Meg felt her eyelids growing heavy as she listened to Sister Immaculata’s oddly soothing, monotone voice. She was droning on about the differences between cardinal sins and venial sins.
Was lying a cardinal sin? Sister Immaculata might think so, but Meg was not so narrow-minded. Lying was not ideal, perhaps, but sometimes it was necessary. To diffuse an awkward situation. Or to spare someone’s feelings.
Or to help a friend with really strict parents.
Lucy had come over Meg’s house nearly every night for two weeks, but she never stayed very long. After ensuring that her father had bought her cover story, she headed off to meet Elena or Zach. Only once did she half-heartedly suggest that Meg tag along. Meg was desperate to be included, but not as an afterthought.
Immaculata had moved on to sins of the flesh. Cardinal sins. Meg had no experience with those. Unfortunately.
Bored, she poked Elena’s shoulder. The tall girl, who’d been dozing, snapped to attention.
“What are you guys doing this weekend?” she whispered when Sister’s back was turned.
“I dunno.” Elena shrugged.
“But, it’s Halloween.”
Elena shrugged again. A shadow fell across Meg’s desk.
She looked up and met the eyes of Sister Immaculata. The nun was staring down at her with a frown so severe it would have sent the most blood-thirsty, rabies-crazed, grizzly bear running for the hills. It felt like her eyes were boring into her soul, recognizing the black corruption there. Nuns were like God’s secret agent informants. They didn’t have ninja-like powers, and they were a bit too old for parkour-like stunts, but surely, they could sniff out evil.
“Meg Ford.” Her mustache hairs quivered as she breathed. “I have been calling your name for five minutes.” She had a folded piece of paper in her hands. “You are wanted at Sister Deirdre’s office immediately.”
Meg had never been to the guidance councilor’s office before. Very few underclassmen had. It was her sanctum, accessible to only hysterical, college-bound seniors or visiting alumni who wanted to bequeath some sort of legacy to the school. It was off-limits to anyone else.
Meg shot a panicked look to Elena, who shrugged again.
Meg got up, grabbed her things and walked out of the classroom. She climbed the stairs to the third floor. It was eerie walking along the deserted corridor, with no other students in sight. The lights were dimmer up on the third floor, and the air was stuffier, tinged with perfume or incense. There were a series of framed pictures of female saints lining the wall, flanking an enormous crucifix. The Jesus who hung there was especially gruesome, with scarlet blood dripping from his gaping wounds. The women all looked equally pious and glorious in their suffering.
Just past the crucifix, she found the door to Sister Deirdre’s office, and, with a trembling hand, she brushed the wood with her knuckles. It was the tiniest, most pathetic of knocks. The door swung open.
Johanne stood behind the door. She had a pile of thick folders in her hand, and she looked as surprised as Meg was to see her standing there.
“Do you have an appointment with Deirdre?” she asked.
Meg nodded. “Do you?”
Johanne stepped aside, and after Meg walked into the small outer office, Johanne shut the door behind her.
“I’m her student assistant,” Johanne said, walking over to a file cabinet. She pulled open a drawer and starting thumbing through the stacks of manila folders. “I help her with her filing, and her appointment calendar.”
“Student labor is cheap labor.” Meg stared at the folders. They were marked with different colored sticky notes. She recognized some of the names on the tabs.
“It will look good on my college applications.”
Johanne gently placed a thick folder back inside the cabinet. Meg saw the name-a Deb, Janet Downey-before it slid back into its slot. What did those folders contain, she wondered? What sort of secrets?
“You can go in,” Johanne said, moving on to a new drawer.
The office wasn’t empty. Two tall, uncomfortable-looking chairs stood in front of an enormous, gleaming, dark wood desk. Her mother was perched on the edge of one of them, looking uncharacteristically conservative in one of Meg’s old, grey, woolen skirts and a wrinkled oxford blouse.
“What are you doing here?” Meg hissed as she pulled the door shut.
“I was hoping you could tell me,” her mother answered. Her hands were on her lap, clasped tightly together. “I’m missing my shift. And I think I stepped in goose shit,” she said.
Meg collapsed into the second chair, opposite another gory crucifix. “What? How?”
“Walking across that damn field.” She rubbed her left foot into the plush white throw rug, marking it with a creamy streak of brown. “I’ve never seen so much shit in all my life. And I wipe up shit for a living.”
Meg felt her cheeks flush. “Jesus, Mom.”
“Don’t say Jesus in here, for Christ’s sake,” her mother replied, looking over at the crucifix with panicked eyes. Her mother had long ago abandoned her Catholic faith, like shrugging off a hot, stuffy coat in the sunshine, but she was Irish-born and bred, and therefore, Catholic for life.
