Dreams of Significant Girls by Cristina Garcia

Author:Cristina Garcia
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers
Published: 2011-09-09T04:00:00+00:00

VIVIEN

Ingrid couldn’t have been in a worse mood if she tried. All I’d wanted was to spend some time with her and she acted like she was doing me this big favor. I knew she was jealous of Omar and me but for some reason, neither of us blurted out the obvious. If I accused Ingrid of being jealous, it would seem like I was gloating, or being insensitive. If she admitted to being jealous, she’d look selfish and small-minded. Lose-lose all around. So we kept our mouths shut.

Our walk back to Pierpont was tense, broken only by the sight of Papi and Madame Godenot in a near headlock at the entrance, presumably over our absence. Whatever it was, it didn’t look good.

“Looks like some shit is about to hit the fan,” Ingrid said with a smirk.

A part of me wanted to smack her. But the more sensible part of me knew I needed her fast-talking charm to get us out of this mess. Ingrid was a veteran of mess.

“What do we do now?” I whispered like a bad ventriloquist, trying not to move my lips.

“Just leave it to me, okay?” Ingrid looked straight at my father and the headmistress with a quasi-contrite smile.

“If I were you, Mademoiselle Baum, I wouldn’t be so cheerful,” Madame Godenot barked.

“Before you jump to conclusions, let me explain.”

Oh, Ingrid was cool all right, unruffled. Nothing rattled her. I, on the other hand, was sweating buckets. All I managed to say was: “Uh … uh … uh…”

“You”—the headmistress pointed at Ingrid—“go straight to your room. I will summon you at the appropriate time.”

The second I heard “summon,” I knew this wouldn’t sit well with Ingrid. Nobody “summoned” Ingrid. Instead of proceeding to her room, Ingrid simply turned around and marched back down Pierpont’s oak-lined driveway. No amount of glowering insistence on the part of the headmistress made her return. I thought she’d pop a vein in fury. Meanwhile, Ingrid kept growing smaller and smaller until she disappeared into the labyrinth of Rolle.

By the time Madame Godenot turned her attention to me, she looked like a psychotic beet. I glanced over at Papi, trying to get a read on him, but he looked more bemused than anything. He’d survived World War II, the Cuban revolution, bombs from murderous compatriots in Miami. What could an afternoon of teenage hijinks mean to him?

“Please, follow me, Vivien … and you, too, Max.” The headmistress’s voice softened.

Max? My father had barely arrived and they were already on a first-name basis? Madame Godenot led us to her office, sashaying more than walking. Something was up. Did they know each other from another life? Her guard dog secretary wasn’t there on account of it being Sunday, and it felt eerily quiet, the kind of quiet that happens in horror films before the ax murderer bursts in.

“May I offer you some tea, Max?”

There it was again. Did I detect a note of flirtation? This couldn’t be happening. It was too gruesome to contemplate.

“Non merci, cherie.

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