The Unseemly Education of Anne Merchant (9 page)

“Lord Featherly has been loose with his information about this school,” Dr. Zin retorts coolly, his voice low and smooth like a cocoa-dusted truffle, like a deeper version of Ben’s. “And, allow me to remind you, he was in a different position than you are when he came to us, Manish.”

“A
different position
?
My company went public last year. Public! How rich do I need to be to send my daughter here?”

“We are not talking about
money
,” Villicus interrupts. “You misunderstand the mandate of my institution.”

“I just want what you’re giving these kids,” Manish says, lowering his voice. I inch closer to hear more. “My wife and I want it for our little girl. A future. As I said, I’ll pay anything—”

“Our school starts in the ninth grade,” Dr. Zin explains. “Even if you had been invited and were not acting with such impropriety, your daughter would not qualify on age alone.”

“But her grades were exceptional. She could make a go of it as a freshman.” He looks wildly between the two powerful men. “Lord Featherly said something about special tuition. I can give you anything you want. What will it take?”

“Frankly, there’s nothing you could offer,” Dr. Zin says.

“Please,” Manish begs, dropping to his knees. He throws himself at Villicus’s feet and wraps his arms around his old brown shoes. “
Please.
If you are the man I’ve been told you are, you
can
do this.”

My eavesdropping is cut short when I hear leaves crunching behind me. My heart stops with a dull thump. My fingers claw into the tree bark. I close my eyes, and I freeze in place.

I’m sure I’ll turn around and see Teddy. If not him, then some wild animal’s about to maul me. I don’t know which worries me more.

“Man,” a girl says—and I promise, I nearly pee my pants. I suck my lips in to keep from screaming. “It’s hard to hear them when they whisper, isn’t it?”

Whipping around, I find a black-haired girl smiling at me as she lightly punts the kickstand on her bike. She tiptoes to my side, still grinning—she has braces—holds my arm, and peeks over my shoulder to spy on Villicus, Zin, and Manish.

“Oh, they look
mad
,” she giggles. “Who’s the rich idiot in the guido shirt? He looks almost as stupid as Villie.”

I’m too stunned to move. Questions about who this girl is set in quickly. She’s on this side of the line and she’s friendly—so she’s probably not from Cania. Not to mention that I’m sure I didn’t see her at orientation today.

“Stop staring at
me.
You’re missing the whole show,” she whispers, her gaze fixed on the entertainment below. “That guy’s laying it on thick. He’s actually begging!”

“You’re from the village.”

Her black eyes flick in my direction. “Yep. I guess you’d better run away from me now. And I’ll run away from you.” She chuckles quietly. “Stupid rules.”

Even still, I back away. My dad gave up way too much for me to compromise things now. As I back away, the girl turns to me. I’m taller than she is, but she’s got a toughness about her that makes her seem larger.

“Come on. Be nice—
I’m
nice,” she says. “Do you even know why the rules are what they are?”

I shake my head. Something about keeping things exclusive, but I don’t say that.

“Exactly. You only know what Villie tells you. I’ve lived here my whole life.
I
know the rules. So trust me when I say that I know they’re worth breaking. I know what I’m doing when I’m breaking them.”

“Which you are,” I say.

“Which you are, too. Or, what, did you miss that bright red line on the road back there? You had to cross it to get here, right?”

“I live on the village side of it.”

Leaning against the spot I’ve given up on the tree, she fits her fingers into the same rivets I held in the bark and glances over her shoulder at me. Her eyes twinkle, and her skin is olive-toned, which makes her teeth, behind the metal, look very white. Unlike the kids at Cania, she’s got a few blemishes, and her eyebrows are untamed.

“Oh,” she says, “you’re
you.
You’re the new kid. The weird one.”

“The weird one?”

“Aren’t you?”

“Aren’t
you
?”
I fire back. “Only teen in a creepy village. Kinda weird.”

Surprisingly, she beams. “I know, right? It’s not just weird. It
blows.”

Manish’s voice booms out suddenly, and I sidle next to the girl to watch the events unfolding below.

“You’ll be hearing from my lawyer!” Manish hollers.

“It’s imperative,” Dr. Zin quickly cautions Manish, “that you keep this quiet.”

“Impossible! Your policies are ageist and exclusionary. If my money can’t get her in here, my money will shut this place down.”

