And Nothing But the Truth by Kit Pearson

lunches, and we butter up the girls so we’ll be invited to join. So far, we like Delta Gamma the best.”
    The rest of the letter was about Robert. “He’s the bee’s knees!” Maud gushed. “He has long eyelashes like Clark Gable. I see him every day. We meet between classes for coffee, and we’re going out again this weekend. Ann says I’m stuck on him, and she’s right!”
    Maud had never had a beau before. She had never drunk coffee before, either. She seemed so grown-up.
    “I tried the church Miss Guppy recommended, but I didn’t like it at all,” wrote Maud. “Don’t tell the Guppy, but I’m not going again. Robert and I talk a lot about religion. He’s making me look at God in a new way. I had a nice letter from Daddy, but I haven’t heard one word from
you
. I’m sorry I can’t be on the island for your birthday, Doodle. I hope you’re all right. Write to me at once and let me know how you like school.”
    Why hadn’t
she
heard from Daddy? Polly wondered. And how could she write to Maud? She couldn’t lie and say she liked St. Winifred’s, but if she said how much she hated it, Maud would be so disappointed in her.
    That evening in prep, Polly slipped a piece of paper on top of her math homework and scribbled “Dear Maud.” She pondered a moment, then began: “I’m sorry I haven’t written to you yet. Here is what school is like.”
    Polly proceeded to list the names of her roommates. She told Maud how the Fearless Four had set up an obstacle course in the dorm and jumped from one bed to the otheruntil Rhoda crashed through a mattress and Mrs. Blake stopped them. How they had smuggled chocolate up from Daisy’s tuck box to celebrate when Rhoda passed the history test. How one warm evening Eleanor and Polly had led everyone out onto the fire escape. They had whispered on the stairs, daring one another to go down, but no one had had the nerve. Polly told Maud how she and Eleanor had snuck off to their hideaway again, where they sprawled on the moss and talked about their dogs. She went on to write about how a boarder had got locked in the bathroom, and how some boys in a car had passed them on their walk and honked and hooted at them.
    Then she signed the letter. There! She had managed not to say whether she liked school. Instead, she had turned St. Winifred’s into a story, like the boarding-school novels Maud used to devour. Maud would assume Polly was having as jolly a time at school as she had had.
    Polly’s gloom lifted after school on Thursday. Today was her first extra art class. She started whistling as she left her classroom.
    “Stop that at once,” called out a prefect.
    But Polly whistled under her breath the whole way out of the building.
    The art class was right after tea. Polly waited in a classroom with five other girls. They were all older than her, and they were all day girls except for Dottie.
    “Miss Falconer is new,” one of them explained to her. “Last year we had Mrs. Simon, but she left because she was having a baby.”
    “My parents told me Miss Falconer is famous,” said Dottie. “She’s even exhibited in San Francisco!”
    Polly’s anticipation grew. She had never met a real artist.
    “Here she comes!” said one of the girls.
    A small, trim woman carrying a basket flew into the room. She had messy grey hair tied into a bun and she wore a woven cape and a red wool tam. Her blue eyes twinkled.
    She put down the basket and took off her cape and hat. Underneath was an embroidered purple smock. Polly immediately wanted one just like it.
    In a light, musical voice Miss Falconer said, “Hello there, girls! Sorry I’m late.” She looked around the room. “This isn’t a very suitable space. Never mind—it will do for today. Arrange these desks into a circle, will you? That’s better! Take a seat and let me get to know you all.”
    They gazed in amazement as the woman boosted herself nimbly up onto the teacher’s desk and perched on the edge,swinging her