Cutler 01 - Dawn

laughter and the smiles.
    "They want me to spy on you," Louise whispered. "Linda just asked me."
    "Spy? What do they mean?"
    "Tell them anything you tell me about things you do with Philip," she explained. "But I would never tell them anything you told me in confidence," she said. "You see you can trust me," she added, but I wondered if she had told me what the girls were saying because she really wanted to help me or because she wanted to see me made sad.
    Jimmy was right about rich people, I thought. These rich, spoiled girls were much more conniving than the girls I had known at my other schools. They had more time to spend on intrigues and seemed to swim in a pool of jealousy. There were more green eyes here, and everyone was so conscious of what each wore and had. Of course, girls were proud of their nice clothes and their jewelry everywhere I had been, but here they flaunted it more, and if one had something special, the others tried to have something even better very quickly.
    I was no threat to them as far as clothes and jewelry went; yet it must be bothering them a great deal that Philip Cutler cared about me. They couldn't get him to care about them, no matter how expensive their clothes were and how dazzling their jewels were.
    "So what did happen yesterday?" Louise asked.
    "Nothing," I said. "He was very polite. He took me for a ride and showed me wonderful scenery and then he took me home."
    "He didn't try to . . . do anything?"
    "No," I said and quickly swung my eyes away. When I looked back at her, I could see her disappointment. "So Clara Sue had better stop spreading her lies."
    "She's just ashamed her brother likes you," Louise said rather nonchalantly.
    How horrible, I thought, to be considered so much lower than someone else just because your parents weren't rich. It was on the tip of my tongue to say she could tell Clara Sue not to worry anymore anyway, since my parents had forbidden me to go riding with Philip, but before I could say anything, we heard the bell for homeroom.
    "Oh, no," I said, realizing the time. "We're going to be late."
    "That's all right," Louise said. "I've never been late before. Old Turnkey won't keep us after school for just one lateness."
    "We had better get going anyway," I said, heading for the door. Louise stopped in the doorway when opened it.
    "I'll tell you what they say about you," she said, her watery eyes watching me from under her lashes, "if you want me to."
    "I don’t care what they say about me," I lied. "They're not worth caring about." I hurried on to homeroom with Louise right beside me, her shoes clicking as we flew down the hallway. My heart, which had been made of feathers, had suddenly grown as heavy as lead.
    "You girls are late," Mr. Wengrow said the moment we came through the doorway.
    "I'm sorry, sir," I said first. "We were in the bathroom and—"
    "Gossiping and you didn't hear the bell," he concluded and shook his head. Louise hurried to her desk, and I slipped into mine. Mr. Wengrow made some notations and then slapped his yardstick on the desk in anticipation of the morning's announcements.
    Another day at Emerson Peabody had only just begun, and already I felt as if I had been on a roller coaster for hours and hours.
     
    A little more than halfway through the third period, I was called out of my social studies class to see Mrs. Turnbell. When I came to her office, her secretary glared at me and spoke curtly, telling me to take a seat.
    I had to wait at least another ten full minutes and wondered why I had been told to come right away if I couldn't go right in. I was missing valuable class time just sitting there. Finally Mrs. Turnbell buzzed her secretary, who then told me to go in.
    Mrs. Turnbell was sitting behind her desk, looking down and writing. She didn't even look up when I entered. I stood there for a few moments, waiting, clutching my books to my chest tightly. Then, still without looking at me, she told me to take the seat in front of her desk. She continued to write for a few moments after I had sat down. Finally her cold gray eyes lifted from the papers before her and she sat back in her seat.
    "Why were you late for homeroom today?" she demanded without any greeting first.
    "Oh. I was talking to a friend in the bathroom, and we got so involved, I lost track of time until the second bell rang, but as soon as it had, I ran to my homeroom," I said.
    "I can't believe I have another problem with you so soon."
    "It's not a problem,