With that, Manish grabs his jacket and storms to a speedboat at the end of the dock. As he does, Villicus flicks his eyes up to exactly where the girl and I are standing—
Oh, crap!
Freaked, we both stumble backward, falling out of his sight to the mossy, crunchy earth. I hear her squeal, but I don’t make a peep—because my heart’s temporarily stopped.

Hushed, we wait motionlessly and soundlessly for the voices below to go away.

“He saw me,” I finally whisper.

“He saw
me
for sure,” she says, clutching her chest. “But I don’t think he saw you. The tree shielded you. And I’m allowed to be here.”

“Are you sure? If he saw us together, I think I could get in serious trouble.”

“We both could,” she adds, but it’s obvious she’s enjoying the excitement of the moment. She tears her hand away from her chest and sticks it out at me. Her white ceramic watch makes a clinking noise against her diamond tennis bracelet. “I’m Molly. Molly Watso.”

“Anne Merchant.” I take it and shake. A speedboat starts down at the dock. “So, what did you mean, I’m the weird one?”

“This is a small island, which is even worse than a small town.” Rolling toward me, Molly chuckles. “I’d heard there was a new girl who was supposed to be different from the others. But don’t worry. You’re the
least
weird one up at that place, trust me.”

“What makes them weird? That they’re all flawless? Or that they’re the evil offspring of, like, Rockefellers?”

“Both!” Molly laughs again. “So you go into the village when you’re not supposed to. And you live with Gigi. What’s your deal? Just a sucker for punishment?”

I get to my feet, dusting my hand-me-down jeans. Molly follows and hops on her bike.

“It gets worse,” I confess easily. There’s something calming and, well, normal about Molly Watso. “We’ve got these Guardians assigned to us. And mine—
Teddy
—is actually living with me at Gigi’s. It’s pretty close quarters. I had to get out for some air.”

“Damn. I figured maybe Gigi would be your Guardian, but she’s from the village, so that wouldn’t work. Not really cut out for critiquing you twenty-four-seven.” She arches her eyebrow. “But looks like your Teddy Bear isn’t doing a very good job with that either.”

We fall into a stroll through the woods. I’m heading back to the main road, and I imagine she’s going to one of those enormous homes on the hillside.

“Hey, you know what the punishment is for us even talking, right?” she asks.

“Is it bad?”

“I’ll take that as a
no
,” she says, grinning. “You could be expelled.”

“And what’d happen to you?”

“The worst.”

“The worst?” I repeat. “The only thing worse than getting expelled from Cania might be having to go there in the first place.” I expect her to laugh, but she doesn’t.

“Exactly.”

“I’m kidding,” I say. “So, what would your punishment be?”

“Exactly what you said.” She stops walking as we near the road. “I’d be forced to attend Cania.”

“Attending Cania is a punishment? So, what? Is this place some sort of reform school?” I guess. Then another thought pops into my head. “Or, like, a mental institution for rich kids? Everyone there seems slightly off.”

I don’t add my concern: that my dad, after I fell into my depression over my mom’s death, might have tricked me into coming here under the guise of starting fresh.

Suddenly, a gunshot—at least, I think that’s what it is—tears through the air, bolting from the marina, ricocheting its echo, and sending me and Molly jumping out of our skin.

Molly nearly falls off her bike.

Another gunshot.

“Holy jeez,” she stammers, balancing herself again. “This island is getting crazier every second.” She skids away and calls back over her shoulder. “You okay getting home?”

Stunned, I think I mumble a
yes
. In a flash, Molly races to the hillside, shaking her head and shouting that she’ll see me later. I can’t believe she has the capacity to move. I’m frozen in place. By the time I’m able to move again, I stumble out of the woods and duck just as a Harley holding Dr. Zin and Villicus zooms by on the road below. It’s not until they pass and I regain my composure that the sound Molly and I heard makes better sense.

“Not a gunshot,” I assure myself. “It was the bike backfiring. Had to be.”

That has to be it. Because the alternative is not something I can let enter my mind. Not if I’m going to keep my sanity here, in a place that, the more I think of it, could very well be a high-end asylum.

