The chaperone, p.3
The Chaperone, page 3
My jaw drops right when the barking starts again. I ignore it and reread.
I guess this means there’s one less chaperone in the world.
What does that mean? Is this Rose person saying it’s good Sister Helen died?
The barking outside gets louder, and I rotate my body toward the garage at the same the blue light from Mom and Dad’s room goes out. I immediately power down the smart screen. If they find out I know the password, I’ll never be able to get on the internet again.
The neighbor’s dog is howling relentlessly. I move to the tall windows overlooking the courtyard. Moonlight hits the giant fountain Mom had installed a few years ago. She claimed it made the courtyard less prisonlike. I can’t see the neighbor’s house from inside, but when I peer in that direction, the barking stops.
Suddenly everything is quiet.
My breath fogs the glass. Behind it, a full moon as big as the sun hovers above the horizon. What would happen if…
A breeze rushes in when I unlock the door, sending a shiver down my back. I pull the scarf tighter. As I walk down the steps, the courtyard grows dark, the moon hiding behind a cloud. The brick pavers tickle my bare feet.
A second later, the courtyard brightens. I look up in time to see the moon reemerging. It’s the most beautiful moon I’ve ever seen. Is this what it looks like every night?
The gate creaks, bringing me back to reality, and I drop my eyes in time to see a man racing out the back gate. He’s wearing the uniform of a constable—gray shirt and pants, red armband. I open my mouth to scream, but no sound comes out. I can’t speak, and I can’t move. I’m paralyzed by fear.
Why was a constable here? How did he get in?
The sound of the dog barking madly from the neighbor’s yard jars me of out of my paralysis. I race back to the house, slamming the door behind me so loudly I’m sure Dad will come running. I throw the lock and back away.
When my heart stops racing, I work up the courage to step up to the door. With my hands around my eyes, I peer into the darkness.
The courtyard is empty, the constable gone. But something on the ground catches my eye. Did he drop something? It’s long and white. Is it a flag? I lean closer, and that’s when I see it clearly…
My white scarf.
Laying on the bricks next to the fountain.
I reach for the lock but stop before turning it. I can’t. It’s not safe. And it’s against the rules.
Navigate the world with care.
I glance over my shoulder. Why hasn’t anyone come downstairs? Where is Dad? He must be sound asleep. How can he sleep when danger is all around? Even in our own backyard. Even in Sister Helen’s room.
The message from RoseInReality comes back to me.
I guess this means there’s one less chaperone in the world.
Is that what Mom wants? One less chaperone?
CHAPTER 9
I wake early the next morning and go to the windows overlooking the front drive.
I want to study Mom.
A few minutes later she steps out the front door to walk Shea to school. She must feel my eyes on her because she looks back, offering me a sad smile. Shea turns too, her eyes landing on mine, but doesn’t smile, holding my gaze for a second before turning away. The two of them disappear beyond the gate a moment later.
Hours later, Mom brings me lunch but doesn’t say a word, silently sliding the tray onto the bench at the end of my bed. I want to ask her about RoseInReality, but if I do, she’ll change her password. I’m surprised when she comes back a little while later, right after walking Shae home from school.
“Stella?” she says after knocking. “There’s someone here to see you.”
I jump to my feet. “Who is it?”
Mom pushes the door open. “It is actually two of your favorite people.” Mom steps aside to reveal my best friends behind her, Bonita and Liv. The skin around their mouths is pulled tight. They look terrified.
I haven’t talked to them since Sister Helen died. Only adults can have phones, and I didn’t want to risk sneaking on the internet again to message them.
“Go on in, girls.” Mom turns to them. “Tiffany will make tea for your chaperones while they wait downstairs.”
They do what they’re told, shuffling in like it’s a jail cell.
Bonita’s shiny black hair is so perfect she looks like she just came from the salon. In contrast, Liv’s hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail with stray blond strands hanging out. I lean against the bed while Bonita slides onto the bench. Liv crosses the room and perches on Sister Helen’s chair. No one has sat there since Sunday.
