When Women Were Dragons(54)

(I had a friend once, I found myself thinking. She lived in a magical house. I shook my head, trying to force the image of Sonja’s face away. It had been so nice to have a friend. But that was over now. I didn’t need friends—I had Beatrice. And I had my schoolwork. And my work beyond school. There was so much to learn. I had to live in the present. It did no good to ask questions.)

I washed my hands and slid into the hallway, making my way past groups of boys leaning against the lockers and groups of girls walking shoulder to shoulder, always moving in packs.

I held my books close to my chest and kept my head down until I reached the main office. As with previous years, my schedule had been mailed to my father’s house, so once again I had to go to the office, lie, and say I had lost my schedule (like I would ever lose a single thing, I thought huffily) and get a copy.

I kept my eyes down as I walked in. They still had the honor roll posted next to the door. My name should have been at the very top. Everyone knew it. Instead I was number seven. “A clerical error,” the dean had informed me then. “We’ll fix it as soon as we can.” But they never did.

The woman who ran the front office, an ancient nun named Sister Kevin, smiled brightly when I arrived. “Alexandra!” she said. “As I live and breathe!” If it weren’t for her nun’s habit, her bright eyes and face like a wizened apple might have made her look like one of the trolls in Sonja’s picture books that she showed me when we were children. (And just thinking so made my breath catch and my eyes sting. I took a deep breath, to calm myself down, and forced the thought away.)

“Good morning, Sister,” I said, my voice suddenly thick. I cleared my throat. “I’m sorry to say I’ve mislaid my schedule. Any chance I could get a copy?”

“You know we were talking about you all morning,” she said as she pulled out the card with my handwritten schedule already filled out. She had been expecting this, it seemed. “I’m sure your ears were just burning.” She clapped her hands together and beamed. I had heard that back when she was a teacher, she was a bit of a menace. All demands and bombast and disappointment and yelling. It was hard for me to imagine. Now she was all smiles and endless enthusiasm.

“My ears are just fine, thank you, Sister.” I looked at the schedule and frowned. “I’m sorry, there seems to be a mistake.” I showed it to her. “I’m scheduled for calculus. But I shouldn’t be. I already took it in the correspondence program, in ninth grade. I have already amassed credits at the university.” She didn’t take my schedule. She simply maintained her delighted expression. “I got an A. And I was the top student in the class. The professor wrote me a letter congratulating me and everything. In the spring I spoke to Sister Frances—”

“Who is no longer the principal, dear,” Sister Kevin said, kindly. “Sweet?” She offered up a jar of hard candy. I shook my head.

“She’s not?” That was news to me. “Since when?” I checked myself. It did me no good to get snippy. “I mean, I’m surprised. No one said anything last year. Did she retire?” I squinted, trying to pin down what Sister Frances’s age might have been. It was difficult for me to tell with most people, but even more difficult with nuns.

Sister Kevin fished out a lemon drop and popped it into her mouth. “No. She just, you know, flew the coop, as they say. Stretched her wings. I mean her legs. She had always wanted to do some traveling, dear heart, and so we decided not to stand in her way.” She closed her eyes and rolled the lemon drop in her mouth. I could hear it rattling against her molars. This didn’t make any sense.

“Is she coming back?”

She smiled, her shoulders bouncing a bit. “Who’s to say, really. Are you sure you don’t want a sweet?” I shook my head. “In the meantime, Mr. Alphonse —from Saint Agnes—will be acting principal for both schools, until the diocese makes a replacement.” She pursed her lips for a moment. “It’s a lot for any man. I hope he doesn’t work himself to death, poor thing.”

Great. I sighed. I laid my schedule out on the desk. I pointed to the spot that said “Calculus.” “But you see. I took this class. Already. In ninth grade. And then I took multivariable calculus and then I took discrete mathematics, and now I’m taking linear algebra and probability through the university. These classes are quite difficult, and Sister Frances and I decided that it would be helpful for me to have a free period in order to study.”

“Sister Frances isn’t here, dear,” she said indulgently.

“I know,” I said, trying to keep my frustration in check. “But see, she already said. We decided. Sister Frances signed off and everything.” I paused. “In pen,” I added lamely.

“Sister Frances isn’t here, dear,” Sister Kevin repeated, with no change to her tone or expression.

This was going nowhere. I decided to take it up with the teacher instead. “Thanks, Sister Kevin. It’s always so nice to see you.”

“As it is for me with you!” she said, blowing me a kiss. I turned to go. “Oh! And how everyone was gabbing about you this morning! So many opinions! That friend of yours came by with her stacks and stacks of information and pamphlets. She made everyone take it whether they liked it or not! Such a force of nature she is! She has high hopes for you, my dear. The sky is the limit, she said, which made me giggle a bit. Imagine being limited by the sky!” She chuckled.