Good Girls Lie(8)
“I do miss him. But we didn’t see him much.”
“I understand. And your mother. To lose her, too, so soon after... It’s simply tragic.”
“Yes.” I shut my mouth resolutely, praying the dean will take the hint and stop the inquisition. The way she speaks, a human ellipsis, waiting for me to fill in the blanks, is unnerving.
She does, changing tack entirely. “During our interview, we talked about the Honor Code, how important it is to the school, to our heritage, to our students. Absolute trust, that is what we ask. Lying, cheating, or other violations of the Honor Code will not be tolerated. There is no warning system—you openly violate the code and you’re out. Lesser infractions will be dealt with by Honor Court, which is run by our head girl. Do you remember the Honor Pledge?”
“Yes. It is protection for both myself and for the students around me.” I clear my throat, state with perfect clarity the words I am expected to say. “‘I will hold myself and my fellow students to the highest standards. I pledge absolute honesty in my work and my personal relationships. I will never take a shortcut to further my own goals. I will not lie, I will not cheat, I will not steal. I will turn myself in if I fail to live up to this obligation, and I will encourage those who break the code in any way to report themselves, as well. I believe in trust and kindness, and the integrity of this oath. On my honor.’”
This recitation makes my heart thunder in my chest. My hands shake a bit as I clutch the teacup, but the dean either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care.
“Excellent. It will be up to you how much of your past you wish to divulge, Ash. I don’t see keeping your family’s plight to yourself as a violation of the Honor Code. I think the name change is a good idea, and support your decision to keep this unfortunate situation apart from your studies. Likewise, your status as a scholarship student is not something we discuss. Most of the girls aren’t even aware this program exists. Since your case is so circumstantial, it will behoove you not to mention it. Teenage girls aren’t very understanding in general, not to mention unaware of the issues with arcane British inheritance laws.”
Oh, the irony—don’t ever lie, cheat, steal—but lies of omission are just fine.
The dean briskly continues, “Because of your exemplary insights into Plato in your admissions essay, we’ve loaded you heavily into the liberal arts track. You placed out of math, so there is still an open slot in your schedule. There are three classes offered during that time period—French, Latin, and computer sciences. The former are eventual requirements junior and senior year and I highly recommend—”
“Computers, please. Ma’am.”
“Dean, not ma’am. And are you entirely sure? This isn’t a class to enter into lightly, Ash. You won’t be able to use the computers to email with friends back home or work on your social media feeds. This is a nuts-and-bolts education on programming, highly advanced and usually reserved for the young ladies who have shown an aptitude and plan to head into engineering and aerospace programs at leading technical schools, like MIT or Caltech. We don’t normally allow sophomores in this class, but we have a new professor and he wishes to expand the program to include all class levels. I disagree, but times have changed, and Goode must change with them.”
I feel such a sense of relief at this option, this one small thing I know I’ll be comfortable with, I nearly cry. “Yes. I am absolutely sure. I like computers. Not the social media nonsense. I like how the systems work.”
“I noticed you aren’t active online, unlike many of your peers. I was happy to see it. Unless you have private accounts we aren’t aware of?”
“Goodness, no. I find social media a waste of time. Not to mention an invasion of privacy.” She has no idea what an invasion it would be. I plan to keep it that way. All my accounts were deactivated before I got on the plane.
The dean smiles wryly. “Good. Computer science it is. If you do like this sort of thing, you’ll enjoy your professor, Dr. Dominic Medea. He used to work in Silicon Valley. And as for piano, you’ll be with Dr. Muriel Grassley. She is a Juilliard-trained pianist who has wonderful connections, so you’ll be able to work with some of the best programs in the country. She’ll be expecting you in the theater after convocation. I knew you’d want to get started right away.”
“About piano, I—”
A small chime dings, sweet and gentle.
“We’re out of time, I’m afraid. Take your bags to your room, and then change for convocation. I will see you in the chapel in thirty minutes. Welcome to Goode.”
Dean Westhaven turns her attention to the stack of papers on the desk in front of her.
I am dismissed.
7
THE ROOMMATE
Relieved and vaguely excited by surviving my first important meeting at Goode, I replay the conversation as I make my way to the grand staircase.
I was so sorry to hear of your father’s death...
My parents are a sore subject, too fresh, too indecipherable, so I push their faces out of my mind. I don’t want to think about them, nor about him. Not now, not ever.
Pale. So pale. Waxy. Quiet. Hair parted on the wrong side. The red of his lips unnatural as if he’s been kissed too hard and too long. Crying. A crush of people. The smells: chlorine and stale, piped, air-conditioned air overlaid with overly ripe white lilies, stamens pushing aggressively toward the ceiling, stinking of death...