Neither of them speaks, and I wonder if we’ll just sit there, mute. But eventually Bonita says, “Are you okay, Stella?”
Her words push me over the edge. I try to fight the tears, but it’s impossible.
“Oh, Stella.” Bonita moves from the bench to the bed, pulling me into her arms. I cry so hard her shirt grows damp under my cheek. When the sobs finally slow, she leans back and looks into my face, her rich brown eyes full of empathy.
“Are you going to be all right?”
I take a deep breath.
“I mean, we get it.” Bonita looks at Liv, who nods at her. “Sister Helen was the best. She was more like your friend than your chaperone.”
Liv finally speaks. “She really was.” Her eyes are so wide I can see their amber color from across the room.
I wipe my nose on my sleeve. “I know.”
“A million times better than Sister Sophie,” Liv adds.
“How did it go Sunday at Visitation?”
Bonita rolls her eyes, and Liv shakes her head.
“What happened?”
“She made me wear heels.”
Bonita and I love to get dressed up, but Liv loathes it. Even at school dances, she pairs modest dresses with flat sandals. “I’m sorry.”
Liv goes on. “It’s just not me. I felt like someone else. Like an imposter.” Bonita and I exchange a look. When we noticed Liv gazing at Brooklyn Liu like she was a painting in a museum the year before, we decided she was probably more interested in girls than boys. Ever since then we’ve been collecting evidence to support our theory. But we can never breathe a word to anyone. It’s the kind of thing that gets people shunned.
Bonita changes the subject. “At least Tucker Jones isn’t a creep.”
“That’s true,” Liv admits. “He is a nice person.”
“Don’t forget swoon-worthy,” I add. “Remember when he dedicated that song to you in the talent show?”
Bonita jumps in. “When he leaned into the microphone and said, ‘This is for Liv.’ Now that was romantic.”
Liv’s face scrunches in distaste. “I couldn’t believe he did that. He’s so not my type.” Bonita and I lock eyes.
“I guess,” Bonita says, “but Olu Parker isn’t anyone’s type.”
Bonita has been fighting off Olu for years.
“He’s a total Climber,” Liv admits.
The Climbers are the most annoying boys in school. They wear clothes more appropriate to middle-aged men and talk constantly about their careers. They act like they’re too good for Bull Run and have no intention of sticking around after high school, though a few of them, like Olu, want to find a girl to marry first. The others are known for getting grabby when no one is looking. Most kids in our school hate them, and the three of us are no exception.
“He refuses to give up.” Bonita looks me right in the eye. “He brought up homecoming.”
Homecoming is one of only two nights this year when we can get dressed up and dance with boys. Homecoming and prom. No way Bonita is wasting one of them on Olu.
“He didn’t.” Liv says.
“Oh, yes.” She nods at Liv. “He did.”
“He’s not ruining that for you,” I say. “For us.”
“Not a chance.”
“Did you tell him you weren’t interested?” I ask.
“Like a hundred times.” Bonita shakes her head at the floor. “Why won’t he take the hint? It’s not even a hint. I told him exactly how I feel. Why doesn’t he get it?”
Her question sounds rhetorical, but Bonita holds her hands out, waiting for an answer. Liv pulls on the sleeves of her button-down, a nervous tic.
“What is it?” Bonita turns to me. “Stella?”
“You know, B.” I don’t want to admit out loud the reason Olu has been infatuated with Bonita since middle school.
“No, I don’t, Stella.”
“Do I have to say it?”
“Yes,” she says with a dramatic nod, “you have to say it.”
I use a finger to pull on my bottom lip. Sister Helen always said that’s how she knew I was rolling an idea around in my head. “Maybe he doesn’t want to give up because you’re the only Black girl in our grade.”
“I don’t see why that matters.”