Back at Gigi’s, under the dim glow of candles on my bedside table, my heart has stopped racing and I’m flipping through my student handbook, looking for clubs to join. It’s occurred to me that the dreariness outside, the oddness of the day, my jet lag, and my strange encounter with Molly might have made me a little jumpier than usual. Those shots we heard? I’ve dreamt up a million more explanations. Could have been barking sea lions. Or wailing loons. Or someone scattering gulls. Or a starting gun.

“Yeah, a starting gun,” I tell myself. “Starting gun for a running club.”

Doesn’t matter that, if the list of clubs in this handbook is exhaustive, there’s no running club here. There is, however, every other club known to man. A Model UN. Something called the Pil-At-Ease Club. Economics Club. Glee Club. The Social Committee. Swimming. Tennis. Mathletes.
Everything.

What will I sign up for?

“What would Mr. Ben Zin be likely to take?” I ask myself and just as quickly fling the handbook down. “Why am I even thinking about the snobby son of some gun-firing power tripper?”

Just before I blow out the candles, I hear a motorbike in the Zins’ driveway, and I jump out of bed, flying to the window in time to see not a Harley but a yellow Ducati disappear under the Zins’ porte cochere. For what feels like hours, I stand in the shadows, looking out my window, watching their house, watching lights fill and disappear from one window after the other.

In reality, I know guys like Ben don’t associate with girls like me. He’s a gorgeous senior; I’m a lowly junior. And I saw his reaction to my crooked smile. There’s no denying that. If his grades were poor, at least I could console myself that he might one day deign to discuss persistence in stochastic environments with me—but he’s set to get the Big V this year.

“Nothing could possibly interest Ben Zin in me.”

I turn to the small mirror on my dresser. And I rub my eyes.

It must be the candlelight. Or maybe there’s something in the water here that makes people look better than we otherwise would. Sure, I’m nowhere near as flawless as the other kids I encountered today, but I can’t help but notice that I don’t look quite as unfortunate as I normally do. Flattering light—that must be it.

Sweeping my hair away from my face and holding it high in a ponytail, I turn side to side to see my profile in the reflection. I look…hmm, not all that bad. It’s sort of like being introduced to myself, like my brain is temporarily allowing me a second chance to make a first impression. I definitely look more like my mom than I used to (a good thing). I can see similarities with her bone structure, her eyes, and her lips. Sure, I’ve got a blemish near my jawline, but I’m sixteen! I’m supposed to.

Gradually, I let my eyes fall below my neck, but it’s like this
chore
to get them there—to get them to my
actual
body, not just my face and hair, knowing that I’m about to check myself out. One part pathetic; one part intriguing.

Like a lot of girls, I guess, I’ve built an uncertain existence in the shadows of my most prominent flaws, which are the very qualities that make me
different,
which is only good on good days. But here I am now. Standing in my pajama shirt and undies. Tracing my fingertips over my collarbone in the dark. Dropping my arms to my side and letting my hand hover at the hem of my pajama shirt. Holding my breath, I lift it slowly. Take it off. And blush at my reflection. Because my body is so unrecognizable to me, it’s almost pornographic.

“Not bad,” I whisper, looking at myself as I never really have before. Something inside me stirs—not because I’m attracted to
myself
. It’s something else. It’s realizing, for the first time ever, that I may possess a teensy tiny bit of sexual power. It’s realizing, in spite of my will to succeed based on intelligence alone, that Teddy might not have been entirely crazy to suggest my body could be a strong asset for me.

There’s a knock at the door. I clasp my shirt to my chest and pray that Teddy doesn’t come marching up the stairs to find me like this.

“Annie? You awake?” Gigi loud-whispers. “My feet are killing me. Would you massage them?”

I don’t make a peep, and she finally pads back to her room. I slip my shirt back on and decide to force myself to sleep (because I’ll be joining Ornithology Club, which starts at 7:00
A.M
., which is 4:00
A.M.
back home, which will feel
terrible
tomorrow). I reach to draw my shade. And at that exact moment, just as I let my eyes fall on the Zin mansion for what I thought would be a nanosecond, I glimpse someone standing at a window there.

No, not
someone.
Two people.

I can see only their silhouettes, but it’s clear one is a man and the other a woman, and something tells me the man is
not
Dr. Zin. Too lean. Which means it’s Ben. With a girl. A girl who is reaching for him…
not
in a motherly way.