something horrible to my mother. Before I could shout a warning, the figure cut a hole in my mother’s blouse, just above her heart. A single tear dribbled down my mother’s cheek. Then I did shout, but I couldn’t make the words come out of my mouth; I tried to move, but my bare feet were stuck to the cold wooden floor. Now the older woman began to hack out large clumps of my mother’s hair, as if she were clipping fur balls from a cat whose coat was hopelessly matted.
Then, at last, I could move, and I ran on my spindly legs toward my mother. But just as I reached the cubicle, the headmistress slammed the door in my face. I rattled the knob, but it was locked. I heard the snip of the shears and little cries. Then, nothing. I listened for a long while. Still nothing. And then, so faintly that at first I wasn’t sure it was her, I heard my mother’s gentle voice. It didn’t seem to be coming from inside the cubicle now, but from the walls of the tower itself.
Take my feet, and let them be
Swift and beautiful for Thee.
8
The next morning, after the 7:30 bell, Miss Phillips made us kneel on the floor so she could measure our tunics to see if they fell to mid-knee—perfect school-regulation length. Then she gave me a new set of sheets without mentioning the reason why and sent us out for a morning walk around the hedge. Tory said Miss Phillips was always nice to you after she’d lost her temper; sometimes she even gave you a stash of gum, which was against the rules. Meanwhile, Pauline—or Paulie, as I dared not call her—looked at me suspiciously from under her puffy bangs, and I guessed that she was scornful of my act of desperation.
After breakfast, the three of us walked together down the winding flights of stairs to the infirmary for our medical checkups. Inside, a line of girls stood with their heads down. All of them had stripped to their bra and underpants, except for some of the fat girls, who tried to get away with wearing their school blouses until the last minute. A few girls turned around to stare at us with fearful faces, and I realized they were looking at Paulie. She sucked her teeth and pointed her index and baby fingers in their direction—the sign that means you’re full of it. One or two laughed, and I heard the phrase “that Sykes girl” whispered among them, as if Paulie’s name were a swear word. Paulie abruptly turned her back and pulled down her purple bloomers, mooning the crowd. Then she yanked at the handle on the wall behind us and a panel doorslid up, exposing what looked like the insides of a cupboard. “See you later, suckers,” Paulie called, and ducked quickly into the dumbwaiter, pulling its door down with a bang. All around us, girls giggled or talked in low, astonished voices.
“Won’t she get caught?” I asked.
“Paulie will stop it before it hits the kitchen,” Tory whispered. “The dumbwaiter goes through a tiny classroom nobody uses.” The line had moved up, so we rounded a corner in the hall, where two nurses stood in white uniforms. The first nurse weighed and measured each girl and called out the results to the nurse holding a clipboard. Then, in a loud voice, as if she wanted us all to hear, the first nurse asked each girl if she had started menstruating.
The embarrassed girls answered in whispery voices. I could tell when one of them said yes, because the second nurse waved her clipboard to indicate that she should step into her office and fill out the date of her last period. Every one of the fat girls had removed her blouse by now. Ahead of me, Tory stood on the scales. Her round shoulders were dimpled in the same places as Bess, the Betsy Wetsy wet’um doll Morley had given me when I was six. I winced at how vulnerable she looked when the nurse called out her weight—a hundred and forty pounds.
Soon it would be my turn. I didn’t want to take off my tunic and let everyone stare at Alice—or at my new posture corrector. I’d bought it with Sal
Then, at last, I could move, and I ran on my spindly legs toward my mother. But just as I reached the cubicle, the headmistress slammed the door in my face. I rattled the knob, but it was locked. I heard the snip of the shears and little cries. Then, nothing. I listened for a long while. Still nothing. And then, so faintly that at first I wasn’t sure it was her, I heard my mother’s gentle voice. It didn’t seem to be coming from inside the cubicle now, but from the walls of the tower itself.
Take my feet, and let them be
Swift and beautiful for Thee.
8
The next morning, after the 7:30 bell, Miss Phillips made us kneel on the floor so she could measure our tunics to see if they fell to mid-knee—perfect school-regulation length. Then she gave me a new set of sheets without mentioning the reason why and sent us out for a morning walk around the hedge. Tory said Miss Phillips was always nice to you after she’d lost her temper; sometimes she even gave you a stash of gum, which was against the rules. Meanwhile, Pauline—or Paulie, as I dared not call her—looked at me suspiciously from under her puffy bangs, and I guessed that she was scornful of my act of desperation.
After breakfast, the three of us walked together down the winding flights of stairs to the infirmary for our medical checkups. Inside, a line of girls stood with their heads down. All of them had stripped to their bra and underpants, except for some of the fat girls, who tried to get away with wearing their school blouses until the last minute. A few girls turned around to stare at us with fearful faces, and I realized they were looking at Paulie. She sucked her teeth and pointed her index and baby fingers in their direction—the sign that means you’re full of it. One or two laughed, and I heard the phrase “that Sykes girl” whispered among them, as if Paulie’s name were a swear word. Paulie abruptly turned her back and pulled down her purple bloomers, mooning the crowd. Then she yanked at the handle on the wall behind us and a panel doorslid up, exposing what looked like the insides of a cupboard. “See you later, suckers,” Paulie called, and ducked quickly into the dumbwaiter, pulling its door down with a bang. All around us, girls giggled or talked in low, astonished voices.
“Won’t she get caught?” I asked.
“Paulie will stop it before it hits the kitchen,” Tory whispered. “The dumbwaiter goes through a tiny classroom nobody uses.” The line had moved up, so we rounded a corner in the hall, where two nurses stood in white uniforms. The first nurse weighed and measured each girl and called out the results to the nurse holding a clipboard. Then, in a loud voice, as if she wanted us all to hear, the first nurse asked each girl if she had started menstruating.
The embarrassed girls answered in whispery voices. I could tell when one of them said yes, because the second nurse waved her clipboard to indicate that she should step into her office and fill out the date of her last period. Every one of the fat girls had removed her blouse by now. Ahead of me, Tory stood on the scales. Her round shoulders were dimpled in the same places as Bess, the Betsy Wetsy wet’um doll Morley had given me when I was six. I winced at how vulnerable she looked when the nurse called out her weight—a hundred and forty pounds.
Soon it would be my turn. I didn’t want to take off my tunic and let everyone stare at Alice—or at my new posture corrector. I’d bought it with Sal
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