study hard and get good grades. A

lot of private colleges would pay your entire tuition and fees.”

The boy said, “A full ride is a scholarship that pays for everything. Money

to go to school, a dorm, books. You’d be eligible since you’ve got nothing.”

“You could get away from here if you actually want to,” Lily said with a

challenging look.

It was as if I’d been staring at a locked steel door and someone pointed out

an open window high on the wall. I looked around the table and said, “I want to.

Will you help me?”

Lily smiled and looked at her friends. “See, I told you that there was

something going on behind those brown eyes.”

The Alphas took me on and called me their “social experiment.” They

helped me change my class schedule, coached me during lunch, and corrected my

papers and my grammar. Since Mrs. Richards didn’t allow me to go out anyway,

I turned all my energy toward studying, toward escape, and my grades rapidly

improved.

I’d never thought of myself as stupid, but I’d never really tried before, and

now I felt a satisfaction every time a paper was returned with “100%” circled in

red at the top of the page. By the beginning of sophomore year, I was established

as an Alpha, too. My friends asked for my opinions on teachers and partnered

with me on projects.

I listened closely to my new friends and announcers on television. My

speech evolved into the educated dispassionate language that I heard on

documentaries. Now it’s hard for me to remember how I used to talk:
wich

instead of with,
ax
instead of ask,
liberry
instead of library...

I learned the names of things, ideas, and feelings; and my world both

expanded and came into focus. I didn’t have one word, mad, to describe my

emotions. I was angry, furious, depressed, melancholy, infuriated… Sometimes,

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The Shadow Girl of Birch Grove – Marta Acosta

too, I was pleased, satisfied, optimistic, anticipatory…

By the end of my sophomore year, other students treated me as if I’d

always been one of the nerds, the geeks, the grinders, the Alphas.

Instead of being happy with my grades, Mrs. Richards accused me of

cheating.

“I’m not a cheater,” I told her. “I don’t need to cheat because I’m smart.

I’m smart enough to know that Hosea wouldn’t have died if you hadn’t been so

stupid and mean and lazy. When you die, I will be happy because I know you

will burn in hell for killing him.”

She paled under her crusty orange skin. “What a horrible thing to say after

all I’ve done for you! Well, don’t stay here if you don’t want to. I’m calling CPS

and giving you back. You’ll appreciate me when you end up beaten and starved

by crackheads, Jane Williams!”

“I’d rather live with addicts than with a murderer,” I said.

We didn’t speak to each other for weeks after that conversation, and when

the school counselor called me in during summer session before my junior year, I

thought that Mrs. Richards had followed through on her threat. I went to the

counselor’s office expecting to see sleazy low-lifes, ready to drag me off in

exchange for a monthly check from the foster care system.

But the woman sitting in the counselor’s office was unlike anyone I’d ever

met. She was tall and slim, beautiful, and wearing a navy blue jacket and skirt.

She had perfect ivory skin, clear blue eyes, and dark brown hair twisted into a

bun. Around her long neck was a strand of pearls.

Everything she wore was simple and immaculate. I couldn’t see a bit of

lint, a wrinkle, or a scuff mark. I slid my hand down to cover a hole in the

humiliating old t-shirt (peach with a big purple teddy-bear and
I Wub Hugs
) that

Mrs. Richards found in a box on the sidewalk.

The counselor said, “Jane, this is Mrs. Monroe, the headmistress of the

Birch Grove Academy for Girls. She’d like to talk to you for a few minutes.

Would that be all right?”

I nodded and wondered what was going on.

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The Shadow Girl of Birch Grove – Marta Acosta

“Jane, how nice to meet you. Why don’t you have a seat?” Mrs. Monroe’s

voice was soft and clear. She wore a light perfume that smelled like the herb

garden that we’d planted for a biology project.

I sat in the chair opposite her, tucking my feet under my chair to hide my

thin socks.

Mrs. Monroe asked, “Have you ever heard of Birch Grove Academy?”

The Alphas had spoken of the private school for smart, rich girls in the

same tone that little kids talk about Disneyland. “Yes, ma’am.”

She smiled. “We at Birch Grove look for exceptional students, and we

always have a place for a young lady who shows promise. We give our students

an excellent, well-rounded education in a supportive environment. Our graduates

go to the finest universities and many earn graduate degrees.”

She paused, as if expecting a response, and I nodded to show that I had

heard her, but I wondered why she was at City Central doing a sales pitch.

“Jane, I contacted your school asking if there was a student who fit our

qualifications, and they told me about you,” she said. “Do you have any family,

Jane?”

I answered because I was curious. “My mother is dead, ma’am.”

“I know she passed away,” Mrs. Monroe said and I wondered exactly how

much she’d been told about my mother’s death. “What about your father,

grandparents? Is there anyone else?”

“I don’t know who my father is and as far as I know, he doesn’t know I

exist. Child Protective Services couldn’t find any other family.” I didn’t know

how hard they tried. Williams was one of the most common last names in the

country.

“You’re all alone then,” Mrs. Monroe said as if the answer satisfied her.

“Yes.”

“We have a scholarship available for a worthy student.” Mrs. Monroe

reached out to touch my knee. “Would you like to attend Birch Grove, Jane?

“Of course, I would,” I said. “I haven’t stayed where I am by choice. I’ve

tried to transfer to other group homes in better school systems, but my requests

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The Shadow Girl of Birch Grove – Marta Acosta

have been rejected every time. My caseworker says there aren’t enough spaces

and stability is good for me.”

