When All the Girls Are Sleeping

by Emily Arsenault

  “Oh. Umm . . you are?”

  I hesitated, noticing that her soft pink cardigan was buttoned one off, with a lone button hanging loose near her neck.

  Was I officially harassing a doddering old lady? Was I crazy?

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Oh, dear.” Norma suddenly looked uncomfortable on her feet, and I felt bad for making her continue to stand.

  “Do you want to come in?” she asked. “You’re Lily, I assume?”

  “Umm…no,” I said. “But…I am here about the scholarship. And…well, one other thing, but first about the scholarship.”

  And then I could have kicked myself. Why would she assume my name was Lily? I should have let her keep assuming that, to find out.

  Norma looked puzzled but then nodded and led me through a fancy marble-floored entryway to a surprisingly spare living room. She lowered herself onto a green velvet sofa and gestured for me to sit in its matching chair.

  “It is…I’d offer you a cup of coffee, but…”

  “That’s okay.”

  “At your age, you shouldn’t drink much coffee.”

  “I guess not,” I agreed, hoping she couldn’t smell my last cup on my breath.

  A bell sounded in my ear and I jumped. It was the mantel clock positioned behind me, striking the half hour. Four-thirty.

  “So you’re on the Fleming scholarship?” she asked, looking slightly amused by me.

  “Umm…yeah. Or…I was told I would be a good candidate for it.”

  “You’re not on the scholarship now?”

  I hesitated. I didn’t like to lie. But then, I knew I wasn’t above it.

  “I just…had some questions.”

  “Ohhh. I see. You’re not Lily. You’re the other one. Right? I’ve gotten your letters. I had hoped we could talk things out sometime, somehow.”

  “Letters? Oh…I think you must be…” I hesitated, swallowing the words thinking of someone else.

  “There were some good questions in your letters. I sent them to my lawyer, and he thought it best to wait until there was a way to talk all together sometime. Or just…wait and see. He wants to wait and see first. These things have a way of calming down on their own as time goes on.”

  “Which questions did you think were good ones?” I said softly.

  Norma laughed, her eyes shining, her attention seeming to come into focus.

  “I see what you’re doing,” she said sharply.

  “You do?” I said weakly.

  “Yes, I’m glad you came, but I can’t discuss anything at length without my lawyer here. Maybe I should call him now. See if we might set something up.”

  I steepled my hands in front of my mouth, trying to hide my panic.

  “So you’re giving out more scholarships?” I asked, as evenly as I could.

  “Well. Yes. Every year. Of course. Are you a freshman?”

  “No…,” I said. “But I was wondering how I might qualify.”

  Norma’s eyes narrowed. “Wait…What did you say your name was? You’re not a Sunny, are you?”

  I exhaled, unsure what her second question meant. Lily? Sunny? Was she just throwing out cheerful names at this point? Did she maybe have Alzheimer’s?

  “Haley,” I admitted.

  “Oh,” Norma said, and sat back against the couch cushions. “Haley. I’ve not heard that name before. Why don’t we start over? You seem to be under the mistaken impression that I give out scholarships willy-nilly. But that’s not how it works—coming to my door.”

  Suddenly Norma seemed quite sharp again, and I felt my face starting to burn.

  “I…well…” I decided to try an entirely different angle. “I’m actually writing an article for the Windham school paper. It’s about Sarah Dearborn. About her portrait, and what happened to it.”

  “Oh.” Norma looked bewildered. “Then…why didn’t you say so?”

  “I was just…curious about the scholarship, but I mainly wanted to talk about the portrait. Did you ever have it restored?”

  “No, dear.” Norma touched her curls, then folded her hands. “I didn’t.”

  “Will you ever, you think?”

  “No,” Norma said with a placid smile. “Would you like to see it?”

  “Uhh…yes. If it’s not too much trouble. Yes.”

  “It’s upstairs.”

  “Oh…,” I said, feeling tentative. “I don’t want you to have to…”

  “Nonsense,” Norma said, lifting herself shakily off the couch. “I have one of those old-lady roller coasters that gets me up the stairs.”

  “Roller coasters?” I repeated.

  She led me into a hallway with a sweeping staircase. It had a motorized chair lift affixed to it.

  “Right,” I said.

  “You go up,” she ordered. “I’ll meet you at the top.”

  I did as she instructed. Waiting on the balcony as her chair whirred her slowly up the banister, I hoped Anthony wasn’t getting too anxious.

  “It’s in the second guest room,” Norma said, lifting herself up and grasping the metal cane that was waiting for her at the top of the steps. “Which is the one that never has guests.”

  She tugged the arm of my coat as she passed me, leading me past one floral-decorated bedroom and then another. The room she led me into was smaller and darker. Its shades were down, and in the corner was a single bed with a silky maroon spread.

  “Come in,” she said, stepping into the room. “She’s right here.”

  Norma stood in the middle of the dark-stained hardwood floor of the room. I stepped into the room to join her. And then we were both staring at it: the painting of Sarah Dearborn.

  Except that it was barely a painting at all anymore. It had an ornate gilt frame, and you could see that it used to be a painting of a woman in a black dress. But she didn’t really have a face—just a washed-out white blot where a face would be, that seemed to drip into the chest of her dress. You could see part of one of her eyes and a chunk of her hair.

