At his side Randy stood, legs akimbo in white stockings. She had a lipless smile plastered across her face, and the headmaster was blotting his big forehead with a napkin. Both had their game faces on today, but it seemed to be taking a lot out of them.
“Welcome to Sword & Cross’s one-hundred-and-fifty-ninth annual Parents’ Day,” Headmaster Udell said into a microphone.
“Is he kidding?” Luce whispered to Penn. It was hard to imagine Parents’ Day during the antebellum period.
Penn rolled her eyes. “Surely a typo. I’ve told them to get him new reading glasses.”
“We have a long and fun-filled day of family time scheduled for you, beginning with this leisurely picnic lunch—”
“Usually we only get nineteen minutes,” Penn interrupted in an aside to Luce’s parents, who stiffened.
Luce smiled over Penn’s head and mouthed, “She’s kidding.”
“Next you’ll have your choice of activities. Our very own biologist, Ms. Yolanda Tross, will deliver a fascinating lecture in the library on the local Savannah flora found on campus. Coach Diante will supervise a series of family-friendly races out here on the lawn. And Mr. Stanley Cole will offer a historical guided tour of our prized heroes’ cemetery. It’s going to be a very busy day. And yes,” Headmaster Udell said with a cheesy, toothy grin, “you will be tested on this.”
It was just the right kind of bland and hackneyed joke to earn some canned laughter out of the bunch of visiting family members. Luce rolled her eyes at Penn. This depressing attempt at good-natured chuckling made it all too clear that everyone was here in order to feel better about leaving their children in the hands of the Sword & Cross faculty. The Prices laughed, too, but kept looking at Luce for more cues on how to handle themselves.
After lunch, the other families around the commons packed up their picnics and retreated to various corners. Luce got the feeling that very few people were actually participating in the school-sanctioned events. No one had followed Ms. Tross up to the library, and so far only Gabbe and her grandfather had climbed into a potato sack at the other end of the field.
Luce didn’t know where Molly or Arriane or Roland had sneaked off to with their families, and she still hadn’t seen Daniel. She did know that her own parents would be disappointed if they saw nothing of the campus and didn’t participate in any planned events. Since Mr. Cole’s guided tour seemed like the least of the evils, Luce suggested they pack up their leftovers and join him by the cemetery gates.
As they were on the way over, Arriane swung herself off the top bleacher like a gymnast dismounting a parallel bar. She stuck her landing right in front of Luce’s parents.
“Helloooo,” she crooned, doing her best crazy-girl impression.
“Mom and Dad,” Luce said, squeezing their shoulders, “this is my good friend Arriane.”
“And this”—Arriane pointed at the tall, hot-pink-headed girl who was slowly picking her way down the bleacher stairs, “is my sister, Annabelle.”
Annabelle ignored Luce’s extended hand and swept her into her open arms for an extended, intimate hug. Luce could feel their bones crunching together. The intense hug lasted long enough for Luce to wonder what was up with it, but just as she was starting to feel uncomfortable, Annabelle let her go.
“It’s so good to meet you,” she said, taking Luce’s hand.
“Likewise,” Luce said, giving Arriane a sideways glance.
“Are you two going on Mr. Cole’s tour?” Luce asked Arriane, who was also looking at Annabelle as if she were crazy.
Annabelle opened her mouth, but Arriane quickly cut her off. “Hell no,” she said. “These activities are for absolute lame-o’s.” She glanced at Luce’s parents. “No offense.”
Annabelle shrugged. “Maybe we’ll have a chance to catch up later!” she called to Luce before Arriane tugged her away.
“They seemed nice,” Luce’s mother said in the probing voice she used when she wanted Luce to explain something.
“Um, why was that girl so into you?” Penn asked.
Luce looked at Penn, then at her parents. Did she really have to defend, in front of them, the fact that someone might like her?
“Lucinda!” Mr. Cole called, waving from the otherwise unoccupied meet-up point by the cemetery gates. “Over here!”
Mr. Cole clasped both of her parents’ hands warmly and even gave Penn’s shoulders a squeeze. Luce was trying to decide whether she should be more annoyed by Mr. Cole’s participation in Parents’ Day or impressed by his fake show of enthusiasm. But then he began speaking and surprised her.
“I practice for this day all year,” he whispered. “A chance to take the students out in the fresh air and explain the many marvels of this place—oh, I do love it. It’s the closest a reform school teacher gets to a real field trip. ’Course, no one’s ever shown up for my tours in years past, which makes you my inaugural tour—”
“Well, we’re honored,” Luce’s dad boomed, giving Mr. Cole a big smile. Immediately, Luce could tell that it wasn’t just Dad’s cannon-hungry Civil War buff side speaking. He clearly felt that Mr. Cole was legit. And her father was the best judge of character she knew.
Already the two men had started trooping down the steep slope at the entrance of the cemetery. Luce’s mom left the picnic basket at the gates and gave Luce and Penn one of her well-worn smiles.
Mr. Cole waved a hand to get their attention. “First, a bit of trivia. What”—he raised his eyebrows—“would you guess is the oldest element of this cemetery?”
While Luce and Penn looked down at their feet—avoiding his eyes as they did during class—Luce’s father stood on his toes to take a gander at some of the larger statues.
“Trick question!” Mr. Cole bellowed, patting the ornate wrought iron gates. “This front portion of the gates was built by the original proprietor in 1831. They say his wife, Ellamena, had a lovely garden, and she wanted something to keep the guinea hens out of her tomatoes.” He laughed under his breath. “That was before the war. And before the sinkhole. Moving on!”
As they walked, Mr. Cole rattled off fact after fact about the construction of the cemetery, the historical backdrop against which it was built, and the “artist”—even he used the term loosely—who’d come up with the winged beast sculpture at the top of the monolith in the center of the grounds. Luce’s father peppered Mr. Cole with questions while Luce’s mom ran her hands over the tops of some of the prettiest headstones, letting out a murmured “Oh my” every time she paused to read an inscription. Penn shuffled after Luce’s mother, possibly wishing she’d latched on to a different family for the day. And Luce brought up the rear, considering what might happen if she were to give her parents her own personal tour of the cemetery.
Here’s where I served my first detention…
And here’s where a falling marble angel nearly decapitated me…
And here’s where a reform school boy you’d never approve of took me on the strangest picnic of my life.
“Cam,” Mr. Cole called as he led the tour around the monolith.