Amy Morrow had tossed and turned all night in bed. First it was the nightmare she had about being in class and someone had started drama with her. Amy had begged and pleaded to be let go. She could feel all of her classmates closing in on her, when she woke up. If one nightmare wasn't enough, she had another; this time it featured her mother, only this time she was trying to smother Amy with a pillow. She woke up.
She was safe in the room. The rain had continued to lash the windows. Amy looked at the clock:
2:45 AM.
"I just want Monday to hurry up." She thought to herself. She glanced over at Sarah and saw that she was in a deep sleep; the snoring gave it away. Amy had to get outside; she felt the nicotine withdrawal. Amy set course for the Smoker's Highway and within moments was out in the rain, getting her fix. The wind whooshed through the trees, making her jump. As she struggled to light the cigarette, she thought she heard footsteps on the wet leaves.
"Who-who's there?" Amy stammered.
"The only other person up at 3 AM having a smoke." The voice replied.
It was Morgan.
Amy breathed a sigh of relief, she'd hate to get caught by the staff now.
"Are you always up smoking, Amy?" Morgan asked.
"I couldn't sleep."
"Nervous about Monday?" She asked.
"You have no idea." Amy muttered, taking a drag from the Marlboro.
"I feel like they're going to eat me alive here."
"I felt like that last September. My family shipped me up here from St. Louis. What a culture shock it is up here." Morgan began. Amy shifted nervously; despite having smoked with Morgan nearly every night since Friday, she was still apprehensive.
"Everyone up here seems a bit angry and guarded, like all of their secrets are out in the open, and they're trying to hide them." Morgan continued.
"I can see that." Amy suggested.
"Back home in St. Louis, people keep that shit behind closed doors. You can sometimes catch glimpses of it at night whenever the neighbors have people over."
"What do you mean?"
"The parents always show their true colors whenever they have their closest friends over."
Amy began to understand, now. Her own mother had an inner circle of friends that would gossip until the early hours.
"Do your parents do that, Morgan?"
"All the time, Amy. I begin to hate it after a while." Morgan sighed.
They stamped out their cigarettes and went their separate ways. The day was beginning to take shape and Amy wasn't sure if she was going to make it or not.
Amy snuck back into the salt box and crept upstairs. The light was on somewhere up there on the third floor. A sense of dread rose in Amy's throat. She swallowed hard as she neared the top floor. Sure enough, the light was on in their room. She hoped she hadn't made Sarah angry.
"There you are!" Sarah whispered, rather stressed out from her absence.
"Am I in trouble?" Amy asked.
"No, but try to be quieter next time when you sneak out."
"It's still raining." Amy sighed.
"Do we have to wear this uniform?" Amy asked, looking at the navy blue pinafore dress and white blouse.
"Unfortunately, we do. They'll dock points if it's not neat." Sarah warned. A gust of wind blew against the window, making Sarah shudder and feel the chill.
"It gets like this on the Vineyard every winter. My dad calls it an 'office day.'" She said.
Amy let out a laugh. Every day for her father was an "office" day.
"He hates being in that office. He's like me, he likes to be outside." Sarah boasted in a manner similar to an introduction.
Amy sat back down on her bed, putting her school shoes on. In the relatively dim light of the room, Amy glanced at her school schedule.
"We have Homeroom here?" Amy quizzed. Back in New York she had homeroom, but it was long and drawn out.
"Yeah, with Ms. Durfee. I hate that class. She'll write you up because she likes it." Sarah warned.
"Do they have detention here or is it called something else?"
"Oh, we have detention. Pamela can tell you all about that." Sarah teased, as though Pamela was an esteemed veteran.
Suddenly, from out in the hallway came a familiar voice.
"Did I hear my name being called?" Pamela cried out. She popped her head into the room.
"Tell Amy about detention." Sarah demanded.
"You DON'T want to get a detention, because then you have to sit with all the bad kids and be watched over."
By now the entire third floor was awake and grumbling. The rainy dawn exposed a heavy mist gradually wending its way through the grove of pine trees. Sarah looked out at the footpath and grew pale. A rather stern looking woman was fast approaching.
"Oh, crap, it's Ms. Harriman! She comes by here every morning to make sure we're getting ready to go to the cafeteria."
"What does she do?" Amy asked.
"Basically, she 'takes' us to school every morning," Pamela began.
"What do you mean? We can't just walk over to the school building? It's right there!" Amy replied.
