Cutler 02 - Secrets of the Morning

discovering the parents I had known and loved for more than fourteen years were not really my parents, being dragged off to live with a family that didn't really want me back, discovering that the boy I thought might be my first boyfriend was really ray brother and the boy I thought was my brother was the boy I really liked the way a girl should like a boy; having to have a vicious, jealous sister, Clara Sue, and a mother who doted only on herself. And now, being shipped off as part of a bargain with a grandmother who despised my very existence for reasons I still didn't quite understand—all of it came raining down upon me.
    As I looked at Trisha with her vibrant eyes and bubbly personality, her excitement over things like rock and roll and boys and movies, I suddenly realized how different I was. I had never really had the chance to be a young girl and a teenager. I had been forced because of Momma Longchamp's illnesses to be the mother. Flow I had longed to be like Trisha Kramer and others like her. Could I be? Was it too late?
    I couldn't stop the tears from flowing.
    "What is it?" Trisha asked. "Did I say something?"
    "Oh, Trisha, I'm sorry," I said. "No, you're perfect. Agnes had me thinking you'd be horrible."
    "Oh Agnes," she said, waving the air, "you can't pay attention to anything she says. Did she show you her room?"
    "Yes," I said, nodding and wiping away my tears, "with the curtain."
    "Isn't it a gas? She thinks she lives on the stage. Wait until you see the rest of it. Did you get your class program card yet?"
    "Yes." I dug it out of my purse and showed it to her.
    "Great! We have English together and vocal music. I’ll take you over to the school now and give you a grand tour. But first, let's change into sweatshirts and jeans and sneakers, and go get ice cream sodas and talk and talk and talk until both our throats get dry."
    "My mother bought me only fancy things for school. I don't have a sweatshirt," I moaned.
    "Oh yes you do," she said, jumping up and going to the closet. She pulled out one of her own, a bright, blue cotton one, and tossed it at me.
    I hurried to change as Trisha and I talked a mile a minute, giggling almost after everything we said. When we finally started out, Trisha stopped me at the door.
    "Please, my dear," she said, assuming Agnes Morris's demeanor. "Whenever you enter or leave a room, always hold your head high and your shoulders back. Otherwise, you won't be noticed."
    Our laughter trailed after us as we bounced down the stairs.
    I wasn't in New York more than a few hours. And already I had a friend!

 
    2
EXPLORING THE BERNHARDT SCHOOL
     
    Even though Trisha took me to a luncheonette only two blocks away from our student house, I couldn't help being afraid of getting lost. The streets were so long and I found I had to walk very quickly to keep up with her. My eyes darted all about as I took in the traffic, the people, the stores and other apartment houses, but Trisha kept her gaze down and talked as she hurried up the sidewalk to a corner and then turned to lead me down another street and up another. It was as if she sensed traffic and people or had eyes in the top of her head and didn't have to worry about bumping into someone or being hit by a car.
    "Quickly," she cried when I hesitated behind her, "before the light changes on us." She grabbed my hand and tugged me off the sidewalk. Drivers honked their horns at us because the light did change when we were only three quarters of the way. I was terrified, but Trisha thought it was funny.
    The cashier at the luncheonette, the bald-headed, stout elderly man behind the counter and even some of the waitresses knew Trisha and waved and said hello when we entered. She slid into the first empty booth and I followed, happy to be safe and have a place to rest.
    "I've never been to Virginia," Trisha began. "My family's from upstate New York. How come you don't have a thick, southern accent?" she asked quickly, just realizing it.
    "I didn't grow up in Virginia," I said. "My family traveled around a great deal and we didn't always live in the south."
    The waitress came to our table.
    "Want a black and white?" Trisha asked me. I didn't know what it was, but I was afraid to show just how stupid I was.
    "Fine," I said.
    "All the kids from the school come here," she said. "They have a juke box. Want to hear some music?"
    "Sure," I said. She jumped up and went to the juke box.
    "Isn't that great?" she said, returning. "Now hold it a