Bittersweet Saga, Chapter 1
***
Now is probably a good time to take note of one particularly odd fact about the version of the world in which the Ventura/Bittersweet exists. The people look slightly strange, or would look slightly strange to us (we would probably look pretty strange to them, too). They have the ears and tails of various animals. There is currently no scientific reason why they get them in the first place, although common belief is that people have had them forever, or at least since the advent of conscious thought. The aspects that each individual gets are genetic, so it can get quite odd, especially when the animals of each parent get mixed; then you could end up as a giraffe-parrot. For some reason, birds are particularly prone to “mixing.”
***
One
in which two young ladies attend charm school
***
Vicki threw a fit. And when Vicki throws a fit, it embeds itself in the opposite wall.
"I am NOT GOING!"
Her mother sighed. This was to be expected. No thirteen-year-old - certainly not hers - would allow herself to be sent off to Miss Adrianne’s Charm School for Young Ladies without putting up a good fight (and, in Vicki’s case, a full-scale battle.)
"Yes, you are."
"NO, I AM NOT!!!"
It was amazing how loud Vicki could yell and still not be screaming (in the high-pitched sense of the word, which is how most girls achieve volume).
"Yes, you are. You are already enrolled. Go pack. "
"AAAAAAAAAAIIGH!!!!!!!!"
She was finally at high-pitched scream level. There was a tinkling noise.
“If you break the wall again, you’re paying for it. And the contents of that cabinet.”
Vicki stormed out. Then she stormed back in again, just for good measure, and stormed out again more loudly, this time deliberately punctuating her exit with a proper thunderclap.
“…That was my grandmother’s crystal…”
There is a saying that a child's name affects their personality. For instance, Deirdres are said to be fussy and dainty, Vanessas bold and somewhat vain, and Annas sturdy and practical, with boring hair.
In light of this, it is probably not a good idea to name your daughter Vindicta.
***
Chantrelle is a safer name. Chantrelle is the kind of name that lounges around on oddly-shaped couches and sips fizzy little drinks with no foreign fruit in them (because foreigners are weird and do weird foreign things) while wearing flattering gowns that wouldn't stand up to a light breeze. It's the kind of name that goes to parties wearing fluffy expensive dresses and spangly earrings and tries to be "diplomatic" and agree with everyone at once.
Most Chantrelles do this sort of thing. But some don't.
***
Chantrelle did not throw a fit, because she knew that fits are valuable and shouldn't be wasted. There was nothing fluffy or spangly about this particular Chantrelle, although her fox tail was rather puffy. She also wore a hairband in her bright red hair that could be considered, if not spangly, at least sparkly, and quite possibly glittery as well.
"Where?"
"Um, Miss Adrianne's Charm School for Young Ladles. Er, Ladies."
This was a small, high, young voice speaking from behind a desk heaped high with paper. All that could be seen was a pair of white mouse ears.
"When?"
"Um," -- the rustling of papers -- "Tomorrow morning."
"Why?"
"It says, 'We at Miss Adrianne's Ch-"
"No! I mean, why didn't Odette tell me?!"
A small, worried face looked up out of the deluge of paper at Chantrelle. Chantrelle's cousin, Allison, had shoulder-length straight hair that was so dark it was blue-black. Her skin was so pale it went past the normal shades of brown and pink until was very nearly white... But she still blushed. Her eyes were the same black-that-shone-blue as her hair.
"Oh, Ellie, I don'no!"
"Allie, I thought I told you not to call me that anymore?"
"Oh, you did, but, um, I thought it made us go together. Like, um, sort of Allie and Ellie? I..."
Chantrelle's cousin shrank back, despite the fact that the older girl was always kind to her.
Both Chantrelle and Allison were orphaned at an early age, and brought up by their mothers' sister. Odette was kind, but she was single and just didn't have enough time to bring up a nine- and a thirteen-year-old girl in.
"Here," said Allie, tossing her a bright pink flier with little flowers printed on it. "You'd better read this."
Miss Adrianne's Charm School for Young Ladies
We at Miss Adrianne's Charm School for Young Ladies are dedicated to educating the young women of our community in being Lady of the House. The girls (aged 13-19) will be tutored in the arts of entertaining visitors, literature, discussion, cooking, music and housekeeping. Young ladies educated at our school will also learn the basics of horseback riding, hostessing and sailing, if they wish. We keep our campus clean and friendly, and pupils will meet in class on the following subjects: Maths, literature, science, music, history, sewing, cooking, etiquette, sailing, horseback riding and art. we have several new courses as well, starting with: Raising A Family, Lady Of The House, Medical Care and others. Fees are as follows:
There followed a long list of fees which seemed extremely high.