"She walks us to the cafeteria, then on to school. Every day. At the end of the day, Ms. Coleman comes to walk us back to the dorm. The line is sorted by grade. Sixth graders up front, Seventh in the middle, and finally, us at the end." Pamela explained. She hated being in that line; often she felt like others were laughing at her.
"She's like our parent, in a way. She makes sure we're fed and then dropped off." Sarah further explained. The girls made their way downstairs into the parlor where Ms. Harriman was waiting.
"Good Monday morning! Is everyone here? Everybody, get down here, NOW!" She boomed. Amy could hear the collective groans of everyone. A sound similar to a stampede rose from the stairwell and the hall.
This woman reminded Amy of her own mother; how she could switch from being calm to all out rage. She could feel her eyes on her.
"You must be the new student; Amanda?"
"Amy." She replied calmly. Somehow it only amplified the piercing glare.
"And fix your collar!" The way the order seemed to effortlessly roll off her tongue made it seem as if she'd done this countless times.
"Are we all ready to go?"
"Let's move!"
The line snaked its way toward the cafeteria and through the downpour. Their wide-brimmed straw hats shielding them from the rain. To Amy, the hat felt like a thousand knives cutting her head. Up ahead, the line stopped. Two of the sixth grade students began fussing over something.
"Keep moving!" Ms. Harriman barked.
The line began to move again. The walk to the cafeteria, a two-minute walk under normal circumstances seemed to take an eternity. They finally neared the entrance. As they bunched up, Ms. Harriman let them in. The cafeteria seemed different; instead of being warm and inviting the way it was on Saturday, the cafeteria was cold and foreboding.
"We have to go sit over there." Pamela whispered to Amy while she pointed over to the corner.
"Just like my old cafeteria in New York." Amy whispered back.
By the time it was their turn to get food, the high school students were filing in. Breakfast this morning consisted of eggs, bacon, and toast; along with that godforsaken gray oatmeal. Nobody in Amy's class took the gray paste.
"After they feed us, they take us over to the school building."
"Why does this hat make me feel like I'm being cut a thousand ways?" Amy wondered.
"They're only meant to keep our heads dry. If it doesn't rain, we get knit wool caps." Alison explained. When she lived in New York she wore a wool hat in the winter rain or shine; wearing the wide brimmed straw hat made no sense to her. She was afraid that the hat would blow away in the wind; then she'd really be in trouble with Ms. Harriman.
"Homeroom comes next, then we have outdoor rec." Alison mumbled; she was already over this rainy Monday.
"But it's raining!" Pamela whined, hoping they'd be sent back to their rooms.
"You know they'll still make us go outside." Sarah replied, as if it meant nothing to her.
Amy couldn't understand the logic at play here.
"Let me try to understand this. Even though it's raining, they still expect us to go outside for recreation? What if we get sick? Is this some kind of jail?" Amy asked. That was the last thing she'd want; to have to spend the day inside the infirmary.
"Amy, don't be such a dork. Maybe they'll send us to our rooms." Pamela assured.
The noise level in the cafeteria rose as Ms. Harriman walked over to the Lower School students and gathered them into a group.
"Lower School! Let's walk!" She boomed.
The walk back felt like a drag to all of them.
"Why couldn't Christmas break be extended?" Alison complained.
They neared the saltbox now.
"Go inside up to your rooms and grab your bags, then return to the line." Ms. Harriman barked.
Like sharks feeding on a school of fish, they all ran inside to gather their bookbags. On a normal day, this process took five minutes tops. This morning, things were running slightly behind schedule.
With everyone back in line, Ms. Harriman escorted them to the school building. As they entered, the line was split up into its components. The sixth grade occupied the lower floor; the two others, the upstairs. Silently they walked into the home room; Ms. Durfee waiting for them.
The wooden door shut. The smell of coffee brewing in the back of the room brought everyone to their senses. Ms. Abby Durfee, a woman of forty-nine years had been teaching at Plymouth Rock since 1963; twenty years ago, now. She'd seen it all; when she started, she taught the 6th grade. When the school's enrollment grew in the mid 1970s, she moved to the 7th grade; which she detested. When an unexpected opening occurred in the 8th grade, she took her chance. Abby fit right in.
Several seats still remained empty, waiting for the day students to arrive. Every seat was assigned. Amy found hers in the second row, behind Pamela and next to Alison. Sarah was two rows away. Amy stowed her book bag under her desk. She thought she could feel Ms. Durfee's eyes staring at her. Finally, everyone was seated; save for the day students, they'd arrive during outdoor recreation.
