Grudgingly, Vanessa let them in.
Stacey and Kristy took one quick look around and understood what was going on. Vanessa was claiming the whole room for herself, no question about it. She’d moved the two beds together to make one big one, put my bookcase next to her own, and dragged her bureau to where my bed used to be.
“Nice,” said Kristy.
Vanessa beamed.
“Too bad you’ll have to move it all back again.”
Vanessa’s face fell.
“You can’t just claim this room for yourself,” Stacey told her gently. “It’s something that has to be worked out with the whole family.”
“But I need peace and quiet for writing poetry,” Vanessa wailed. “I deserve this room.” She ran to her desk and grabbed a piece of cardboard. “See? I already made a sign.” She showed it to Kristy and Stacey.
“Lovely,” murmured Kristy. Then her voice grew stern. “Look, we’re not going to work this out today. Your parents don’t want to rush into a decision. So why don’t we all go downstairs and do something fun together?”
Good idea, thought Stacey. Distract the kids and give them something else to think about.
Unfortunately, that didn’t work. No matter what activities Kristy and Stacey came up with, my brothers and sisters managed to bring the subject back to the Room Wars again.
A Monopoly game ended in a fight when Adam offered to give Park Place to Vanessa — in exchange for rights to the room.
When Kristy and Stacey opened their Kid-Kits and passed out markers, all the kids ended up making signs for their own rooms.
Stacey suggested writing letters to me. Guess what the letters were about?
Kristy suggested baking cookies. Margo and Claire tried to bribe Vanessa with extra chocolate chips.
Finally, Kristy and Stacey gave up and ordered everyone to work on homework for the rest of the evening. But by that time, nobody could concentrate. The Room Wars were the only thing on anyone’s mind.
“So you see,” Kristy’s e-mail ended, “you should consider yourself lucky to be out of this house!”
You know what, though? It’s funny. I’d been doing pretty well at fighting off any homesickness — until then. This may sound crazy, but suddenly I missed my siblings more than ever.
“Your journal? How dare she?” Smita stared at me, openmouthed. The muffin she’d been eating lay forgotten on her plate.
Tuesday morning. Breakfast. I was telling Sarah and Smita what had happened the night before. It was only my second day of classes at Riverbend. How could it be that things were already such a mess with Alexis?
“She tried to hide it when I first came in,” I said. “She shoved it under the pillow. So she knew what she was doing wasn’t right.”
“You bet she did,” Sarah said grimly. “So what did you do?”
“I confronted her,” I said.
“And?” Smita asked.
“She admitted it. And she handed it over.” I ate a spoonful of my blueberry yogurt, even though I didn’t have much of an appetite. In fact, my stomach was in a knot. As far as I knew, nobody had ever read my journal. I’d never even thought about censoring what I wrote in my book; it is the one place where I am always totally honest. I pour myself into what I write, and knowing that Alexis had read my most private thoughts made me feel sick to my stomach.
“She said I had left it open on my bed,” I told Sarah and Smita. “She said it was practically an invitation to read it.”
Sarah rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. Even if you did leave your journal open, you obviously didn’t mean for anyone to read it.”
“That’s right,” Smita agreed. “A real friend would ask first.”
“Anyway, I didn’t leave it open,” I said. “At least, I’m pretty sure I didn’t. I can’t be positive.” Alexis had a way of making me question my own memory.
“Either way, it doesn’t matter,” Sarah told me. “Smita’s right. If one of us saw your journal lying open, we wouldn’t read it without asking.”
I smiled at her. Smita had said that’s what a “real friend” would do. Sarah was telling me that she and Smita fell into that category. That felt nice. As long as I had them, maybe I could just ignore the Alexis problem. If I didn’t pay attention to it, maybe it would disappear.
But the problem was living in my room.
“You know what the worst part is?” I said. “She told me that it wasn’t as if I’d written anything interesting anyway. That really bugged me.”
“Like she’s some literary critic.” Sarah snorted. She shook her head, tossing her curls. “That girl is way out of line.”
