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"It's called 'Ruby,'" he would say, and then he would begin and I would feel like someone who walked in the spotlights.

Grandmere would say it was all wishful thinking, dreams as thin as soap bubbles. But then she would shake her head sadly and add, "At least you can have dreams. That boy. . . he lives in a house without any dreams at all. He truly lives in darkness."

7

So Many Rules

.

As she had promised, Mrs. Penny was waiting

for me in the lobby of the dorm when I arrived. She jumped out of her chair and came rushing to greet me, her eyes full of excitement and expectation.

"How was your dinner?" she cried.

"It was very nice, Mrs. Penny," I said, looking over her shoulder at the girls from the A and B quads who were watching television. Most had turned my way curiously.

"Just nice?" she asked, with disappointment. She looked like a little girl who had been told she couldn't have any ice cream. I knew she wanted a list of superlatives from me, a flood of adjectives, but I wasn't in the mood. She lit up again with a new question: "What did Mrs. Clairborne serve?"

"A shrimp dish," I replied, without mentioning the Cajun recipe. "Oh, and an orange creme brulee for dessert," I added. That pleased her.

"I was hoping she would do something special. What did you do afterward? Did you sit and talk in the same sitting room in which we had tea, or did you go on to one of the glass-domed patios?"

"I listened to Louis play the piano. He grew tired and I came back," I summarized.

She nodded. "It was an honor," she said, still nodding "a very high honor. You should be proud of yourself."

For being invited to a dinner? Why wasn't it more of an honor to paint a beautiful picture or get high marks on a school test? I wanted to ask, but I simply smiled back instead and excused myself.

Gisselle, surrounded by Samantha, Kate, and Jackie, was holding court in the lounge when I arrived. From the pink flush in all the girls' faces, I imagined Gisselle had been describing one of her sexual exploits back in New Orleans. They all turned with some disappointment at my interruption, but I ha

d no intention of joining them.

"Well, look who's back," Gisselle quipped, "the princess of Greenwood."

Everyone laughed.

"How was your evening, princess?"

"Why don't you stop making an ass of yourself, Gisselle," I retorted.

"Oh. I'm sorry, princess. I didn't mean to offend your royal bosom," she continued, the laughter of her r club following quickly. "We poor underlings had a rather uneventful dinner, except for the part where I accidentally spilled my hot soup on Patti Denning." They all laughed again. "How was Louis? At least tell us that much."

"Very nice," I said.

"Did you go groping in the dark with him?" she asked. Despite myself, I couldn't keep my blood from rushing into my cheeks. Gisselle's eyes widened. "Did you?" she pursued.

"Stop it!" I screamed, and crossed quickly to my room. I slammed the door shut to cut off the laughter behind me. Abby looked up from her textbook, surprised at my abrupt entrance.

"What's wrong?'

"Gisselle," I said simply, and she smirked with understanding. She sat up and closed the book on her lap.

"How was your evening?"

"Oh, Abby," I cried. "It was . . so strange. Mrs. Clairborne didn't really want me there."

She nodded as if she had always known. "And Louis?"