“He’s a Climber, Bonita. You know what they always say? They want traditional marriages.”
“That’s just another reason I’m not interested. He shouldn’t care if I’m Black or white. None of them should. That’s so Old America.”
“No, it shouldn’t, but it clearly matters to them.”
“I told Sister Anne I don’t want him to call on me again.” Bonita pauses before adding, “And I told her about Mason.”
“You did what?” I ask her.
“I told her about Mason.”
“What did she say?”
Liv squeezes her eyes shut as if she’s heard the whole story.
“She said he isn’t a good match for someone like me and that I can’t marry a boy like Mason because his family isn’t in the same class as mine.”
Liv’s eyes flash open. “She has you marrying him already?”
“That’s all they care about, Olivia,” Bonita says. “That’s all anyone cares about. Getting married and having babies.”
Unlike most of the girls in our school, the three of us desperately want to go to college before we get married. But it’s really hard for girls to get in. Like impossible hard. And if we don’t, we’ll have no choice but to marry. Those are the only acceptable options for girls like us.
Bonita goes on. “She even pointed out his sister is at govie. Like I care.”
“But—” Liv starts and then stops.
“But what?” Bonita looks at me, knowing Liv will never admit what she’s thinking.
“What she means is—” I’m not sure how to put it.
“Just say it, Stella.”
“You don’t want to be forced to send your daughters to govie.”
And there it is. If Bonita marries a boy like Mason, a boy unlikely to go to college and make enough to afford a chaperone, her daughters would be forced to move into the government school. No one wants their daughter to go to govie because that makes it almost impossible to marry well. Forget about college. Govie girls become servants, chaperones if they’re lucky.
Bonita puts her hands over her face. When she drops them, she looks right at me. “You are so lucky, Stella. Sister Helen was amazing. She really took care of you. She taught you all the stuff no one ever talks about.”
“You mean, I was lucky.”
The truth sits between us like a bomb. I was lucky when I got Sister Helen. But I have no idea who they’ll send next.
CHAPTER 10
The doorbell rings at four on Sunday afternoon. I know who it is without opening the door.
I don’t open it. I just stand there.
Staring.
There are actually two front doors, both made of thick teak panels crisscrossed with heavy iron nailheads. No intruder could get past those doors.
Mom comes running into the foyer. “Stella, what are you doing?” She must read my mind because she says, “Oh, Stella. It’s going to be okay.” She puts the dish towel in her hands on the pedestal table and walks to the door, looking over her shoulder before opening it. “Ready?” she asks, and I nod.
On the other side is a woman much younger than Sister Helen. She looks thirty, maybe a young thirty-five. She has dark curly hair that falls to the middle of her back and wears her white caftan over black leggings with cowboy boots and large tortoiseshell glasses. Behind them, her watery blue eyes study me. She looks like a hippie in a movie from Old America. I’ve seen chaperones like her before, but it’s still jarring after Sister Helen’s elegance. “You must be Stella.” She zeroes in on me, though Mom is the one inviting her inside.
“Hi.” I lean forward and shake her outstretched hand. Was it this formal with Sister Helen? Of course not. I wasn’t even twelve.
“I’m Sister Laura.”
“Welcome, Sister Laura,” Mom says with enthusiasm. “We’re so lucky to have you.”
I glare at Mom.
“That’s kind, Mrs. Graham, but it isn’t luck that brings me here. Sister Helen was a special person.” She turns toward me. “I can only imagine how difficult this must be for Stella.”
How does she know exactly what I’m thinking?
I say nothing, following the two of them through the house like a puppy. Mom makes small talk about the almanac predicting the weather will be hot through October this year as she shows Sister Laura every single room in the house. Like she’s a prospective buyer, not an employee. But I get it. The house is Mom’s domain. She wants to show it off.
Thirty minutes go by before we cross through the dining room and the kitchen to the annex. We climb the stairs to the second floor without speaking, but when we stop outside Sister Helen’s room, it all comes back to me. I haven’t been here since…I take a deep breath, and Sister Laura swivels her head in my direction, eyes wide.