I told Sarah and Smita more about Alexis. Things hadn’t improved after the journal episode. Instead, they’d gone downhill. For the rest of the evening she’d been extra bossy, lecturing me about the way I’d left my bed mussed (not unmade — just mussed) that morning and informing me that I’d have to do something about the overcrowding in my drawers. (Huh?) She badmouthed Smita and Sarah (I didn’t tell them that part), “explaining” to me that it wasn’t wise to make friends without checking them out first.
She even accused me of using some of her toothpaste.
“Whoa,” Smita murmured, when I reported that.
“I believe it!” cried Sarah. “I’d believe anything you told me about her. Know why? Because I’ve heard it all before.” She folded her arms and raised her eyebrows, looking mysterious.
“What?” I asked. “What do you mean?”
“I wasn’t going to tell you,” she said. “I thought you’d want to give Alexis a chance. But the way she’s acting? It’s nothing new. She’s already been through two roommates this year.”
“You’re kidding,” Smita said.
“I am absolutely not kidding. I wish I were.”
“So, tell all,” I said, leaning forward. “Who were the other roommates? What happened?”
Smita looked interested too. “Normally I hate gossip,” she said solemnly. “But this is important. If Mal is going to work things out with Alexis, she needs information.”
“Well, I love gossip,” said Sarah. “But you’re right. This isn’t about dishing dirt on Alexis. It’s just about understanding the situation. So here goes.” She took a deep breath.
“The first roommate was Amy Burdick. That’s who Alexis started out the year with. And from what I’ve heard, Alexis treated Amy about the same way she’s treating you. Maybe worse.”
“What happened to Amy?” I asked. “I don’t think I’ve met her.”
“You haven’t,” Sarah said grimly. “She left school.”
I gasped. So did Smita. Sarah looked like she was enjoying the drama of the moment.
“You mean Alexis drove her out of Riverbend?” I asked, horrified.
“Well, not exactly,” Sarah admitted. “I think there were a lot of reasons Amy left. She was having a hard time in her classes, and then her grandmother died in the middle of the semester. But I have to believe that Alexis’s attitude didn’t make things any easier for her.” Sarah paused to take a bite of her bagel.
I shoved my yogurt aside. My appetite was gone.
Smita checked her watch. “It’s almost time for class,” she said. “What about the other girl?”
“She’s still here,” Sarah told us. “She spent the second half of last semester as Alexis’s roomie, but just before break she switched to a single room. Her name’s Jen Bodner, and she lives on the third floor in Earhart.”
“I think I’ve met her,” said Smita. “She seems nice.”
“She is,” Sarah agreed. “But I can tell you that she has nothing to do with Alexis. They don’t even speak when they pass each other on campus.”
“Sounds like I need to meet this person,” I said. “Will you introduce me?”
“Gladly. I bet you two will have plenty to talk about.”
I had a feeling she was right. I already felt better, in a way, knowing that I wasn’t the first roomie Alexis had been h
ard on. It’s like that old saying: “Misery loves company.”
Until I had a chance to meet Jen, I decided that the best policy was to forget Alexis and concentrate on everything good about Riverbend. Terrific classes, excellent teachers, great new friends … there was plenty to be happy about.
But forgetting Alexis was not so easy.
After all, Riverbend is not a big school. And on Tuesday, I found out exactly how small it is. Small enough to make it very, very hard to avoid someone you’d rather not see.
I bumped into her right away, on my way to math class. Smita was with me, but Alexis ignored her. “Hi, Mal!” she said with a big smile.
As if nothing had happened.
“You ran out so early this morning I didn’t even have the chance to ask,” Alexis went on, “but I knew you wouldn’t mind.”
“Mind what?” I asked.
“Mind my borrowing these,” she said, turning her head to show me the earrings she was wearing.
Horseshoe earrings. My favorites. Given to me by Jessi.
“Alexis —” I began, exasperated.
