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Spring
Dance.
    That Friday, Rebecca left the lunchroom early: She wanted to find
the library and maybe take out a book or two on the Roman Empire. She thought
she knew the way but, after several wrong turns, she was completely
disoriented. Maybe her good sense of direction only applied in the streets of
New York, where everything was on a grid: The long, dark hallways of Temple
Mead made no sense to her. And then the bell was ringing, and the corridors and
stairs filled with girls hurrying to class. The library trip had to be
abandoned.
    Climbing the stairs to the third floor, Rebecca heard someone
calling her name. She turned her head to look, but couldn't see anyone in the
sea of plaid uniforms that she recognized. Then she felt a hand on her elbow,
drawing her away to the side. The girl pulling Rebecca over was a willowy
blonde with wide, penetrating blue eyes: Marianne Sutton. And behind her,
leaning against the banister and looking bored, as though she were waiting for
a bus, was Helena Bowman.
    "It is Rebecca, isn't it?" Marianne asked her in
an imperious tone, and Rebecca nodded. "You're new here, aren't you?"
    Rebecca nodded again. She couldn't quite bring herself to speak --
not because she was intimidated by Marianne and Helena, but because she didn't
want to act like she was yet another of their humble servants.
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    "And your last name is Brown?" Marianne asked, frowning.
    "Yes." Rebecca figured she should speak rather than keep
nodding, though she couldn't believe the rudeness of this girl. Marianne hadn't
bothered to introduce herself-- she'd just assumed that Rebecca would know who
she was. She probably thought Rebecca would be honored by the attention.
    "Do you have a middle name?" This wasn't the first time
Rebecca had been asked this question. Some of her classmates had very strange
first and middle names: There was a girl in biology whose first name was
Buchanan, and Amy's middle name was Claiborne. Both Buchanan and Claiborne were
family names -- a mother or grandmother's maiden name. Amy explained that it
let everyone else know where you came from, who your "people" were.
It seemed really important to these girls that they were part of the history of
the city and that everybody knew it.
    "So?" Marianne sounded impatient. "What is
it?"
    Rebecca was tempted to say "Cleopatra," but she knew
they'd never believe her. Helena, who had been staring off into the distance up
until now, turned her cool gaze onto Rebecca. This look, combined with the tone
of Marianne's voice, made Rebecca's blood boil. They weren't even pretending to
be friendly: They were just being blatantly rude and nosy. Whoever Rebecca's
"people" were, she knew they wouldn't be good enough for these girls.
    "Actually, I have two," she said, trying to sound as
frosty as Marianne. This was a lie: Rebecca didn't have a middle name at all.
"Maria Annunciata."
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    "You're kidding." Marianne looked confused. Helena's pretty
face hardened into a sneer.
    "I'm named after my grandmother. My mother's from El
Salvador," Rebecca continued, deciding to make her lie even more brazen.
"She used to be a maid. That's how she met my father -- he was a doorman
at the same hotel."
    Marianne said nothing, but dropped the hand on Rebecca's elbow.
Rebecca knew this would happen: Both Marianne and Helena were huge snobs, just
as she suspected. How dare they look down at her!
    Rebecca hurried up the stairs away from them, her face hot with
anger. But she couldn't help laughing when she thought about Marianne's amazed
expression. At least, she thought, neither of them would ever bother her again.
And she wouldn't have to worry about the pyromaniac Toby Sutton asking her to
the Spring Dance, either.
    The sooner the word got out at Temple Mead about her humble -- if
invented -- Hispanic origins, the better. Rebecca didn't care what any of them
thought of her. And she planned to spend as little time as possible thinking
about Them.
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    ***
    CHAPTER FIVE
    ***
    WHEN REBECCA