Chantrelle sighed.
"I guess I'm going, then."
***
Allie was very weepy when Chantrelle got on the train the next day. She was acting like the world was ending.
"Oh, come on, Allie. It's not like we'll never see each other again, is it?"
The girl she thought of as her "little sister who's not really my sister, style of thing" looked up at her through eyes that seemed to belong to a little child.
"I'll write every month, I promise!"
"(sniff)'k."
The trains were really amazing, Chantrelle had to admit. They were not actually very large, only about three cars each, but it was still incredible that something so massive could be powered by clockwork. The train had to be wound up at the station, but then once it was moving it powered itself. There was one huge pilot wheel at the front, which as it turned collected the miles on an enormous spring. This, in turn, made the rest of the wheels move by harnessing the pilot wheel's collected power on a series of gear wheels. There was a huge lever inside the cab that raised and lowered the pilot wheel so that power could be collected (when the wheel was down) and used (when it was up.) Ten miles before each station, there was a large colourful marker so that the engineer would know when to raise the pilot wheel so that the spring's power would be used up and the train would stop in time for the station. The brake was merely a large curved metal bar that slowed the movement of the gears (it also needed to be replaced every ten or so stops because it wore out so fast.)
She boarded the train with her pitifully small suitcase under her arm. Sidling into the last compartment with any room in it, she saw why there was any room. A girl with cat ears and a cat tail, the same age as her, sat with a much larger bright violet alligator skin suitcase in the center of one bench. Nobody else was sitting on that bench.
The girl had russet-coloured skin and a cloud of silvery hair covered by a satiny once-white pageboy cap. Her ears and tail were the colour of almonds. She wore a deep plum velvet dress that looked very good on her indeed-- the others in the compartment were all roughly their age, and many of the boys would probably have liked to get quite close to that girl, had she not looked like she was about to bite their heads off.
Chantrelle walked over and sat down next to her. The girl gave her a look of pure venom.
"Ooh, that was very good."
The girl's face lit up. "Was it? I've been working on it for years. All my life, really."
"I'm Chantrelle."
"I'm Vindicta."
There were some very defined sniggers. The combination of Vindicta's venom and Chantrelle's carefully cultivated Icy Glare (no.9) gave the impression of a cobra popsicle.
***
The train slowed to a halt as the station drew close. Chantrelle had to shout over the scream of the tremendous gears grinding together.
"See you later, I guess!"
"Why?"
"This is my stop."
"It's mine, too."
Chantrelle's eyebrows shot up. "Really?"
"Yeah."
The gears stopped clacking together as the train entered the station and stopped completely.
"You're also going to 'Miss Adrianne's Charm School for Young Ladies?'"
Vindicta's face turned stormy again. "That's the place."
***
Chantrelle smiled. Vindicta was confused; usually people didn't smile at her when she scowled at them, but Chantrelle seemed to have a permanent grin. Or maybe it was a smirk. Chantrelle also said “figgin” a lot. (as far as Vindicta knew, it meant a small short-crust pastry containing raisins.)
The first word that entered the girls' heads as they looked at their new school was “What.” The second was “the.” and the third was, in Vindicta's case, “heck.” In Chantrelle's case, it was “figgin.”
The building was made of pale pink bricks. A sort of flowery braided strip design was stamped, twice, vertically across each one. The way the bricks were arranged meant that the whole building looked as though flowery braids were hanging from its high, fluted black roof slates. There were two relatively short, round towers rising above the main building's roof; one at each of the building's front corners. The curved bricks which made up the towers were completely covered with the washed-out-looking flowers. The windows were large diamond-paned rectangles, and in each one there hung a pair of deep pink curtains. In one window there was a glimpse of spotted blue fabric from the other side of the drapes, and its neighbor showed a bit of soft leafy green.
The two girls entered the pink-tinted light of the building together. They presented a united front, although it was united in the way thunder and lightning are united. Thunder and lightning-- that was a good metaphor for Vindicta and Chantrelle. Thunder is loud and dark and stormy, and lightning is quick and bright and quiet. And although thunder can be quite scary, lightning usually does a great deal more damage. Their expressions said everything: Chantrelle's suggested she knew everything about you and all your weak points, and would use force if necessary. Vindicta's said out loud that she didn't know anything about you, but that she did know a little secret which goes: "Everyone has weak points, and if I just pummel everything I will either find or create some sooner or later," and that she would use force if possible.
