Even in the face of such difficulties, Jocelyn tried to carry on, reminding herself that hardships were good training in endurance. But when she got one batch too many of hateful pocket mail, something inside her snapped.

The girls were taking their afternoon break in the garden. An early spring chill hung in the air. Jocelyn reached her hand into her pocket to warm it, when she felt papers. She drew them out and there on top was the worst one yet:

You are so horrible, even your own family did not want you.

Jocelyn did not bother to read the rest. She balled the offending papers in her fist and stood. It was time to put an end to Prissy’s games.

Jocelyn focused on her target, who was holding court on the other side of the garden. She took count of the girls surrounding Prissy. Four against one: unfair odds for sure. Unfortunate, but Jocelyn couldn’t help that Prissy had so few friends around to help in the fight.

Still gripping the notes in a tight fist, Jocelyn stormed up the path. She had not gone far when she found someone blocking her way. In her rage, the girl barely registered who it was. She stepped around the obstacle and continued onward.

It pains me to admit this, but Roger was a good sight less stupid than most children. It hadn’t taken him more than a minute to figure out what kind of trouble his friend was headed into. He grabbed the back of her dress and wheeled her around.

“Hello, Captain Jocelyn,” he said with his usual grin. “I need to talk to you.”

She slapped at his hand. “Not now, Roger. I have an appointment with Prissy over there.”

Still smiling, he easily dodged out of the way. “That can wait, can’t it? I need to ask you something. Something important.”

Jocelyn didn’t take her eyes off Prissy. “And what’s that?” she asked.

“How do you feel about poisons?”

That got her attention. She pulled her gaze away from Prissy and gave Roger her full interest. “Why? Do you have some?”

“No,” he admitted. “But I’ve got a few books about them. And some about cannibals, wild beasts, long voyages—all sorts of things.” His eyes sparkled. “Naval charts and logbooks. Even a few weapons. Some old lord died and left his library to the school. Cook told me to get rid of the things that Miss Eliza didn’t want, so I put them in the carriage house. Why don’t you come help me unpack the boxes? Unless you want me to decide where everything should go.”

Jocelyn took one last look at Prissy and decided her plans could wait. She allowed those dreadful notes to flutter out of her hand and scatter on the wind. “Let’s go. We have new loot to attend to.”

Jocelyn and Roger spent the next hour unpacking and arranging their plunder.

“Hand me those empty crates,” Jocelyn commanded. “If we place them on their sides, we can use them as bookshelves.”

“Aye, aye,” Roger replied, stacking them in place.

She began unpacking books. “Look, Gulliver’s Travels! Have you read it?”

“I haven’t. Is it good?”

“It’s fantastic! All about sea voyages to the most amazing, impossible lands. I found a copy in my mother’s room and read it ragged. Heaven knows what she was doing with it.”

“Do you miss her?”

“Who? My mother?” Jocelyn frowned. “I don’t think so. I never knew her. And the things my grandfather tells me about her…she was absolutely perfect—not at all like me. I’m certain that I am not missing anything.” When Jocelyn said the words, she tried to mean them, but she still felt an ache, as though there were a small, mother-shaped empty place in her heart. She tried to turn the conversation away from herself. “Do you miss yours?”

“I do. Quite a lot, to be honest. But things were worse before you arrived. I missed my mum and my dad and, well…just everyone. No one but Cook ever seemed to notice I was here, unless there was an order to be given.”

“I rather wish people would stop noticing me. ‘Jocelyn, walk like a lady.’ ‘Jocelyn, don’t slump.’ It’s like everyone is looking at me, but no one truly sees me. I mean, other than you.” A flush crept up her neck, and she busied herself straightening books.

“Do you know something?” Roger said, playfully nudging her with an elbow.

“What?” She nudged back, a little bit harder.

“I know you hate school, but I’m not sorry you’re here.”

She smiled at him, feeling a little less sorry herself. “Now, where shall we put all these maps?”

Long before their new treasure could be fully examined, Jocelyn’s free time came to an end. Roger walked with her back to the school. Though the books had been an enjoyable distraction, the girl had not forgotten Prissy. When an opportunity presented itself, she captured a small green snake along the edge of the path. Jocelyn winked at Roger’s curious expression and said, “I plan to teach Prissy how it feels to find nasty things in her pockets.”

If you had been at Miss Eliza’s school the next morning and had taken a good look at Jocelyn, you would not have noticed any redness or puffiness about her eyes. Indeed, you would have been hard-pressed to find anything amiss in either her appearance or demeanor, and why should you have? Judging by Prissy’s reaction to both the snake in her pocket and a whispered threat of further retaliation, Jocelyn had been victorious.

You would never have known that Jocelyn had passed another difficult night lying awake in her too-pink bed, feeling quite deeply that not all victories are sweet—that even winning cannot remove the bitter taste of every battle.

However, even a cursory glance at Prissy would have clearly shown you that though she had decided to lay down her arms for the time being, she had not surrendered. Quite the opposite, in fact.

Prissy was just biding her time.