"Good morning, everyone!" She greeted.
"Good morning, Ms. Durfee!" the class replied, albeit begrudgingly.
"We have a new student joining us for the first time today. When everyone else gets here I'd like for everybody to get to know her. Welcome, Amy."
"Since it is Amy's first day with us, I'll explain the class. I am the teacher, after all." She proclaimed.
"We start every week with a theme. It isn't an assignment, per se, but it should get you thinking and writing in your composition books. This week's theme, appropriately enough is 'stranger in a strange land.'"
Pamela audibly yawned. This seemed to upset Abby. She stared at the adolescent hard. Who was she to steal Abby's thunder?
"Perhaps, you'd like to teach the class, Pamela? You don't want to get a detention, do you?" Ms. Durfee warned. Pamela put her head down in embarrassment.
"During outdoor recreation, Pamela will graciously erase the board." She said. Pamela sunk her head lower. She hated erasing that board; in a way it gave her nightmares. The chalk dust would inevitably get on her uniform in the form of handprints. After which she'd tense up whenever she saw Ms. Harriman.
It was almost time for outdoor rec. The rain still hadn't abated, and it had started falling heavier, now. Amy shifted in her seat, praying that Ms. Durfee wouldn't single her out the way she did Pamela.
"I'll see you all in 45 minutes. It is now time for outdoor recreation. Since it is raining outside, you have the option of heading to the Gymnasium, or to your room. Pamela, stay behind, please."
The rest of the class got up from their seats and made their way outside.
"Forget about Pamela, she brought this on herself." Sarah assured as they walked into the rainy morning. Amy felt for Pamela. All she did was yawn.
"She yawned, Sarah." Amy shot back.
"She won't get a detention. She just has to help Ms. Durfee with the board." Sarah replied.
"In a way, Pamela likes helping Ms. Durfee." Alison piped up.
Amy thought that was weird. Back home in New York, one of her teachers; Mrs. Mellon would have Amy stay behind and help with the board, but that was only if something was on her mind.
"Just another thing for her and Gwen to talk about." Sarah said. Amy knew that she'd meet with Gwen Burgess at some point, but was unsure of when.
"Is Gwen nice?"
"She won't tell your parents your innermost thoughts." Alison cajoled.
"Really?" Amy asked incredulously. Her therapist back in New York; Jane would often report back to her mother the things she had said. Last fall, she alarmed her mother when she told Jane that she felt depressed; to the point of possibly needing to be hospitalized across the Hudson in Peekskill. While she didn't feel that way now, she did feel anxious. If she were back at home, she'd head for Mrs. Mellon's office. Mrs. Mellon was one of her favorite teachers; especially during her 7th grade year, when she had limited freedom at school. So far the 8th grade had presented many new and vast opportunities for freedom and independence.
A gust of wind blew Amy's hat to the ground as she neared the porch of the salt box. Grabbing it, she headed inside. The rain had let up to a mere wind blown drizzle by this point. The others had retreated to their rooms, a few bumps and cackling laughter adding to the mélange of noises.
"Uh, it's so loud in here!" Sarah whined.
"Then let's go outside." Amy suggested.
They walked under the pines. The air heavy with the scent of the pine grove.
"I can tell you're getting frustrated." Sarah began.
"There are just some rules here that seem odd to me." Amy whined.
"The outdoor rec thing being one of them?"
Amy could feel her anxiety rise even higher. Compared to her former school back in New York, Amy truly was a stranger in a strange land. She could sense that Sarah was trustworthy, Alison just as much. The only one of her new classmates that she couldn't quite get a sense of was Pamela. Pamela could be trustworthy, but she sensed that outside problems clouded her judgment; her outburst about her mother the other day was a prime example. Then again, Amy felt that she could at least trust Pamela enough to get by; save for that bratty attitude of hers.
A crowd of day students had walked past them, signalling the halfway point of outdoor rec. Sarah tapped Amy on the shoulder and pointed them out. The first, was a curly haired brunette who walked as though she were some dignitary.
"That's Linda Marshall. She's really, really into horses; picture Misty of Chincoteague, but everywhere. She has a horse named Clover. Linda can tell you everything about noble steeds."
Amy knew the type. At Nyack Junior High there were two such classmates. The first was Megan Harriman; the other, Clarissa Deegan. Amy hated Clarissa because she was fake. Megan wasn't much better, but she hid it well.