“Great!” she said. “I knew you’d be cool about it. See you!” She took off down the walk, leaving me and Smita to fume.
Later, in global studies, she humiliated me by quoting something I’d written in my journal about how good-looking our teacher Eric is. True, she whispered it in my ear so nobody else heard, but still. I was so embarrassed and so mad I could hardly see straight.
Then, at lunch, she somehow managed to make me feel sorry for her. Ridiculous, right? I can’t help it. There I was, sitting with my new friends. We were talking a mile a minute — not about Alexis, by the way — and laughing and having a grand old time. Alexis? She was sitting by herself, looking awfully lonely. Something in her face made me sad. I had to fight the urge to invite her to sit at our table.
Finally, in our short-story class, when John asked if anyone had any comments about the discussion we’d had the day before, Alexis raised her hand. “I was thinking about what you said about how short stories are like little worlds,” she said. “I think that’s what I love about them. It’s like the best writers give you the chance to step into another life for a little while and experience it fully.”
“Excellent comment,” said John.
Alexis tried to look modest. “Thanks,” she said. I stared at her, hard. She avoided my eyes.
That comment was something I’d written in my journal.
I couldn’t believe it. But what could I do? It wasn’t worth making a scene over.
I went overboard trying to avoid Alexis for the rest of the day, and I succeeded. Until I had to go to bed, when I had no choice but to head for my room.
Alexis was already in bed when I let myself in. She sat up and turned on a light. “Mallory?” she asked in a little voice. “I’m sorry. Really. Sometimes I don’t know why I do the things I do. I know I upset you.”
I didn’t know what to say. “That’s okay,” I mumbled. She sounded truly apologetic.
“I didn’t even look for your journal today,” she said with a little grin.
“Doesn’t matter,” I replied. “You wouldn’t have found it.” I’d hidden it really well, in a secret pocket of the suitcase I’d stashed under my bed.
“And I put the earrings back,” she continued.
“Good,” I said. She was making an effort to apologize, but I wasn’t sure how long it would last. I went down the hall to brush my teeth.
When I came back, Alexis was her old self again. While talking to me again about the closet situation, she somehow managed to mention that Sarah couldn’t always be trusted, and she told me that Smita seemed “sweet but boring.”
I tried to tune her out, but she was on a roll. Finally, I told her I had to sleep. I turned off my light and rolled over. I didn’t know what else to do. After all, I’d never shared a room with anybody but Vanessa, and we’d always been able to work out our differences.
Alexis turned her light out soon after I’d pretended to go to sleep. I lay there in the dark, wide-awake. Eventually, I dozed off, but I never fell into a deep sleep. Instead, I tossed and turned all night.
And every time I woke up, I saw Alexis’s form in the bed across the room.
The next morning, I left the room before Alexis woke up. And then I did everything I could to avoid her. It seemed easier to stay away.
Still, it wasn’t actually simple. Avoiding Alexis meant dodging her between classes, making sure to sit as far away as possible from her at mealtimes, and staying away from my room except for the time I spent sleeping there.
That meant I had to do all my studying in the library, the living room, or friends’ rooms. It meant I had no time just to be alone, to write in my journal in peace, or to lie on my bed and read a book for pleasure.
Smita and Sarah were great. I was welcome in their rooms anytime, and they helped me keep tabs on Alexis’s whereabouts. Sarah, especially, loved the intrigue of mapping out Alexis’s movements. “She’s heading for the library,” she’d hiss to me as we left the meetinghouse after dinner. “That means you can stop by your room to pick up your notebook. We’ll meet you in my room in fifteen minutes.” I was surprised she didn’t suggest we synchronize our watches.
Meanwhile, if you didn’t count the Alexis problem, I was having an incredibly great time at Riverbend. I felt I’d finally found a place where I belonged. I loved my classes, my teachers, and my new friends. And I was so busy that I hardly had time to be homesick.
