LUCY

OUR LADY OF MERCY CATHOLIC HIGH SCHOOL FOR GIRLS, TUESDAY, MARCH 10

“Miss Long, I’m going to pretend I didn’t find you here.”

Lucy glanced up, dropped her cigarette, and quickly stubbed it under her regulation black Mary Jane shoe. She tried to exude impassivity as she watched the young teacher stroll over to the water’s edge and pick up the discarded cigarette butt.

“I’m not, however, going to pretend I didn’t find this.”

“Aww, shoot, Miss Ashcroft. That’s not gonna help me. . . .”

The teacher silenced Lucy with a slicing motion across her own mouth. “Zip it. It’s the third time I’ve found you in the water gardens. You know the water gardens are just for faculty and visitors. And smoking on top of that!” She paused. “It’s almost as though you want to be expelled.”

Lucy risked a pout. She was black, a punk, and she wasn’t afraid of teachers—it was an unexpected combination that seemed to put most teachers on their guard. It was good to mix up the tough-girl act they expected with a bit of vulnerability.

She cast her eyes down and then glanced up from beneath her eyelashes. Normally, she would reserve the maneuver for a male teacher. But it seemed worth risking now. Ashcroft was one of those teachers who yearn to be liked by the cool kids. Lucy was fairly indifferent to her, but she’d made friends with teachers like her throughout her entire life. Without their protection, she’d have been expelled at least twice.

Miss Ashcroft was visibly surprised. Lucy watched the history teacher ponder the possible motives for the gesture. After a second or two, she clearly came down on the side of manipulation.

“I can’t believe that actually worked for you in Claremont, Lucy. But believe me, at Our Lady we get our share of princesses trying to give us the runaround.”

“I’m no princess. Not here, not in Claremont.”

Miss Ashcroft smirked. “Is that so? Well then, kindly report to the assistant principal’s office. Do you remember where that is? You should, you were there only last week.”

Lucy bristled. Time to drop the friendly act. She was fine with teachers being strict and bossy—that’s what they were paid for. But when a teacher turned on the hostile sarcasm, it was time to check out of that relationship. She and Miss Ashcroft were not destined to be friends.

She could still feel Miss Ashcroft’s eyes on her as she dawdled up the long rectangular pond and onto the sandstone staircase, toward the Spanish-colonial-style mansion that dominated Our Lady of Mercy Catholic High School for Girls. She climbed the stairs in the full glare of the midday sun. Reluctantly, Lucy pulled on her regulation blue blazer and straightened the collar of her white cotton blouse.

The assistant principal, Veronica Guzman, waved Lucy toward the chair in the middle of the room.

“I’m going to get directly to the point.”

Her hair, Lucy observed, was solid, like a helmet—a monochrome block of glossy amber. Under a center part and neat, narrow eyebrows, her eyes were large and solemn.

“There have been disciplinary issues with you since the day you arrived, Miss Long. Notwithstanding the minor issues of cigarette smoking on the premises, inappropriate use of the staff parking lot, and general backtalk to members of staff, all of which might conceivably be overlooked, there’s the somewhat intractable matter of your attitude toward your academic studies.”

Lucy smoldered in silence. The last grade she’d been given, which had been for music, was an A. In that subject—the only one that mattered to Lucy—she had never scored less than an A-minus. From school she planned to go on to a career in music: playing shows, recording. Maybe a college course or two in music technology. As far as Lucy was concerned, everything was on track. All in spite of her parents having thrown her out and robbed her of all her local friends and fellow musicians. In Venice, she was already managing to reconstruct something that might even be better. What had seemed edgy in Claremont was commonplace on the Venice boardwalk.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand, Miss Guzman,” Lucy said in her most carefully enunciated voice. It wasn’t difficult to turn that on either—she simply imitated her mother. “I’m excelling in music. Isn’t that the case?”

“Music, yes. No problems there, Lucy, I will give you that. I’m talking about English literature, chemistry, and Spanish. According to your teachers you are now overdue with papers in all three.”

“I asked for extensions. I recently moved, and we had—”

“You moved at the beginning of January,” interrupted Guzman. “Adequate time for any adjustments.” She gave Lucy a hard stare. “I’d have expected more from you, Miss Long.”

Here it came. The speech Lucy had grown tired of hearing—the one that simultaneously praised her for being smart enough to have been born to Robert and Anne-Marie Jordan, whilst bemoaning the poor efforts she’d made in upholding their undoubtedly stellar genetic standards.

“I don’t know if you’re aware of this, Lucy, but our principal, Dr. Keener, got her master’s at your mother’s college.”

“I didn’t know that.” But it figured. How else could her parents have finagled a highly sought-after place in a snooty prep school like Our Lady with less than two weeks’ notice?

“Dr. Keener is a tremendous admirer of your mother’s. It’s no mean achievement for a woman to be president of a private college. Especially a woman of color.”

“Thanks, and yeah, I know.”

“Dr. Keener would dearly like to be able to feel the same way about you.”

Lucy wondered why Keener hadn’t bothered to see her herself if that was really true.

“We’d like to see a marked improvement in your attitude toward your work. Please.”

A nod. “Guess I’ll try.”

“It’s easily within your ability to impress us. Mr. Steiner read me parts of your essay about Stravinsky’s Rite of Spring. It was quite insightful, and very well written. I liked the section comparing it to West Side Story.”

Lucy swallowed. Her voice became very quiet. “Thank you.”

“There’s another thing, Lucy.” Guzman turned over her hand. In her palm was a half-smoked, hand-rolled cigarette. “I gather you sometimes smoke, out in the water gardens.”

“That isn’t mine.”

Guzman managed a thin smile. “The trustees require that we keep that part of the school immaculate, for conferences and other events.”

She dismissed Lucy then, with the firm suggestion that she head to the library. Since the library was housed directly opposite Guzman’s office, albeit down a hallway, the request was difficult to ignore. Within a few minutes Lucy found herself in a part of the school she’d visited only once before, during orientation.

At the reception desk was a slim woman in her midforties, with long, dark brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. She looked up from the book she was reading, replaced the glasses that had been hanging around her neck, and signaled to Lucy to come over.

“I haven’t seen you before, missy. You wanna tell me what kind of books you like? Or are you looking for something specific for your homework?”

Lucy was a little flustered to be put on the spot. The librarian was eyeing her with a kindly yet knowing air.

“Can I just use the computer?”

The librarian rolled her eyes melodramatically. “God help us, not you, too. Tell me you want some help with references at least.”

Lucy began to smile. The librarian was having a bit of fun with her. “I just want to check the hits on my YouTube account.”

“Well, hey, give me your username and we’ll look you up.”

When the Lucy Long channel came up, Lucy felt a rush of excitement. Ten thousand views of the original video posted by Paolo. And already over a thousand for the latest, a Rancid cover that she’d recorded during the party.

The librarian made a murmur of approval. “Looking good! Can’t listen in here, obviously. I’ll catch up with it later.”

Ten thousand views.