Sarah pointed out another student, this time a girl with auburn hair, tightly curled.
"Here comes Josie Stimpson. She's really cool to talk to if you like to go bowling. She's a musical prodigy, but can't decide which instrument to play. You might like her, Amy. Just don't let Pam know."
"Why?"
"Because she really, really wants to be friends with Josie. She gets jealous."
Finally, two more day students walked by. Sarah seemed happy to see one and repulsed to see the other.
"Here comes Hannah Collins and Sophia Hammond. Hannah loves to paint. She paints in oil. Sophia is a bigger brat than Pam. Pam often has to put her in her place."
The crowd forming at the door to the Lower School signaled the end of Outdoor Rec.
"We have to hurry, Amy! You don't want to be marked tardy, especially by Ms. Durfee." Sarah hissed. They had cleared the door and were upstairs by the time the bell had rung.
Pamela's eyes were puffy when everyone walked in. She covered her face as best she could, but ultimately it was no use. Amy glanced at her classmate and felt guilty. Pamela looked miserable.
"Good morning, class!"
"Good morning, Ms. Durfee!" They all said in unison.
"Today we have a new student joining us all the way from Blauvelt, New York! Welcome, Amy Morrow! We are now complete as a class!"
Amy felt uncomfortable as all eyes focused on her. The anxiety rose ever higher.
"Go on, tell them about yourself." Abby prodded.
"I'm from the New York suburbs. Originally we lived in New Rochelle, but my oldest sister, Genevieve went crazy, and we had to move."
"Oh my god! Did she murder people?" Linda cried out.
"Linda!" Ms. Durfee warned.
"No, but she made it so we had to leave our old house. I really miss my old house."
She didn't know why she felt the need to share about her oldest sister, but in her mind it seemed vital.
"What kinds of things do you do in your free time?" Josie probed.
"I love photography, so I take a lot of pictures. I also like to draw, but the style is distinct, like Medieval art. I also like that, too. Sometimes, I take my little sister, Victoria to the park. She goes to Briarwood, but she isn't a baby as some people here think she is." Amy answered.
"What's your favorite food?" Linda asked.
"At home, I love pepperoni pizza from Nanuet and Village pizza. Hey, I'm a teenager, we're supposed to live on that stuff, right?" Amy asked, the class laughed.
"But I also love a good hamburger from one of the local diners near my house. I don't know what they do to it, but it's the most delicious burger you'll ever have. I also really love Dunkin' Donuts."
"Do you ever go into the city?" Sophia asked Amy.
"Sometimes, but my mom has to take me. She says it's too dangerous for someone my age to go by themselves. When we go she usually takes me to the Met. They had an awesome cat exhibit last summer. My favorite museum is The Cloisters."
The class laughed nervously. Many of them could sympathize with Amy; they'd heard the same spiel from their own family regarding going places.
"Does your family vacation on the Cape during the summer?"
"We go to Onset."
The class was amazed by this. Onset was where old money vacationed. Soon there would be the inevitable "Do you know so-and-so?" type questions. Amy didn't meet many other people her age whenever she and Victoria vacationed there. Most of the time, their mother kept them sequestered, not taking them to the beach until very late in the afternoon. Most mornings were spent pacing around the cottage. Amy could never figure out why, perhaps her mother would tell her in due time.
Ms. Durfee had brought the class to order again. She was about to bring up the idea of the week's theme.
"This week's theme is stranger in a strange land. Think of Amy and how she, too, is a stranger in a strange land. What kinds of advice would you give this stranger? How would you help them assimilate? This week in your composition books, write two to three pages. You may also draw how you would help them."
Pamela turned to Amy.
"That board was nasty, like she saved it all up during Christmas break." She whispered. The chalk dust was everywhere on her uniform.
"In our last five minutes together this morning, remember you're lucky to be here. There are others who are in a similar condition to you who are treated harshly in places such as Paul A. Dever, Wrentham, and Fernald. I pray that you never end up there." She sighed. Most of the class didn't understand, except for Linda.
"Ms. Durfee, I have a friend named Patricia who lives in Dighton. Her mom works at Dever. Her dad works at Taunton State."
"So you know what I'm talking about, Linda."
"Unfortunately, Ms. Durfee, I do."
The bell rang.