She turns back to Mom. “Is this Sister Helen’s room?”
“Yes, of course.”
“And where is Stella’s room?”
“On the second floor of the main house. With the other bedrooms.”
“The main house? That seems awfully far.”
“It wasn’t a problem for Sister Helen.”
“Yes, but that was before.”
“Before what?” Mom asks.
“Before Stella lost her guardian.”
It takes everything in me not to roll my eyes. Bonita, Liv, and I make fun of chaperones who call themselves guardians. It’s so pretentious.
“I’ll need to be closer.” Sister Laura scratches her nose. “Now that Stella has suffered such a loss.”
“But—”
Sister Laura interrupts. “Who else has a bedroom near Stella?”
“We do, of course. And Stella’s little sister, Shea, is right across the hall—”
“I’ll take Shea’s room. That will be perfect.”
“And where will Shea go?”
“She can have this room.” Sister Laura tilts her head at the still closed door behind her.
“It’s too far. She’s only seven—”
“Stella has experienced a great loss, Mrs. Graham. She needs more support than ever. I simply must be close to her.”
I want to object, but I’m speechless. How could someone who doesn’t know me help me get over Sister Helen? Mom will never put Shea in Sister Helen’s old room. But to my astonishment, she gives Sister Laura what she wants.
“I suppose we could move Shea into the upstairs library.”
“Perfect.”
It’s typical of Mom. Whenever anyone challenges her, she just gives in.
CHAPTER 11
Sister Laura surprises us again by showing up for dinner an hour later.
“Oh.” Mom’s mouth holds its O shape while she continues assembling the salad. “You’d like to join us tonight?”
“Not just tonight. Every night, Mrs. Graham.”
It’s true Sister Sophie eats with Liv’s family, but she’s the most uptight chaperone I’ve ever met. She never lets Liv out of sight, watching her do homework, eat her meals, get ready for school, everything. Recording all of it in her weekly reports. Will Sister Laura be that way? Documenting every move I make?
Mom’s lips stretch across her face like she’s as uncomfortable with the idea as I am. “Sister Helen never ate with us.”
“It would be best if I observed the family as a whole.”
Mom continues working her way around the formal dining table, dropping exactly six cherry tomatoes onto each salad. “Let’s ask Mr. Graham, shall we?”
As if summoned, Dad’s Roanoke appears in the driveway behind the house. I have no doubt he won’t want Sister Laura at dinner every night.
When he walks in the door, Mom introduces them. Sister Laura offers her hand, but Dad gets out of shaking by holding his palms in the air. “Better not. Had to check the oil on the way home.” I’ve never seen Dad check the oil in my life, but I’ve never seen him shake hands with a woman either.
Mom clears her throat.
“Yes, Mary Beth?” His tone makes it sound like Mom works for him.
“Mitchell…Sister Laura would like to eat with us.”
“Tonight?”
Sister Laura responds in a firm voice. “Every night.”
Dad turns back to Sister Laura. “Every night?”
“If you don’t mind, Mr. Graham, that would be best. I need to stay close to Stella, especially given what happened to Sister Helen.”
What happened to Sister Helen?
Dad ignores this comment, shaking his head. “Sister Helen never ate with us.”
“That’s true, Mr. Graham, but I’m sure you’ll agree we have to do things differently to help your daughter recover from the trauma she’s experienced.”
She makes a good point, but I’m still stunned. Sister Helen never asked anything of Dad.
He holds Sister Laura’s gaze so long I expect him to fight. But a second later he pulls away. “I suppose that will be fine.”
Does he understand she doesn’t have to ask his permission?
* * *
The dinner conversation is even more awkward than usual. Dad asks Sister Laura about her education and experience. Like it’s a job interview. Even though she already has the job and it isn’t Dad’s place to decide if she gets it.
