I nod that I do, and Dr. Groger moves the light to another corner of my graft.
“After the Flower Garden,” I tell him, considering what I’m going to say next, “we stopped at a gas station so some of the girls could use the restroom. I was going to get candy.”
The doctor rolls his eyes, playing along like I was being mischievous. He shifts the red light again.
“And?” he asks, his voice dropping lower. He does know the rest of the story.
“There was a boy there,” I add, ashamed.
The doctor clicks off the light. He takes it from my knee and sets it back on the tray.
“What did you and this boy talk about?” he asks. He grabs the tube of silicone gel and puts some on a gauze patch, then rubs it over my knee.
“Candy, mostly,” I say. “But . . . when Guardian Bose came in and told me it was time to leave, I didn’t listen right away.” I’m humiliated by the admission.
“And why do you think you disobeyed?” he asks.
“I wanted a few more minutes in the store.”
Dr. Groger sighs. “That’s not like you, Philomena,” he says. “The girl I know would never misbehave.” His disappointed tone nearly makes me cry. “I’m sure you didn’t mean to be disrespectful,” he adds. “But it was improper for you to carry on with a stranger—especially a boy we don’t know. Guardian Bose was right to redirect you.”
I nod and tell him that I understand. And when he smiles, not angry, I’m relieved.
The doctor pats my thigh this time, and then reaches for a sparkly Band-Aid. He places it over my graft for decoration and declares that I’m still scar-free.
I hop down from the table, pulling the wrapper off the sugar-free lollipop, and stick the candy between my cheek and teeth. I watch Dr. Groger write notes in my file, pushing up his glasses every few seconds.
“Can I ask you something?” I begin quietly.
The doctor’s pencil stops. “Of course,” he says, looking at me above his glasses. “What is it?”
“Is Valentine getting impulse control therapy?” I ask. Even saying the words out loud causes a twist in my stomach, a prickle on my skin. “She misbehaved on the bus, and—”
“Valentine Wright will be just fine,” he says. “Her impulses are compromised, but a good session with Anton should cure her of that. She’ll be back to herself in no time. It’s very sweet of you to worry about her, though.”
I thank him for the compliment. However, I’m still bothered. “But the Guardian grabbed—”
“I’m aware of the incident, Philomena,” he replies, interrupting me again. “There’s no need for you to consider it any longer.”
I don’t argue, accepting that he’s right.
Dr. Groger waits a beat before closing my file and setting it inside his desk drawer. When I don’t say anything else, he sighs as if he was being too harsh. He walks out from behind his desk.
“Guardian Bose may be a bit overzealous at times,” the doctor admits, glancing at my Band-Aid. “I will speak to him. But he knows what’s best for you—all of you. You should respect that.”
The lollipop has gone sour in my mouth. I’ve never been in trouble before; I’ve never disappointed the doctor. I promise to do better. “I won’t misbehave again,” I assure him.
“Good.” Dr. Groger takes off his glasses and slips them into the front pocket of his shirt. He looks me up and down. “That’s very good, Philomena.”
He walks me to the door, his hand on the small of my back. And just before I leave, I pause long enough to thank him for his guidance.
IA Report Card
Student’s Name: Philomena Rhodes
Year: 2 Q1
Metrics
A – Superior, B – Above average, C – Average,
D – Below average, E – Poor, F – Failure
Conduct
Cooperative
A
Good listener
A
Manners and poise
A
Beauty
A
Compliance
A
Academics
Plant Design and Development
A
Basics
A
Social Graces Etiquette
A
Decorum and Modesty
A
Fitness
A
Modern Manners
A
Teacher’s Remarks
Philomena is a delightful, well-mannered girl. She follows instructions and is amiable to all requests with continued direction. She will make a fine addition to any household.
Anton Stuart
4
My afternoon classes have already started by the time I leave the doctor’s office, and I go back to my room to grab my textbook. I’m feeling vulnerable, an odd sense of loneliness. Separation. As I leave my bedroom, I glance down the hall toward the phone.
I’d planned to call my parents to see if they’ll be attending tomorrow’s open house, but I hadn’t gotten the chance yet. I decide to call them now.
I head down the hall and try not to think about them missing another open house as I pick up the phone. My parents are very busy people—I understand that. I haven’t spoken to them since the holidays, and even then, it was just a short chat with my mother. A quick check-in to make sure I’d received the extra allowance. She told me to buy myself something nice. But . . . there’s nothing to spend it on here. I guess she doesn’t know that.
I dial their number and press the receiver to my ear. I steady myself against the wall with my other hand. There’s a click on the line, and I immediately straighten up as if they can see me.
“Hello?” a warm voice calls. “This is the Rhodes residence.” I smile softly.
“Hi, Eva,” I say. “It’s Philomena.”
“Philomena,” she says lovingly. “How are you, darling?” Her accent is stronger when she pronounces my name—the origin unclear. When I asked about it once, she replied, “Oh, you know. I’m from here and there.” That was the end of the discussion.
Eva is my parents’ live-in assistant. All of the families affiliated with the academy have an assistant, and I’m lucky to have Eva. She answers my every call, every letter. I’ve personally never met her—she was hired after I left for school—but I don’t usually mind when I talk to her as a surrogate for my parents. She’s kind. She even sent me gloves during the winter. It was very sweet.
“I’m sorry to call again,” I say. “I was wondering . . . Is my mother around?”
“No, honey,” Eva says. “I’m sorry, but she’s out of town through the weekend. Is this about the open house tomorrow? She’s very disappointed that she can’t attend. I’m sure you’ll look lovely, though.”
“Thank you,” I say, my heart sinking. “Any chance my father’s home? I’d like to speak with him.”
“He’s with your mother,” Eva sings out like she’s guessing I’ll be disappointed. “But you can always talk to me, sweetheart,” she says. “That’s why I’m here.”