Vindicta thought: I laugh in your frilly over-perfumed face, Miss Adrianne. Your pink lacy curtains do not sway me, your gaudy spangles are not a barrier. I, Vindicta Kyros, shall not be moved by the cheap rose perfume and plush carpets with which you greet me! I stand firm and resolute in the face of your fluffy well-lit establishment! The mirrors on the ceiling are cool, though. Even if they are tinted pink.
The lady at the desk was not attractive, but someone had endeavored to make her look as if she was. She also looked about ten years younger than she probably was. This was not that big of an achievement considering that you could tell that she looked ten years younger than she probably was. This is a bit confusing to most people.
"Ahre you the fhirst yhears?" she asked haughtily.
There was a timid chorus on the basic theme of "Yes" from the throng of girls around them.
"Ahlright, go hon through," she sighed, irritably, "Ahnd your dormitohry leaders whill hintroduce you." She went back to reading what looked like a cheap romance novel, the inch-thick kind with titles like Passion and Mystery and enough plot to fill maybe one page. If it was a small page. This one was called "Deadly Love" and the picture on the front was a beautiful woman standing on a cliff with a soppy expression on her face and a small fluffy dog behind her.
"Geez," Vindicta said as they left the lobby. "You'd think we interrupted her in the middle of something important."
"I've seen that before. She has a textbook case of SRND."
If that's a textbook case of anything, Vindicta thought, it's a really weird textbook.
"SRND? What?"
"Sappy Romance Novel Disorder. They suck you in... If you like the book, you can't stop reading, but if you don't like it, you still can't stop."
Vindicta was slightly alarmed. "Why not?"
"It's like a train wreck: it's so horrifying, you can't look away. And they change your mind."
Now intrigued, Vindicta whispered, "How?"
"In little ways. Like you start saying 'horrid,'" Chantrelle lowered her voice, "And thinking that your true love will show up any day now. And you have to read more sappy novels."
In Vindicta's opinion, this was probably stretching a little bit, but she was not one to give up on such an interesting subject. "How do you know?"
"My aunt, Odette, went through that. She couldn't stop reading the figgin things, and she only stopped because she got a job editing them. You wouldn't believe how bad the spelling is in most of those..."
***
They were stopped by a teacher, who removed Vindicta's pageboy cap with some force. Chantrelle could see her steaming.
They walked in silence for a while, until they reached a door. It was very tall and very white. It was oddly intimidating, despite the little pink flowers around the edge and the pink ribbons painted on it. Chantrelle reached out and grasped the handle. It had little flowers cut into the brass, and this was encouraging for some reason. She pulled.
The room beyond was small and high. The walls were wallpapered with tiny pink, red and white vertical stripes of varying thicknesses. The floor was made of some silky blonde boards and covered with a thick, plush pink carpet and the furniture was all frills and white satin. The windows looked out onto the sheeting rain through frilly pink curtains and the room was lit by several tiny white china lamps with ruffled pink lampshades. The overall effect was that of being inside a giant candy cane. Chantrelle looked up, and immediately wished she hadn't. The ceiling was made of mirror tiles; she felt like she had been turned upside down and back again. This, coupled with the sickly-sweet, cloying perfume, had turned her stomach more effectively than an open corpse.
"I think I'm going to be sick," she whispered to Vindicta.
"Oh, come on, the decorations aren't that awful. At least it's not like being inside a giant carnation."
“It isn't?”
At that point, they were interrupted by a high-pitched, fluttery voice that was so sweet it was surprising the speaker's head didn't explode. It was also amazing that it didn't make the listener's head explode.
“Ooh! Lionora, Kitty, Fayline, Odie, look! The first years are here! Aren't they precious?”
“Pfft! Odie? Who names their daughter ODIE?!”
The first speaker was an older girl, probably a sixth year, who was wearing a dress that, in sheer surface area of pink silk (including all the material put into frills) could have clothed a small country. She also had enough blonde hair to make wigs for a small country of bald men named Bob (and one named Gerald). She had the ears of a puppy dog. The others had the ears of a teddy bear, a kitty cat, and a bunny rabbit. There was also a girl in white with the wings of a swan and a puffy white veil over her face. Through the veil could be seen, just barely, a large black mark over her nose. The veil dangled, sparkling, from a hat shaped like a ship (a ship of white silk with glittery faux crystals stitched onto it).