The door creaked open. They both jumped.
Sister Deirdre didn’t look anything like a nun. She was pretty, for one thing. Nuns shouldn’t be pretty. Ever. Nuns should be old, like Immaculata. Ugly. Like Sister Katrina. And of course, they should be strict, but with kind eyes, the way they were in old movies like Lilies of the Field or The Sound of Music. That Flying Nun show had been ridiculous. OK, it was weird that she could fly, but even Meg was willing to suspend her disbelief at that. Having the nun look like perky Sally Field? It was absurd.
And a waste.
Sister Deirdre didn’t look like Sally Field. She looked like a high-society matriarch. And her eyes were mean.
“Good morning, ladies.” She glided into the room. Her elegant skirt twirled as she moved, draping across her legs in crisp folds. She sat behind the desk and smiled at them. Meg never had in her life looked so poised. The nun must be ancient, older than her mother by decades, yet her skin was smooth, unblemished as a peach. Her mother had wrinkles around her eyes and mouth, and a splattering of acne scars across her chin.
“I hope I haven’t kept you waiting long.”
“Not at all, sister,” her mother said. She’d recovered from the shock much quicker than Meg had. She even looked relatively calm as she shifted in her seat. “I was just admiring your beautiful grounds.”
“Lovely, aren’t they?”
“Very lush,” her mother agreed. “Very fertilized.”
“Well then.” Sister Deirdre took a manila folder off the top of a pile and opened it. “I bet you’re both wondering why you’re here.”
“We are on pins and needles,” her mother said. Meg thought her smile looked a bit too forced. “Does it have something to do with that financial aid application I filled out, back in September?”
“Ah.” The nun frowned slightly. She shuffled the papers on her desk. Even her nails were perfect. Bitch, Meg thought and wondered if it was a cardinal sin to be jealous of a nun. Probably. “There’s the conundrum.”
“Conundrum?” Her mother’s tongue fumbled with the unfamiliar word.
“I asked you to come in today, Mrs. Ford, so we could talk about your daughter’s grades. I’m very concerned.”
“Oh?” Meg’s mother shot her a quick, icy glare before turning her attention back to the nun.
“We were all very impressed with Meg when she applied last year. Her test scores were very good. And her essay on the life and sufferings of our own St. Rose? I enjoyed reading it.”
“I enjoyed writing it,” Meg gushed, trying to remember the gist of Jonathan’s essay. There was something about sleeping on a handmade bed of broken glass. “I want to be like St. Rose. I think vanity is a sin and I try to avoid all earthly pursuits.”
The nun just looked at Meg. She looked at her like she could see the expensive volumizing conditioner in her hair and the contour-creating Spanx hidden underneath her uniform skirt.
“I just got a copy of your first-trimester report. Meg, you’re struggling here at Rose.”
Meg felt like the room was spinning ever so slightly. She placed her hands on the desk, hoping to steady herself.
“I could get a tutor,” she suggested, hoping her voice didn’t sound too desperate. “Or do some extra credit.”
“You could,” the nun agreed. “That would be very sensible of you. But, honestly, you’ve got a rough road ahead of you.” She closed the folder and put it on top of the pile, just out of Meg’s reach.
“Is my daughter being expelled?” Her mother had never been a fan of beating around the bush.
“This is a warning. Meg’s going to be put on academic probation,” she answered, somehow making that sound worse. “She won’t be able to participate in any extracurricular activities, and her schoolwork will be closely monitored.”
“And the financial aid?”
“It’s a delicate situation.” The nun tented her fingers. “We only have limited funds with which to work. Our alumnae have generously donated these funds, and they are very particular about who receives them. They usually award aid to the most deserving student, a young woman who will pursue a secondary education.”
“College? Meg’s mad about college. She can’t wait to go.”
“Of course, I’m going to college,” Meg agreed. “I want to be a scientist.” She tried to think of a career that sounded vaguely scientific, but her mind was blank. “A…dolphin whisperer. I mean…er, a marine biologist.”
“I’m not saying Meg won’t go on to college.” The nun ignored her. She tilted her body toward her frowning mother. “Maybe a community college. But studies have shown that even the most studious children don’t continue on with their education after high school unless they have considerable support at home.”
Sister Deirdre arranged the papers into a neat little pile. She leaned over them and smiled at her mother.
“May I be honest, Mrs. Ford? My apologies. It’s not Mrs., is it?” Her smile was sweet. “I’ve familiarized myself with your Social Services file. I’m very sorry for your troubles. But if Meg continues this downward trend, she won’t be allowed to come back next year.”
“Oh,” Meg said, and after that, there really wasn’t much to say. “Is that all?”
