“Right this way, please,” she firmly directed us and the others entering the hall. She held her arm out as though she were preventing us from going anywhere else in the building. We entered a conference room on the right. Inside, a female student in a midlength black skirt and a frilly white blouse handed out pamphlets to both parents and students. She barely smiled and wore a tag that read, “Student Government President, Kim Bailey.” Some of the information on the pamphlet was also in the brochures my father had brought for Mother to see, but there were two pages of rules that applied to both classroom behavior and dormitory behavior. The list for the latter looked longer than what was pinned on our room’s bulletin board. Everyone stopped talking in anticipation. Some looked like they were even holding their breath. I imagined a drumroll.
Everyone turned when Mrs. Mitchell entered. She was about five foot nine and quite pretty, with small facial features and dazzlingly bright blue eyes. She had her light brown hair styled in a classic bob. Her smile was warm and friendly, and I couldn’t imagine why my father had heard and why Marcy and the others thought of her as an Iron Lady, a Mrs. Thatcher. Her makeup was subdued but tasteful, complementing her natural beauty. She wore a dark green skirt suit in the same style as the one Pamela Cross wore, with a white blouse and a string of small pearls matching her pearl earrings.
“Welcome, everyone,” Mrs. Mitchell said, stepping behind the podium. She held out her arms. “Welcome to Littlefield. I’m so glad we have been able to provide you with a beautiful fall day for your first impression of our campus. We’re very proud of it. It’s truly our home away from home, something I have high hopes your children will come to believe as well.”
Her voice was crisp; her words, although spoken sharply, made her sound refined and proper, and they seemed genuine.
“Please, take seats if you haven’t. I promise I won’t keep you long. I know how eager your children are to become part of Littlefield.”
Her posture firmed, and the warm smile evaporated. The dazzle in her eyes quickly changed to a steely, sharp, and intense focus on us all.
“What I want to do is assure you that you have placed your child in a responsible, efficient school where every child is treated like an individual. Everyone reaches his or her goals in a different way, but we’ll provide the foundation for your child to exhibit his or her predilections freely and successfully. To our way of thinking, there is no such thing as a normal child or an average child. Perhaps it’s been well hidden until now, but we’ll know and nourish what makes your child special.
“To do all this, we ask a few things of everyone. We are not here to reform anyone,” she continued. Now I could hear the firmness in her voice, but it wasn’t simply gritty and unwavering. There was a clear suggestion of intolerance. “Littlefield is not a solution for children who have been in constant trouble in their public schools. We have little time for disciplinary problems. And we know you parents aren’t spending all this money to have your child waste time or effort or be responsible for wasting someone else’s. That is a belief set in concrete here.
“The pamphlet you’ve been given has the latest update to our rules. We are aware of the growing problems educators and parents are having out there,” she said, nodding at the window as if those problems and troubles were peering in at us. “I can guarantee you that you left them behind you when you passed through our gates. We believe we have a contract with you and your children. We’ll provide the best education possible, and in return, we ask your child to provide the best behavior possible, characterized by cooperation, obedience, and respect for others as well as him- or herself.”
She smiled, but her smile was ice-cold now, more like a mask.
“No DSD,” she said. “Drinking, smoking, drugs. A single violation of that rule is a breach of our contract. Children, your parents signed a document that establishes they will lose all the money they’ve invested in Littlefield. There are no exceptions, no special circumstances. Violators who plead will plead to deaf ears.
“Read the rules, obey the rules, and enjoy your school life and education,” she said. “Parents, you all have my direct phone line should you need anything. We have our own medical facilities. Mrs. Cohen, our school nurse, comes to us from service in the U.S. Army.”
Mrs. Cohen stepped forward. She was in a nurse’s uniform and looked to be in her l
ate thirties, even though there were strands of gray in her dark brown hair.
Mrs. Mitchell continued. “You will soon meet our guidance counselor, Mr. Hedrick. We are proud of all our staff. Every teacher at Littlefield has a master’s degree.
“For now, let’s get everyone settled in comfortably. Tomorrow, after all, is a school day.”
It was so quiet when she paused that I could hear heavy breathing behind me. Mrs. Mitchell nodded and started out. Someone’s mother stopped her to ask a question, but the rest of us began to leave. My father was at my side, Claudia and her father ahead of us, looking like they were fleeing a fire.
“I set up an account for you,” my father said as we walked. “The business department handles it. You can withdraw cash when you need it for things.”
“Thank you, Daddy.”
“So what do you think?” he asked. I knew he was eager to hear me say encouraging things.
“So far, so good. My roommate is a bit much, but I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
He nodded. “You might end up doing some psychotherapy yourself. Her father told me a little about her. This is her third private school in three years.”
“She told us.”
“She’s also a bit of an anorexic,” my father said.
“Maybe more than a bit. So she’s in therapy, too, huh?”
“Be careful you don’t start trading stories,” he joked, but my slipping and saying something I didn’t want anyone here to know was something I feared. He saw the fear in my face. “Look, Kaylee, when it comes to your roommate, just be a listener. Maybe that’s all she really needs.”
I stopped walking abruptly.
“What?”
“Did you tell Claudia’s father about Haylee?”
“Not a word. He didn’t ask about any other children.”