Outrun the Moon(41)

The tangy smell of cheese rises from her packet. Chinese people don’t really eat cheese, but I feign delight. We pluck orange cubes from the pile. “I wanted to say thank you, and . . . I’m sorry.”

“I only did what was right. But why did you follow me?”

“Harry thought—” She chews her lip. “She thought you were a spy.”

I almost laugh. If I were a spy, surely I’d find something more interesting to spy on than a bunch of girls perfecting their comportment. “So you decided to investigate.”

She nods, shame-faced. “Only to show her she was wrong. I never thought you were a spy.”

“You could make a good living as a mortician; you’re quiet as fog. Did you follow me into the cemetery?”

“No way. I was too scared. Were you . . . visiting someone?”

I smile, deciding not to tell her about Tom. “I love the views from the top of the hill. There’s something about looking down at the world that makes everything less . . . scary.”

“You don’t seem to be scared by much. Not Elodie, not ghosts.”

“I’m scared of a lot of things. I worry about my brother all the time. He’s only six, and he has weak lungs.”

“At least he’s got you. If you’ve got someone worrying over you, you’ll be okay. I have my gran.” Hugging her knees to her chest, she squints into a shadowy corner. “Harry doesn’t have anyone but me. Her daddy never liked her because he wanted a son. When she was four, he made her mama leave her with the nuns.”

I wonder if Harry has trouble with fours as well. Being left by one’s parents is a million times worse than the four stitches I got on my fourth birthday, or dropping Ma’s four dollars down the sewer. “That’s dreadful. Family’s not supposed to give you up.”

“They weren’t much of a family.” She steals a glance at me. “Harry wanted to say she’s sorry herself, but she’s afraid of the ghost.”

“Sorry for what?”

“For thinking you were an upside-down six.”

“A what?” Maybe that’s worse than a four.

“Someone who’s pretending they’re something they’re not.”

I stare through my half-eaten cube of cheese as the guilt makes my throat constrict. How will they feel when they find out Harry was right all along?

Katie sucks one of her twiggy fingers. “Headmistress Crouch almost whipped me last year for brawling with a girl who called Harry snipper-witted. Harry ain’t—isn’t—she just gets nervous sometimes. But instead of whipping me, Headmistress Crouch bumped me up a level to be with the sophomores.”

No wonder Katie looks young for our class.

“I think she knew I would be happier in Harry’s level. I think she did me a favor.”

The warning bell rings faintly from one floor down. With a sigh, Katie rocks forward onto her feet. “I better go. If the ghost visits, come down to our room.”

Her kindness warms me. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks.”

If a ghost visits, I hope it likes cheese.



I sleep better in the attic than I’ve slept the entire week I’ve been at St. Clare’s, with no creaking ceiling above me and no snoring locomotive. The hungry ghost stays away, too. Maybe it was tired like me. I pray it will not return.

The solid night’s sleep fills me with renewed purpose, a determination to suck out the marrow from every bone chucked my way. And if I’m discovered, I will walk out with my head held high. All I wanted was a fair shot. Is that so wrong?

As the maids bring in the trays at breakfast, Headmistress Crouch arrives bearing a new walking cane with a shiny brass knob. I hope it’s not a replacement for the ruler, one that can help her walk as well as whack.

She marches to the front of the room and stamps it on the wooden floor to snuff out any chatter. “Good morning, ladies. Auditions for the lead vocalist in our Spring Concert will be at noon. I hope some of you will use this opportunity to showcase your talents.” She looks at Harry, who seems to shrink into her uniform. “In addition, tomorrow the sophomores will host breakfast for the men from Wilkes College. All others will dine in the parlor.”

As a chorus of disappointed awws is heard from everyone but the sophomores, a maid holding a uniform glides to the headmistress’s side and whispers something to her.

Headmistress Crouch’s face grows severe. “Well, it appears that despite my warning about turning your uniforms inside out, one of you still has not gotten the message. Whose is it, Beatrice?”

The room goes very still. I sure would hate to be the poor soul who gets to break in Headmistress Crouch’s new cane.

Beatrice says in a clear voice: “M. W.”

I gasp as all heads turn to my corner of the room. My mind tumbles back to last night. I distinctly recall turning my dress inside out before placing it in the basket.

“Miss Wong, please stand,” says Headmistress Crouch, sounding not at all surprised.

I grimace as I get to my feet, already anticipating the sting of the cane. “Someone has played a prank on me,” I say, hating the quaver in my voice.

“Posture,” Headmistress Crouch barks. I pull back my shoulders and lift my head. She continues. “And who do you think has done that?”