Having observed this much about the sixth years, Chantrelle looked around at her fellow first years; they were, indeed, “precious,” except for Vindicta. She sat among the amethysts, sapphires and opals as a slab of black onyx that was, as a matter of course, shaped like a thundercloud. The others were all fluffy and pastel coloured, and looked as though they had been put through a candy floss machine, fallen into a vat of easter egg dye and then into a box of valentine candy. They looked like wedding cakes; the kind that have a lot of tiers and are almost completely covered with frilly bits and sugar roses. They were all very pretty.
The girl with bunny ears spoke, starting with a giggle that was obnoxious but completely unhateable:
“Hee hee! Well, welcome to Miss Adrianne's. My name is Fayline.” She pronounced it 'FayLEEN'. “These are Kitty, Sherri, Lionora, and Odette.”
“ODETTE?!”
It was a moment before Chantrelle realised she had cried out. She became aware only when her face became hot of its own accord. The swan-girl, who was apparently called Odette, was giving her a look as sharp and cold as a falling icicle.
“It's just- I- my- b- Eh. Heh.” She gathered her dignity. “My aunt is named Odette. She raised me.”
The swan-girl's sharp expression softened.
“Oh.”
“Well,” said Fayline, “Let's all get introduced and settled in.”
***
“...And the following girls will be in my dormitory: Angeline Rey, Chantrelle LaReche, Daisy Tomlin, Gianna Coppala, Morgan Rosenbaum, Olivia Fawcett, Victoria Micheali, Vindicta Kyros, Winona Aberforth.”
“ Did you hear that? We're in the same dormitory!” Chantrelle said. It was almost a squeal... but not quite.
Vindicta said, “Hmm.” She was still reading. She realised that she had been spoken to. “We are?”
“YES. She just said that.”
Vindicta lowered the pamphlet and said, “Oh.”
“What are you reading, anyway?”
“It's the little booklet they had on the front desk. About the origins of this...” --she searched her internal dictionary (which had more words for “punch” than “laugh”) for a suitable word, and settled lamely for-- “school.”
“Engrossing?”
“You've no idea.”
***
The dormitories were unusual in that each was actually six rooms off of a single hallway: five rooms, and one very large bath. There was also a bathroom between every two rooms with just a toilet, sink and mirror. Each room had two beds, two chests of drawers, two bookcases and two vanities (because, obviously, scuffles between roommates would result in the mornings if there was only one). There was also a closet in each room--something between a small walk-in closet and a large regular closet; it had a sliding door and racks, but it was more like a dressing room than just a place to put clothes. Chantrelle chose to room with Vindicta (of course).
While they unpacked their possessions, they talked. They talked about family and friends (scarce, in Vindicta's case). Vindicta learned that Chantrelle was originally from Gaul, but had moved to England with her aunt and Chantrelle learned that Vindicta's mother was from Greece, her father from Valtine. Her family lived in England as well. They talked about how they had come to Miss Adrianne's.
Chantrelle asked, “If you didn't want to make a good impression, why did you wear your best dress? Did your mom make you wear it?”
Vindicta asked, “What do you mean, 'my best dress?'”
This took Chantrelle a moment to work out. “You mean... That's not your best dress?”
“Of course not. I didn't even bring my best dress.”
It was awhile before Chantrelle's brain was able to process this. Then she noticed that even the clothes that she had thought posh looked shabby next to Vindicta's everyday clothes. She felt the heat creeping over her face. She had known that they were not as well off as many others, and as Odette had always said, “We may not have as much as others, but we're not poor.” Now it turned out that either they were poor, very poor, or that Vindicta's family was filthy rich. It seemed more likely that the truth was somewhere in between, especially since Vindicta seemed to think that her family was about average. But then, Chantrelle had thought hers was about average, too. Chantrelle sighed. “I wish I had clothes like yours...”
“Really? I don't want them.”
“Huh? You...don't?”
“No, I don't. I've never liked them. I'd much rather have clothes like yours. Hey,” Vindicta said brightly, “Why don't we just--”
She was interrupted by a knock at the door. The knocking was rather pointless, as the knocker entered without waiting for a response. She said, “Hi! My name's Winona. Mind if I join you guys?”
“Sure,” said Vindicta, to Chantrelle's surprise. “Come in. Why did you choose us?”
