Page 7 of Good Girls Lie
Dean Westhaven finally taps a stack of paper together, sets them on the desk, and smiles tremulously. “I can’t abide a mess. I was so sorry to hear of your father’s death, Ash. And your mother...” The sigh is audible, loud and sad. The words sound practiced, as if the dean has said them a hundred times.
How many students’ parents have died?
Creepy.
“It was all very sudden,” I reply, wooden, eyes cast down. I have learned this is an appropriate response.
“Yes. Yes, of course, it was. Forgive me, I hadn’t meant to bring it up, but I saw the inquest has been resolved... Would you care for tea?” The dean plunks a cup and saucer down in front of me, pours out from a lovely floral teapot. “Take some sugar. It will help with the jet lag.”
I dutifully reach for the sugar and drop two brown cubes into my teacup. I use the small silver spoon to stir, three times clockwise, then set it on the edge of the saucer. The tea is surprisingly good, hot and fragrant, and I close my eyes as I swallow. When I finish this display, the dean is looking at me curiously.
“It’s quite good. Oolong?”
“Yes. Not surprising that you have a palate for tea.” The dean smiles amiably, and I respond in kind, not the heartbreaking grin, but a small one, lips together, teeth obscured. It makes my dimples stand out.
“I was very pleased when you decided to join us for term after all. I know you weren’t excited about leaving so soon after...”
“It’s for the best. Thank you for having me still. I needed to get away.”
The dean is looking at me closer now. “You’ve lost weight since we spoke last. Granted, I’ve only seen you through Skype—it’s hard to get the full measure of a girl through a screen.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The dean sips her tea, I follow her lead. Long silences are her thing, apparently.
“It’s understandable, considering. With some tender loving care, you’ll be back to yourself in no time. The loss of a parent—Were you close to your father, Ash?”
“He worked a great deal.”
“Ah.” The dean says this as if she’s heard it all before—the daughters of scions are often neglected by one parent or another. The pursuit of power dictates long hours.
“I do miss him. But we didn’t see him much.”
“I understand. And your mother. To lose her, too, so soon after... It’s simply tragic.”
“Yes.” I shut my mouth resolutely, praying the dean will take the hint and stop the inquisition. The way she speaks, a human ellipsis, waiting for me to fill in the blanks, is unnerving.
She does, changing tack entirely. “During our interview, we talked about the Honor Code, how important it is to the school, to our heritage, to our students. Absolute trust, that is what we ask. Lying, cheating, or other violations of the Honor Code will not be tolerated. There is no warning system—you openly violate the code and you’re out. Lesser infractions will be dealt with by Honor Court, which is run by our head girl. Do you remember the Honor Pledge?”
“Yes. It is protection for both myself and for the students around me.” I clear my throat, state with perfect clarity the words I am expected to say. “‘I will hold myself and my fellow students to the highest standards. I pledge absolute honesty in my work and my personal relationships. I will never take a shortcut to further my own goals. I will not lie, I will not cheat, I will not steal. I will turn myself in if I fail to live up to this obligation, and I will encourage those who break the code in any way to report themselves, as well. I believe in trust and kindness, and the integrity of this oath. On my honor.’”
This recitation makes my heart thunder in my chest. My hands shake a bit as I clutch the teacup, but the dean either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care.
“Excellent. It will be up to you how much of your past you wish to divulge, Ash. I don’t see keeping your family’s plight to yourself as a violation of the Honor Code. I think the name change is a good idea, and support your decision to keep this unfortunate situation apart from your studies. Likewise, your status as a scholarship student is not something we discuss. Most of the girls aren’t even aware this program exists. Since your case is so circumstantial, it will behoove you not to mention it. Teenage girls aren’t very understanding in general, not to mention unaware of the issues with arcane British inheritance laws.”
Oh, the irony—don’t ever lie, cheat, steal—but lies of omission are just fine.
The dean briskly continues, “Because of your exemplary insights into Plato in your admissions essay, we’ve loaded you heavily into the liberal arts track. You placed out of math, so there is still an open slot in your schedule. There are three classes offered during that time period—French, Latin, and computer sciences. The former are eventual requirements junior and senior year and I highly recommend—”
“Computers, please. Ma’am.”
“Dean, not ma’am. And are you entirely sure? This isn’t a class to enter into lightly, Ash. You won’t be able to use the computers to email with friends back home or work on your social media feeds. This is a nuts-and-bolts education on programming, highly advanced and usually reserved for the young ladies who have shown an aptitude and plan to head into engineering and aerospace programs at leading technical schools, like MIT or Caltech. We don’t normally allow sophomores in this class, but we have a new professor and he wishes to expand the program to include all class levels. I disagree, but times have changed, and Goode must change with them.”
I feel such a sense of relief at this option, this one small thing I know I’ll be comfortable with, I nearly cry. “Yes. I am absolutely sure. I like computers. Not the social media nonsense. I like how the systems work.”
“I noticed you aren’t active online, unlike many of your peers. I was happy to see it. Unless you have private accounts we aren’t aware of?”
“Goodness, no. I find social media a waste of time. Not to mention an invasion of privacy.” She has no idea what an invasion it would be. I plan to keep it that way. All my accounts were deactivated before I got on the plane.
