Gabrielle Winthrop had not wanted to go to boarding school. Especially not to Burning Bush, which she had heard such terrible things about from her few friends. It was a strict Christian fundamentalist institution, all-girl’s, located far out in the middle of nearly deserted farmland in northern California . It made her angry that her body was the real reason she was going. Over the past year, she had experienced a startling transformation: her breasts had grown two full cup sizes and her hips had widened to complete her new hourglass curves. Baggy skirts could cover up her womanly haunches well enough, and she cut the elastic on her panties so that they would not cut too deeply into the soft flesh of her thighs and behind. But her chest was a different matter.
Knowing how her parents disapproved of wantonness, as they called it, Gabrielle had tried to squash her new breasts into her old bra. It had worked for a while. At school during lunch, she would lock herself into a bathroom stall and unclasp the bra to massage her sore breasts. As she slowly squeezed and kneaded the pain away, she would lean back onto the cold porcelain tank and close her eyes. She had never before allowed herself to touch her body, but this was the only way she could get through the day. Inevitably, the bell would ring, startling her. She would quickly force her unhappy breasts back into the tight white bra, button up her shirt, and hurry to class.
But it had become too painful and Gabrielle had finally bought new bras and underwear the next time she went shopping with her mother. She was never allowed outside the house unaccompanied by her mother or father. And she liked that, in a way. It kept her from the temptation to stare at sexy movie posters, or buy a cigarette to try secretly smoking, which she knew the popular girls in school did. But her mother had immediately noticed the change in Gabrielle’s form, and that night had had a private talk with Mr. Winthrop.
The next morning, after prayers at breakfast, her mother looked directly at her. “Your father and I have decided you need a change of scenery,” she said simply. Gabrielle was going to Burning Bush.
Gabrielle, in her meek way, had tried to argue. She was already going to a fundamentalist college after high school; that, also, had been decided by her parents. And Gabrielle had accepted it, as she accepted almost everything they planned for her. But Burning Bush? She would have to leave her old school, where her friends were. True, she didn’t have many. In fact, her 2 or 3 “friends” were only acquaintances, to tell the honest truth.
Girls seemed to resent Gabrielle for some reason. Maybe it was how, despite her severely cut hair and drab school uniform, her pre-Raphaelite beauty turned all the boy’s heads. Even the staff weren’t immune; her art teacher, old Mr. Cummings, had tried to get her to sit as a face model for the class last semester. She had refused, of course, being far too shy; and besides, it would have been the sin of Vanity. Mr. Cummings had shook his head and said it was a pity, since Gabrielle bore a striking resemblance to Ava Gardner. Gabrielle didn’t know who that was, but she didn’t try to find out. What purpose would it have served?
And so here she was, dragging her heavy suitcase up the steep, dusty dirt road that led from the bus to the bleak campus of Burning Bush. The bus driver had pointed her dorm out to her. Girls on either side passed her, jogging and chatting. Gabrielle tried not to get angry, angry at the hot sun, angry at the heavy suitcase loaded with religious books her parents had made her promise to read, angry that the only reason that she was here was because she had FILLED OUT and her mom didn’t want boys trying to talk to her or call her or even look at her when the two of them were in the mall. Her mother had GIVEN HER this body! Her mother was 38DD-26-38! And she expected her daughter to be a stick?
Gabrielle quickly repressed these angry thoughts with a practiced effort and lugged the heavy suitcase the last few yards to the concrete steps leading up to the dorm building. Pausing, she said on her luggage, fanning her face. Sweat had soaked through her white blouse, making it cling to her new bra. The rubbing fabric had hardened her nipples, but she was too exhausted to notice. Finally, she felt someone staring.
Looking up, she saw a girl leaning on the upper railing, looking down at her with a funny expression. The girl was not pretty. She had acne, with tiny pockmarks in her cheeks. Her hair was short, as short as the school would allow, probably, and dirty brown. Her thin torso was correct for her small bust, but, as if God had decided to play a malicious joke, her butt and thighs flared out with muscle. The girl’s hard black eyes studied Gabrielle for another moment. Then she turned abruptly and walked into the building. Gabrielle thought it a bit rude, but perhaps the girl was busy.
Gabrielle finally gripped her bag and hauled it up the stairs. Her new House Mother, a small mousy woman, didn’t even look up: she just muttered a room number. Of course, the room was on the top floor, with no elevator. Reaching the threshold, Gabrielle paused to catch her breath, rubbing her aching arms. She was tired, and felt miserable. After a moment, she opened the door.