“You guys looked like you weren't about to giggle or wear pink anytime soon. I've finished putting my things away, and Morgan's not going to let me help her.”
“Oh. And you want to help us?” The question mark was a mere courtesy. It was a statement, not a question.
“Yes!” Winona's enthusiasm wasn't ditsy, but it was infectious.
As they worked, they talked. Chantrelle and Vindicta learned about Winona, and she learned about them. Winona was a wolf. She was constantly trying to explain to frightened would-be friends that she wasn't a werewolf, it was just that her animal was a wolf. She wore a pale lavender-grey sweater (which she called a “cardigan”) and a black knee-length skirt with a wide strip of white lace on the hem. There were a few frills on her person, but frills stuck to the wolf like rocks to a ceiling. And the wolf stuck to Winona like hot bubble gum to hemp.
“We've only been here an hour and I already hate this place. It's so...pink.”
“And frilly.”
“When we went into that room like a giant peppermint, I thought I was going to be sick.”
“Me too!”
“And that 'Odette'... The way she looked at me, it was... have you ever heard the phrase 'if looks could kill?'”
Vindicta scowled.
“Yeah! And she gets to wear a hat. A hat with a veil, too.”
“I heard she gets to wear it because of that mark on her face. Poor girl. She's a swan, so she has a great black stripe over her nose. I think she must have been teased something awful.”
Then they were interrupted by another knock at the door. This knocker actually waited to come in until Chantrelle said, “Yes?”
The girl who entered was pale and dark-haired, with a dress so proper, Victorian and lacy that she looked like a doll. Her hair was a dark purple-brown and bound up in a ring bun that shone brightly. Her bangs were fluffy and curled at the ends, and her skin was so pale it was nearly white. The dress was pale blue and lacy, but not frilly. Never frilly. Her animal was a horse, but not a brown horse. A white horse, such as a fine duchess would ride. She was very thin and very beautiful.
“Winona? I just wanted to say that I'm sorry for snapping at you earlier. I'm done unpacking now.”
“Oh, Okay. Have you met Chantrelle and Vindicta yet?” Winona indicated both of them.
“Hello, Chantrelle, Vindicta. I am Morgan.”
“Hello, Morgan.” Said Chantrelle cheerfully.
Vindicta remained silent.
“Vindicta! Aren't you going to say 'hi' at least?!”
Vindicta repeated herself.
Chantrelle looked around. Morgan and Winona had gone. “Why didn't you even say 'hello?'”
“I don't know. She hates me.”
“Well, you did act like you were too good for her.”
“No... whatever.”
“She seemed fairly friendly to me! She didn't even seem put off when you acted so... aloof.”
She was interested to hear a little bell noise coming from the door.
“I didn't know we had doorbells.”
“Probably. I think I saw them on the way in.”
“Really? Is knocking not ladylike enough for them?”
The door opened.
“Hi!! Is everything all right?”
Vindicta scowled (practically her grand state of being). “Do I know you?”
“No. Tee hee! I'm Daisy. It's so nice to meet you! Tee hee!”
Daisy was the very essence of her animal, which was a butterfly. She had long, straight, shiny, brass-blonde hair and wore a filmy bright pink dress.
“Miss Fayline says” -- her pretty forehead skewed in the effort of thought -- “It's time for lunch, and we're all going down to the lunchroom together.” She giggled obnoxiously again.
***
The lunchroom was small, sweet-smelling and (of course) pink. Apparently, each dormitory had its own lunchroom, because each was far too small for even all the first years. They also learned the names of the dormitories. The sixth years' dormitories were named after precious gems, fifth was material, fourth was types of tea, third was pastries, et cetera. The first year dorms were named after flowers. They were in the Lily dormitory and, therefore, the Lily lunchroom. Lunch was tiny, white bread sandwiches with the crusts cut off. They contained jam and such a thin layer of peanut butter that Vindicta had to peel the two circles of bread apart to find it. It couldn't be tasted. Vindicta had always hated white bread, and said so. Chantrelle sighed and said, Yes, she had too. However, there were Chantrelles. Not the mushrooms, the little cookies, the tiny flat circles of gingerbread. She had expected to find Madeleines. And there were Madeleines. But Chantrelles were so... low-class (but only compared with the rest of Miss Adrianne's).