The rest of the morning became a blur to Amy. She found English class boring, mostly because she'd already learned how to diagram a sentence last semester. She watched the others struggle, and she laughed a little inside at Pamela's terrible handwriting. Amy compared Pam's handwriting to her sister Victoria's; they could've been an instant match. As if she could sense the others judging her work, Pamela snatched the paper and put it in a folder; hoping nobody else would see. Someone's stomach growled. Ms. Lyon wasn't the worst English teacher, Amy would admit. That reward would go to Mrs. Sylvester back in Nyack.
The bell rang and they were dismissed for lunch. Unlike earlier, where Ms. Harriman had to escort them, they were free to go to the cafeteria. The rain had let up to become mist; the sun's disc trying to announce its presence as the clouds drifted in front of it. The snow that had fallen Friday night had melted into a few scattered patches here and there. The smell of cooking food wafted through the air. Everyone was starving.
“Are you going to get the pizza for lunch, Amy?” Pamela asked.
“Not for lunch. Do they serve grilled cheese sandwiches here?”
“All the time. The Tomato soup is also excellent. I thought you liked Pizza, though?” Pamela replied.
“I also like grilled cheese. I make a lot of them for my sister, Victoria.”
They walked inside. The sound of the crowd mixed with the noises coming from the kitchen producing an interesting cacophony. The line was still short enough that they'd be able to enjoy nearly all the allotted time. The pizza looked rather dull as it sat under the heat lamp; Amy passed. She saw the grilled cheese and tomato soup. The bread had taken on a nice crust with minimal burn; the way she made it at home. One thing stood out, however; instead of American cheese, this school used cheddar. The bacon added a charming touch. Grabbing the sandwich and soup, she almost forgot the can of Coke. She preferred to wash down her sandwich with a bottle of Foxon Park; no time to run to her room to grab a bottle.
After moving past Pamela, she sat down. They both saw Sarah sitting by herself. Nobody else wanted to sit there. Sitting down, Amy immediately began to get the sense that she'd committed some slight. A few tables away, Pamela was shouted at.
"Nobody wants to sit with you, just go away!" Pamela looked dejected. She hurried over to Amy and Sarah's table.
"Do either of you care if I sit here?" She asked, hoping for a reprieve. So far, Monday was shaping up to be a disaster for Pamela. First, the humiliation in Homeroom, then in English, she accidentally exposed her barely legible scrawl of an assignment. She hoped that Amy wouldn't make fun of her. When no jokes at her expense came forth, Pamela finally sat down.
"You're not going to make fun of me?"
"No, should we, Pam?" Sarah nervously asked, possibly missing an inside joke.
Pamela's heart began to race.
"No. I meant it as a joke. I know you two wouldn't."
Jennifer Hussey approached.
"Hey!" She called out to Alison.
"Get away from here, dork." Pamela hissed. Jennifer continued towards their table.
"Pamela. Let her sit here." Amy warned.
"But she's a freshman! They hate us, and have since the beginning of time."
"You watch too many movies, Pam." Jennifer replied. A long way from her native St. George's Island home, Jennifer found the mainland to be fast-paced and full of unnecessary drama. She thought girls like Pamela to be boring and dull. She couldn't care less about who wore the latest trends or who was reading the hottest books. Jennifer's true nature was down to earth, however her face was often seen as looking bitchy.
"Fine. Just eat your lunch in peace." Pamela whined.
The tomato soup was the perfect finishing touch to her sandwich as Amy dug in. The soup had body to it, unlike what she was used to eating back home in Blauvelt. Her mother never seemed to add in spices to give it flavor, Amy would have to use the pepper grinder until it hurt her hand. Sarah, who also had the grilled cheese and tomato soup found it to be bland.
"I could make a better grilled cheese." She complained. She wasn’t one to complain much, if at all.
Lunch was winding down. The next round of classes was set to begin.
Amy hadn't been sitting in history class for very long when someone entered the room to come collect her. She'd been told to take her books, as she wouldn't be returning to class for the rest of the afternoon. As she was escorted to a small building near the Gymnasium, her anxieties began to rise.
"Where are we going?" Amy asked.
"To your appointment with Gwen Burgess." was the reply. Amy remembered seeing the office during her school visit. Amy swallowed.
They entered the building and the relaxing scents of pine and baked goods wafted towards them. Amy sat in the waiting area. The silence was piercing. She could hear herself think.
"At least Gwen won't tell mom how you really feel." She said to herself.
Five minutes passed before the door to Gwen's office opened.
"Amy Morrow, come on down!" Gwen announced, as though she were on the set of The Price is Right.