Inside, at a desk reading, was the girl Gabrielle had seen earlier. “Oh, hi,” the girl said, looking up from her book. “You must be my roommate.”
“Didn’t I see you outside?” Gabrielle asked. She wasn’t sure if she liked her.
“Yeah, maybe. I saw a lot of people today.” The girl rose, and walked over. “I’m Mary.” She offered her hand with a smile, and Gabrielle took it.
“Gabrielle.”
“‘Gabrielle?’ That’s a little formal, isn’t it? Do your friends call you Gabby?”
“I guess,” Gabrielle said. She didn’t really have any friends.
“O.K., Gabby,” Mary said, smiling again. “Looks like you could use a hand with that suitcase!”
After they had hauled it inside, Mary told her a bit about their situation. They were seniors, so they got to be in a double room. Unlike the younger girls, who were placed eight or ten to a room. Gabrielle thought she herself might have preferred that, actually, since she would have got to know more people, but of course didn’t say so.
“And,” Mary said, grinning, “I’m House Captain. That means I’m head girl, I make all the house assignments. So don’t worry, I’ll give you a cushy job.”
“Oh no,” Gabrielle said, slightly startled. “I don’t want preferential treatment.”
“Suit yourself,” Mary shrugged. They talked. Mary was also from a very strict fundamentalist family. She had been at boarding schools nearly all her life. A bell rang. “Dinner!” Mary smiled. Gabrielle followed her to the dining room.
Over the next couple of days, in her new school uniform, Gabrielle tried to fit in. She made friends with a girl named Lisa, who was blonde and beautiful and dotted all her i’s with hearts. Lisa confided that she had a cell phone hidden in her room, which she used to call her secret boyfriend back home. It was against the rules, Lisa admitted, but as long as the staff didn’t find out she’d be fine.
Gabrielle even took a liking to her roommate Mary, whom she decided wasn’t so bad, even if all the other girls in the house seemed to detest her. Mary was authoritarian, and would bully girls mercilessly if they dared to argue or resist her commands. But, Gabrielle had to admit, Mary’s control over the house was absolute; even the House Mother seemed intimidated by Mary, and would do whatever she said.
Mary assigned Gabrielle the job of bathroom monitor. This meant having to make sure the bathrooms were always free of clutter and kept tidy. She didn’t have to actually scrub them--there was a janitor for that--but if girls forgot and left any makeup or lipstick there, Gabrielle would confiscate it. She didn’t like doing it, but that was the rule--no makeup at Burning Bush. The girls resented her for it. Mary agreed it was a lousy job, but after all, Gabrielle had asked for no preferential treatment. Gabrielle said it was fine.
Mary would use the makeup, herself. Gabrielle didn’t think this was right, but she didn’t say anything. Their room had a mirror and basin, a privilege of the House Captain. Their door also had a lock, the only door in the house that did. Mary always locked it after dark. Gabrielle would watch as Mary, in her bra, panties stretched tight over the expanse of her strong, heart-shaped behind, would make herself up in front of the mirror at night. Mary would apply foundation, blush, eyeliner, and lipstick. Gabrielle watched, fascinated. So this is what regular girls did?
“Want to try?” Mary asked, suddenly turning and holding out the lipstick with a sly grin. Gabrielle smiled and shook her head. Mary looked almost pretty with her bad skin camouflaged.
Over the next few weeks, something odd happened. Lisa stopped talking to her, cutting her cold when Gabrielle approached. Her classmates would whisper by themselves, stopping whenever Gabrielle came into view. Waiting in the halls between classes one day, she heard voices around the corner:
“Yeah, she just pretends to be your friend...” It was Lisa’s voice. Gabrielle knew eavesdropping was wrong, but she couldn’t help it. “If you tell her any secrets, she goes right away to the teachers, the sneak.” Lisa said SNEAK like it was an obscene word. Gabrielle tried not to cry. “So anyway, watch out. I’m glad I got tipped off...”
The bell rang, and, her heart in her mouth, Gabrielle went in to bible study. How could she explain? What had happened? She hadn’t done anything wrong. It was all lies. After class, Gabrielle tried to approach Lisa, but Lisa’s stares of daggers made her turn around.
“Someone has been talking about me behind my back,” Gabrielle said after lights-out that night.
“Oh?” Mary set aside the teen magazine she had been reading. No one was allowed to have a light on in their room after lights-out. Except Mary, of course.