Chantrelle smiled wistfully, or probably thought she was being wistful. “These used to be my favourite cookies,” She sighed. “Odette and Allison and I used to make them together. Of course, that was before Odette had to juggle eight or nine jobs.” She said sourly.
Vindicta searched her mind for something to say, until she realised that Chantrelle had probably given up on getting a reply.
“So,” she said, just so she would be saying something. “is your aunt a swan?”
“No, my grandmother just liked the sound of the name. She's a leopard. I look just like her.” Chantrelle dug into a pocket and pulled out a grubby photograph. “This is the only portrait we have,” She showed Vindicta the grainy black-and-white picture. Someone had carefully coloured it in. “It's kind of old.”
It showed a smaller Chantrelle and two others, including a woman who did, indeed, look just like Chantrelle. Chantrelle could have been a younger version of Odette, except for her ears. In the middle was a little girl, so pale that her skin had originally showed up white. Her hair was very dark, and she looked out of place next to her vivid redheaded relatives. She had white mouse ears and an expression like that of a mouse who has just seen a cat sniggering behind her back (although she'd have to turn around to see that) and is now feeling rather hurt, and doesn't know whether or not the cat is hungry.
“Is that Allison? She's very cute.” Vindicta hadn't really been able to say that word often. It gave her tongue cramps. Allison deserved it, though.
“Yes, that's her. She always seems to be afraid of me, but Odette says I fuss over her like a mother hen over her favourite chick.
***
Fayline spoke to the girls in her dormitory later that afternoon:
“We're all going to do a little project together that will help us get settled in! We're going to sew our own curtains for the dormitory windows! We'll all use the same fabric for the outside. The side facing the outside will be made of this!”
She held up a bolt of rather nondescript deep pink fabric.
“But, the inside can be made of whichever of these fabrics you want!”
Fayline gestured to the long table laden with a multitude of different fabrics. “You can also use any of these--” She waved at a basket of appliqués, embroidery thread and buttons-- “and you'll embroider your names on them, anywhere you want on the inside. So, okay, let's get started!”
Vindicta leaned close to Chantrelle and said, quietly, “She even has bad grammar while speaking!”
Vindicta had taken out a large fluff of soft white wool but seemed to be at a loss as to what to do with it.
Chantrelle was sitting slumped in the cushy armchair with one leg draped over the arm, eyes a little unfocused. Finally, she seemed to have collected her words together into a halfway coherent question (some will say the question is halfway coherent, others will say it is halfway incoherent).
“Vindicta?”
“Hrm?”
“Do...Do you have a... like a... what'sitcalled... er... a nickname?
“Oh. Yes. Why?”
“I dunno. What is it? Or is it just like an embarrassing kiddie nickname?”
“It's 'Vicki'.”
***
The days at Miss Adrianne's wandered slowly past, leaving nothing behind but a whiff of perfume and a few horseback riding lessons. Vicki had gotten used to Chantrelle's habit of taking fifteen minutes in the mornings to comb her hair so that it curled inward instead of sticking straight out to the sides. Chantrelle had long ago accepted the fact that her roommate's eyes glowed in the dark. (it wasn't that they made their own light or reflected the light, more that they reflected light that wasn't, strictly speaking, there.) All the room mates fitted nicely- For example, Morgan was a little gothy, and Winona was bright and shiny, but they got along. The more time passed, the more a hierarchy of aspiration became clear: Daisy was aspiring to be one of the popular girls, the popular girls (Olivia and Victoria) were aspiring to Angeline's position, Angeline was unconsciously aspiring to be Fayline and Fayline was aspiring to be like Miss Adrianne, a nonexistent entity who (supposedly) ran the school. (the reason the school is called Miss Adrianne's when Miss Adrianne never existed is that Mrs. Apru Tortouwa's Charm School For Young Ladies just doesn't sound right.) Chantrelle had so far only been sent to the headmistress's office once (she had worn pants) and had been surprised to see, instead of the smiling, blonde lady on the front of the pamphlet, a middle-aged, ugly-sweater'd woman who had forgotten to take out one of her hair curlers that morning. In truth, Mrs. Tortouwa probably had looked like the lady on the pamphlet twenty years ago-she had the proud stance and face of an aging beauty-- but now she would not have looked amiss working behind a counter selling custard pies. She had been very nice about it, Chantrelle thought. She had simply said, 'it's not against our dress code, but I'm afraid the teachers get very short about that sort of thing,' and had sent her back with a note saying 'if she wants to wear pants for horseback riding, then let her.'