“You could petition to be an emancipated minor and then you’d be free to

live where you wanted. We would provide you with the old groundkeeper’s

cottage,” she said. “Although it’s small, it will be all yours, Jane. You’ll be

independent, and you’ll have our support. We will help take care of you and

teach you how to take care of yourself.”

I was so stunned by her offer that all I could do was stare at her for a

minute. “What would I have to do?”

“The only thing you have to do is have a physical and a blood test. You

don’t mind having your blood drawn? I ask because some people hate needles.”

I’d be willing to have my blood drawn every day if it meant getting away

from Mrs. Richards. “Needles don’t bother me.”

“That’s wonderful, Jane. Then I can tell the board that you’re interested?”

It was amazing and wonderful and I almost laughed with joy as I thought

about having freedom. “Yes, I’m interested.”

It sounded much too good to be true.

It was.

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The Shadow Girl of Birch Grove – Marta Acosta

“Birch Grove Academy for Girls endeavors to educate the complete person,

promoting the intellectual, spiritual, physical, and social advancement of

each young lady.”

Birch Grove Student Handbook

MY KNOWLEDGE
of the wealthy was limited to the relatives of drug dealers,

flashing their diamonds and gold, who came to school in new Escalades. But that

kind of wealth ran from the law, and Mrs. Monroe’s type of wealth controlled the

law.

Two days after meeting Mrs. Monroe, I had physical at an elegant private

clinic downtown. After my exam, the nurse came in and said, “We need a blood

sample. Are you left-handed or right-handed?”

“Right-handed.” I watched as she tied a rubber tube around my left arm.

She swabbed the inside of my elbow with alcohol and said, “You can look away if

it bothers you.”

“I don’t mind, ma’am.”

She tapped the inside of my elbow. “There we go. That’s a nice vein for

such a petite girl.”

I felt a small prick as she slid the needle into my skin and I was fascinated

to see that the blood that filled the hypodermic was so dark red it was almost

black.

“That’s it!” The nurse pressed a cotton ball against the puncture as she

pulled out the needle. She put the blood sample in a rack and then used medical

tape to hold the cotton ball in place over the injection.

“I’ll tell Mrs. Monroe that you’re a good patient,” she said.

“It’s only a little blood.” Somewhere in the back of my mind I heard a

voice saying,
so much blood
, but I couldn’t remember who had said it or when.

As I was waiting to take the bus back to the house, I kept my head down to

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The Shadow Girl of Birch Grove – Marta Acosta

an SAT vocabulary study guide. I’d learned that people would leave me alone if I

was reading, but I was always aware of what was happening around me and a

woman’s shouts sounded familiar, so I lifted my gaze in order to see what was

going on.

A whore was stumbling down the street next to an older guy who had an

addict’s skull face. The whore teetered because she was drunk or high and one of

her heels was broken. Tattoos covered her bare arms and her short skirt showed

bone-thin, bruised legs.

She looked 30, but I knew she was only seventeen.

“Wilde,” I said.

Her dark-lined eyes moved in my direction and finally focused on me.

“It’s me, Jane.”

Wilde looked puzzled and then she said, “Jane!”

“Hi.”

The man – her pimp, her boyfriend? --shuffled to me and said, “You got

any money?”

“No, sorry.”

“Gimme your bus pass.” When he leaned over me, his fetid body odor

enveloped me like a greasy cloud.

“No,” I said and moved away.

Wilde grabbed his arm and said, “Leave her,” and then the bus roared up to

the stop. I ran onto it as soon as the doors opened. When I looked out the bus

window, Wilde and the man were exchanging blows. My heart ached for the girl.

A week later, I stood beside a lawyer in front of a judge. A silver-haired

lawyer in a pinstripe suit made quick work of what had been impossible for me to

accomplish. The judge granted me emancipation, making me free from the

control of adults.

I kept reading the legal documents to make sure there wasn’t a clause that

could remand me back to the foster system. It all seemed clear enough. From

now on, I was legally on my own, which was as frightening as it was wonderful,

because now my survival depended upon Birch Grove Academy. So long as I

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The Shadow Girl of Birch Grove – Marta Acosta

was a student, I would have a place to live and food.

On the Saturday before the beginning of fall term, I packed my few clothes

into a cheap vinyl sports bag. I moved the dresser in my bedroom in order to

reach my hiding place. Then I packed Hosea’s Bible, Wilde’s silver earrings,

$19.59, and the white envelope with the mangled bullet into the sports bag.

I said goodbye to my housemates, and walked past Mrs. Richards.

“Jane Williams, aren’t you going to thank me for all I’ve done?” She

waved her arm at me, sending a dozen gold-plated bracelets clanking on her wrist.

I turned to face her. “You have never done anything for me that you didn’t

have to do so you could keep getting checks from the state. You would have

thrown me in the street the minute I aged-out.”

In a low, shaky voice, she said, “Children can’t be indulged, or they’ll go

bad. I did what was best for you.”

“No, you did what was best for you and never gave one kind word or an

honest smile to any of your foster kids. When I’m older, I’ll make sure that your

license is taken away and I’ll tell everyone the truth about you.”

Seeing Mrs. Richards’ fearful expression, I felt a spark of something

exciting and unfamiliar: it was power.

A driver in a dark suit stood by a dark blue Lexus by the curb. He

introduced himself as Jimmy, took my bag and put it in the trunk. He opened the

door to the back seat for me, but it felt weird sitting in the back and besides I

always got a little carsick.

“Is it okay if I sit up front?” I asked.

“Sure. Whatever you want. You can listen to the radio if you want.”

I got in the passenger seat and turned on the radio so that I wouldn’t have to