They walked into the office. The room was quiet, save for the clock on the wall. The walls of the office were decorated with pictures that her schoolmates had drawn. One picture that caught her eye was of a tortoiseshell cat; the caption read "My cat, Lucy. To Gwen, love Pamela."
"Welcome. I'm Gwen Burgess, I'll be your therapist while you are here." She began.
Amy wanted to speak.
"Don't worry, I've already talked to Jane, is it?" She checked the paperwork in front of her.
"She's my therapist back home. I like her, but I don't like how she tells my mom everything I say." Amy replied. Gwen furrowed her brow.
Gwen Burgess had been the chief therapist at Plymouth Rock since 1976. She'd heard it all whenever it came to the student body. Students such as Amy were often unsettled by Gwen's calm nature; especially right after a high-stress day in class.
"Can you tell me a little bit about yourself?" Gwen asked.
"Well, as you know my name is Amy Morrow, Amy Vandeventer Morrow; if you want my full name." She began.
"Go on."
"I live in Blauvelt, New York with my dad, Tom, my mom; Anne and my little sister, Victoria. Victoria can be a pain in the butt, but I love and protect her." Amy continued.
"Is Blauvelt close to New York City?"
"Almost an hour into the city itself, if you went through north Jersey. We always take the train, especially when I'm with my mom."
"Does your mom take you into the city often?"
"Only to visit the Met and other museums. Otherwise, no. She doesn't like taking me and Victoria into the city. Especially not Victoria; mom says it's too loud, and it unsettles her."
"That's interesting."
"What kinds of things do you do with your sister?"
"I take her to the park where she jumps off the swings. That drives mom crazy, and that's why she and I laugh at mom. Mom blames me for that, a lot. After we go to the park I'll make her dinner; she's very, very easy to cook for. I make her grilled cheese sandwiches; but she really loves my French Toast." Amy finished. Gwen wrote a few things down on a thick pad of paper.
"Earlier, you said your mom blames you for Victoria jumping off the swing. How does she blame you?"
"She always gives me a look like I made Victoria do whatever she did." Amy didn't want to talk about her mom, not yet.
Sensing Amy wasn't quite ready, she changed the topic to something else.
"Do you like it here?"
"It's better than Nyack Junior High. At least here, nobody shoves me into the lockers!"
"What do you mean?"
"Back there, Gwen, I would get shoved into the lockers nearly every day by a girl named Courtney Chase. That's why I'm here."
"That's terrible, Amy. Why did they bully you so much?"
"Because I'm different from the others?"
"How so?"
"Well, I don't know anyone else that likes photography as much as I do. I also draw like it's the Byzantine Empire. I drew a picture of my sister last Christmas. I called it St. Victoria."
"Did she like the picture?"
"Yes, she brought it with her to Briarwood." Amy replied. This drew Gwen's attention.
"She goes to Briarwood?" Gwen asked, curious as to how it affected Amy.
"Yes, and I'm worried about her. This is the first time she's been away from home, ever. She needs mom all the time. I can hear her whining now."
"It sounds like you're taking on the role of a parent." Gwen offered.
The clock on the wall now read 1:30, almost halfway through this first session. Gwen, sensing that getting Amy to open up about her home life was going to be difficult, she didn't wish to add any more stress to her day. Instead, she asked Amy about her classmates.
"I like my roommate, Sarah. She really wants me to meet her family. I'm going to the Vineyard this weekend; I can't wait to go, actually."
"So, Sarah's in the 'club?'" Gwen asked.
"Definitely. She reminds me of my best friend back home in New York."
"What's her name?"
"Stacy Greenbaum. She's the third most popular girl in the eighth grade at Nyack Junior High. Do you know what that means?"
"No, Amy, I'm afraid that I don't understand."
"Basically, in the hierarchy of groups, I could move relatively freely. Nobody would touch me in the popular group. Stacy would fight them."
"I see."
"I'm worried about Pamela, though. Her mom isn't doing well. She cried about it." Amy whined. Gwen jotted something down on the notepad.
"The way she sounded, her mom must be somebody that must be very close to her."
"She could be." Gwen replied.
The session was nearing its end. Gwen didn't get nearly as far as she had hoped to today, but she saw it as progress nonetheless. She began to get up from the seat, when Gwen spoke again.
"I'll see you, Wednesday afternoon." She said.
Amy nodded and headed down the hall. Pamela stalked past her, her eyes puffy. She seemed embarrassed about something. Maybe Amy would hear about it tonight.