I mean, of course I missed my family and my friends in the BSC — but not so much that I was miserable being away from them. In fact, I wondered if this was how Jessi felt when she’d gone to a special ballet program in New York not long ago. I missed her terribly, but I bet she was too busy and happy to think much about her friends at home.
However, there was the Alexis problem. Even though I tried to avoid her, we managed to bump into each other several times every day. And just about every time, she said or did something that annoyed me, embarrassed me, or made me feel bad. Occasionally she’d act pleasant, but I’d already learned not to trust her. It never lasted.
“I know exactly what you mean,” Jen Bodner told me. Sarah introduced us Wednesday night after dinner and left us alone to talk. “It never lasted for me either.”
Jen was great. She was easy to talk to and we had something in common anyway.
“She drove me up a wall,” Jen reported. “I mean, I wanted to be friends with her. I tried my hardest. Here I am, a nice, friendly Jewish girl from Boston. What’s not to like? But Alexis didn’t give me a chance. She didn’t want another roommate. When Amy left, I think she assumed she’d be able to have the room to herself. So she made me feel like a trespasser from the beginning.”
I was nodding. “That’s how I feel. Like it’s her world, and I’m just in the way. She didn’t even move her stuff so I could have room for my things.”
Jen laughed. “Sounds familiar. And are there lots of rules?”
“Yes!” I cried, laughing as well. “Oh, the rules go on forever. Study hour from four to six. Take —”
“Take your shoes off when you come in the room!” Jen interrupted. “Oh, sure. I know them all. It’s like she’s queen or something. I mean, room rules are fine if both roomies agree on them. But Alexis doesn’t even ask. She just tells you what she expects.”
“I don’t think she’s a bad person,” I said. “She’s just hard to get along with.”
Jen agreed. “Very hard. Life is a lot easier now that I have a room of my own.” She waved a hand around her room. It was smaller than the room I shared with Alexis, with room for only one bed. Still, Jen had plenty of space and plenty of privacy. But I wasn’t sure I’d want to live alone, the way she did. I’m used to sharing a room with someone, and for me, part of the boarding school experience was having a roommate. I knew I might feel lonely if I were on my own. But I didn’t say anything about that to Jen.
“You should t
alk to Pam,” Jen suggested. “She might be able to help you work things out. I mean, she’s been at Riverbend since she was in fifth grade. She’s seen it all.”
“I don’t know,” I said hesitantly. “I don’t want to be seen as a complainer. I feel better just talking to you. Now I know I’m not crazy to think Alexis is difficult to live with.”
“But talking to me isn’t going to change anything,” Jen pointed out. “I’m glad to discuss it, but you’re still going to have to at least sleep in your room every night. Alexis isn’t going to disappear.”
“I know,” I said, sighing. “I know.”
“So talk to Pam. I’ll even come with you if you want.”
“I’ll think about it,” I promised.
And I did. I thought about it a lot over the next couple of days. But I still wasn’t ready to talk to Pam. Telling her about the trouble with Alexis would make it official. I’d wait until I was sure I couldn’t work things out on my own.
Meanwhile, I threw myself into my classes. I liked them all — with the possible exception of gym. Math class was hard but still enjoyable; Amy said I had a “hidden talent” for numbers, something I’d never heard from any math teacher before. In French, we’d begun to have short conversations about the weather. I was struggling a bit with my vocabulary and tenses, but Kerry told me (after class, in English) I had an excellent accent. In global studies we were studying the ecology of the rain forest, and we’d broken up into small groups to work on projects that combined art, science, and language. (Fortunately, Alexis was not in my small group.) My short-story class was reading O. Henry, and John had led us into some amazing discussions.
But my favorite class, hands down, was Creative Writing for the Stage. Sarah and I were already working hard on a midterm project, a scene that I would write and she would star in. We were so excited about it that we drove everybody else nuts. We couldn’t stop talking about it. Even patient Smita finally told us to be quiet, after we’d babbled all the way through Thursday night’s dinner.
I stayed out of my room until bedtime on Thursday, then slipped in quietly, hoping Alexis would already be asleep.