SUGAR AND SPICE
What are little girls made of?
Sugar and spice,
And all that's nice;
That's what little girls are made of.
***
Chapter One
October 15 Wednesday Afternoon After Lunch
Howard James Private School (HJPS)
Cambridge, Massachusetts
WHEN MARGAUX FOURNIER heard the voices of her four enemies outside the Howard James Private School fourth-sixth grade bathroom, she rushed into the last cubicle. She sat on the toilet and hugged her legs to her chest thus preventing her enemies from seeing her feet under the door.
How she hated being in this school with their cliques and bullies, especially those four. They did everything together, even making the toilets into a pee-a-thon.
Margaux wanted to be back home in Basel, Switzerland at her old school with her three best friends. Only that wasn’t home anymore. Her parents said Cambridge, Massachusetts in America now was her home.
She should be proud of her father because of his promotion. He would be in charge of all his bank’s activities in New England. She guessed she was.
Here, from her first day of school two months ago, she had been the target of those bitches who had just slammed the stall doors.
They made fun of her Irish accent. Nanny Maeve had taught her English. Nanny only retired when her father’s bank had transferred him from Basel to Cambridge. Her mother spoke Swiss German to Margaux. Her father spoke French to her.
Margaux wished Nanny Maeve had come with them. She would have understood what she was going through. The Irish woman had been Margaux’s mother’s Nanny and was kept on even after she was no longer needed as a nanny because she was too old to find another job. Margaux hoped she was happy living with her sister in Dublin.
In Basel the school day was in German with two hours of French. Margaux could speak and understand English with no trouble, but she had no idea how to write it. Her mother bought her English books to read. Margaux loved to read, but she found the spelling of English funny, erratic and stupid. Die Rechtschreibung ist lustig, irratisch, dumm.
“That’s because English stole many of their words from other languages,” her mother said. Once the family had settled, they decided to only speak English to help Margaux adjust. She didn’t tell them that her real problem was that her four enemies teased her about her accent.
“You all know what you have to do tomorrow?” Amanda asked.
Margaux thought she could identify each of their voices. Amanda was the easiest because she did most of the harassing with the others nodding.
“I’ll bring the gloves and apron,” Gloria Masters said.
One by one four toilets flushed as Margaux’s enemies finished.
“I’m writing the note,” Emma Jackson said. “I’ve been practicing.”
“Clay will be surprised when the knife goes across his neck,” Gloria said. Stall doors slammed.
Water ran.
Hand dryers blew.
“That’ll teach him. We better get back to class.” Amanda again.
Margaux knew she was missing class, but what should she do? Clay wasn’t quite her friend, but once he told Amanda to leave her alone. Another time he’d pulled Amanda away from Margaux when she’d been pushed against a locker.
Kids don’t kill kids, Margaux thought. But what if she was wrong? Maybe it was just a game the four bitches were playing. She went back to class.
***
“Margaux. Margaux! Are you paying attention?”
“I’m sorry, Ms Rower. Can you repeat the question?”
“What are the state capitals of Alabama, Alaska, Arizona, Arkansas and California.”
“Montgomery, Juneau, Phoenix . . . I don’t know the rest.”
“It might be better if you spent less time staring out the window,” Ms Rower said.
Her four enemies’ hands went up.
“Montgomery, Juneau, Phoenix, Little Rock, Sacramento,” Amanda didn’t wait for the teacher to call on her. When the teacher turned her back for a moment, Amanda whispered “Dummy,” to Margaux.
Although Margaux tried to concentrate, all she could think of was Clay with his neck cut. Who could she tell? Warn Clay? He wouldn’t believe her.
Ms Rower? Her teacher was always correcting Margaux’s accent.
After the final bell rang and the class ran to put on jackets and join their waiting parents, Margaux stayed at her desk.
“Is there something you want, Margaux?”
“No, Mam.”
Everyone had left the locker area. Checking to see if the four bitches were waiting to ambush her. They weren’t. She walked to the door.
The headmistress’s office was on the way. If she didn’t tell anyone and Clay died, she knew she’d feel guilty worse than she had when she broke her mother’s favorite vase and blamed it on the cleaning woman. When the cleaning woman denied it, Margaux’s mother had fired her. Two years later, Margaux still felt guilty. How would she feel if Clay died, a real death, not like people who died in video games.
Opening the door, she saw the secretary, whose name she didn’t know, packing up for the day.
“I need to see the headmistress,” she whispered.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you.”
“I need to see the headmistress. It’s really, really important."
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