“Well, yes.” The principal seemed surprised as she watched Meg get up from the chair. She must have been expecting her to argue, to plead or cry. Meg wasn’t going to do any of those things. If she thought it would make any difference, she would have faked some tears and would have made a good show of it. The thought of all the effort that would take was exhausting, and all Meg wanted to do was get out of that stuffy office, away from the third floor, the crucifix, and the portraits of all those dead, perfect, saints.
“What a bloody bitch of a woman,” her mother spat once they were outside of the office. She rummaged around in her handbag for her cigarettes.
“Not here,” Meg hissed, looking over at Johanne. She was still at the file cabinet, pretending to be engrossed in her filing. Meg wondered how much she had heard.
“Why not?” Her mother shook out a cigarette but didn’t light it. “They’ve already made up their mind about us. It doesn’t matter what we do. I can strip bloody naked and go out to that field and chase after those geese, and they wouldn’t bat an eyelash.” She exhaled, and Meg noticed that her hands were still clenched into fists, and she was shaking. “Are you sure you want to stay in this miserable place?”
Meg looked away from Johanne. Her mother hadn’t even noticed her standing over there.
“Yes.”
“Good. I don’t want that smug bitch to think she scared us.” She tucked the cigarette behind her ear and grasped her daughter by the shoulders. “You wanted this. You insisted on coming here. You made this great fuss about a good education. Was that all just some big story?”
“No,” Meg muttered. She remembered how she’d gushed about Rose to her mother. She’d insisted she would be eligible for scholarships and grants, and unlimited financial aid. And her future would be set. Colleges would be fighting for a chance to enroll her, all because of her Rose diploma.
Her mother had dropped out of the Irish equivalent of 10th grade. She was pregnant six months after landing in the states.
Meg knew that her mother wanted a different sort of life for her daughter, and she exploited this knowledge when making a case for Rose. She pretended to fret over PSAT scores. She checked out thick biographies of Russian playwrights from the library and started wearing a BU sweatshirt around the house.
Having a scholar for a daughter suddenly seemed very desirable, a way of ensuring that history didn’t repeat itself. Her mother started working double shifts and put the extra cash towards Rose’s hefty tuition bill. The grants, scholarships, and financial aid never materialized.
“It’s just harder here than I thought it would be.”
“You need to study more.” To her mother, it was simple. “You need to work your little arse off, do you hear me?”
“Ok, Ok,” Meg said, stepping away. “I’m trying.” She hoped her mother would take the hint and scram, and not see the principal’s ultimatums as some sort of bonding opportunity. The bell was going to ring, and she didn’t want anyone else to see them together.
“Try harder,” her mother said. “I have a cab outside, and the meter is running.”
She spun on her heel, opened the outer office door, and stomped off down the hall.
When she was gone, Johanne stepped over to her, grasped her arm, and pulled her out into the hall.
“What are you doing?” Meg asked. She wanted the girl’s restroom, and the quiet, and privacy, of her favorite stall. Tears were crowding her eyes, and she needed to be rid of them before anyone saw them.
“Are they trying to kick you out?”
“Yes,” Meg admitted. “No. I think so. She said if my grades don’t improve, I won’t be able to come back next year.” She sniffed. “I may as well clean out my locker now.”
“I’ll help you,” Johanne said. She fumbled with her bag and took out an enormous day planner.
“What? Clean out my locker?”
“I’ll help you study,” she said as she shuffled through the pages. “Say three days a week? We can add more if you have a big exam coming up. Let’s do Mondays, Wednesday, and maybe Saturday? We can meet at the BPL.”
Meg watched her note the days. The tip of her tongue stuck out from between her lips as she scribbled.
“Why would you want to help me?” she asked her. “I haven’t exactly been nice to you.”
“Lucy won’t let you be nice to me,” Johanne said. “I get it. She’ll never forgive me.”
“What happened between you two?” Lucy was easily insulted, and could probably hold a grudge for decades, but whatever had gone down between Lucy and Johanne, it couldn’t have been frivolous.
“It doesn’t matter.” Johanne snapped the planner shut. “I like you, Meg. I don’t want you to have to go back to Jefferson.”
“What do you…” she began, before remembering all the files. What could her file look like? Could one of Jefferson’s over-extended, clueless, teachers have actually noted what went on in the halls?
“Jefferson is in my neighborhood,” Johanne said. “Most of the kids I grew up with go there. They talk.” She shrugged her shoulders. “They brag. So, I’ll help you, ok?”
“Ok,” Meg agreed, wondering how she could keep these study sessions a secret from Lucy. “Please don’t tell anyone. About Jefferson.”
“Who would I tell?” Johanne’s smile was sad. “Lucy won’t let anyone talk to me.”