  “Would you like to know how it was destroyed?” Norma asked softly.

  I gazed into the goopy remains of Sarah Dearborn’s eye, wondering if she’d been smiling or frowning for her portrait sitting. Her mouth was gone entirely.

  “Yes,” I said, feeling my chest tighten.

  “Well. There was a girl there the same years as me. The early ’50s. Her name was Virginia. Came from old money and made sure everyone knew it. She was like the queen of campus. So imperious. But winter senior year, something started to happen to her. Heard voices in her room. Said that messages were appearing on her walls. She never got a good night’s sleep anymore. She started to lose her mind a little. She was certain that Sarah Dearborn was haunting her—in her black dress. Sarah in Black. And then it happened, late one night.”

  “What happened?” I whispered.

  “Virginia threw a glass of water at the painting. And then another. And then another. By the time the housemother found her, she was on probably her fourth glass, going back and forth to the washroom faucet. Screaming at this poor painting. At poor Sarah in Black.”

  “But this was Sarah Dearborn,” I squeaked. “Not Sarah Black.”

  “It was all the same to poor Virginia,” Norma said evenly. “Since she’d lost her mind.”

  “What happened to Virginia?” I asked, fear rising in my throat.

  “She had to go home, sadly,” Norma replied.

  Like Student X. I nodded, averting my eyes from the white space where Sarah Dearborn’s face had once been. Almost an illustration of what Norma was saying. A washed-out blank where someone’s head had once been. Crazy girls driven out of themselves. I was maybe getting there myself.

  “I have a confession to make,” Norma whispered.

  “Yeah?” I said, l
ooking at my hands.

  “I never intended to have it restored. I like it just the way it is. There is a certain truth to it, a certain twisted beauty. Don’t you think, Lily?”

  I looked up at her. Watching her smile contentedly at that washed-out face, I decided I had never felt so creeped out in my life.

  “So you believe in the Dearborn ghost?” I asked hoarsely, my pulse quickening. Norma was old and frail and maybe borderline senile, but her tone and facial expression were setting off alarms deep in my core. Sinister. Toxic. Twisted. GET OUT.

  “Oh, dear,” she replied. “Absolutely. With all of my heart.”

  “I have to go now,” I said. “My friend is waiting in the car.”

  “So soon?”

  “Yes,” I breathed. “Should I help you down the stairs?”

  “No. I think I’ll actually stay up here and rest awhile. You can let yourself out. My bedroom’s just the next one over.”

  “You sure?” I said.

  “Yes, honey. I’m glad you came to see the painting, though. No one asks about it anymore.”

  “Of course,” I offered.

  I smiled as I backed out of the room.

  “Bye now,” Norma said, following me out and heading into one of the floral bedrooms.

  “Bye,” I chimed, and held my breath as I walked quietly down the stairs.

  * * *

  I raced down the brick steps and tumbled into Anthony’s car, catching my breath and coughing from the cold.

  “Why are you breathing all over me?” Anthony said, pulling away. “Didn’t you say your roommate has the flu? Cover your mouth, will you?”

  “We need to leave now,” I said to him. “Please start the car. I want to get out of here.”

  Anthony scowled as he tossed his phone into his cup holder.

  “What happened? You knock over a priceless urn?”

  “Don’t even joke about it.”

  Anthony started the car. “What’s going on, Haley?”

  “I…I don’t know. It was super creepy. I can’t explain. I shouldn’t have come here.”

  We made it back to the highway. I breathed a sigh of relief as Anthony accelerated off the ramp. I wondered if maybe Ms. Fleming was afflicted with some early-stage dementia that made her act so weird with that ruined painting.

  And yet—I was apparently not the only Windham girl in contact with her. And whatever the Fleming scholarship was, Norma still seemed to have some involvement with it, despite her obvious health limitations.

  There was only one Lily I knew who went to Windham in recent years. It made me shiver, remembering that name on Ms. Fleming’s lips as she’d stared eerily at Sarah Dearborn’s ruined portrait.

  Lily Bruno had been present when Taylor died.

  I didn’t know what the connection was—if any. Still, I took out my phone and found my old exchange with Lily.

  I would like to talk to you again, I typed.

  About Taylor? was her surprisingly quick reply.

  About the Fleming scholarship, I typed back. About Norma Fleming.

  It took her a few minutes to come back with a one-character reply:

  ?

  I hesitated, but wasn’t going to give up that easily.

  I know Norma Fleming knows you.

  My heart thudded harder and harder as I waited for a reply.

  “Hello?” Anthony said. “You’re supposed to entertain the driver.”

  “Yeah, I appreciate the ride. I just…don’t feel very entertaining.”

  “You don’t have to feel entertaining to be entertaining. What’s going on with you?”

  “I don’t want to go back to Dearborn,” I murmured.

  “Infirmary?” he suggested.

  “I can’t,” I said. I didn’t explain that I couldn’t because I was afraid to face Star.

  Anthony shrugged, watching the road.

  “Does it ever bother you how beautiful our school is?” I asked. “All of the brick and ivy…When I first came, I thought I would be it somehow. That it all looks so smart and beautiful and classy, that if I was here, I would kind of melt into it…lose myself in it. But I never really felt that way. I was just…there. It’s just a place.”

  “Yeah? What else did you expect it to be?”

  I expected it to redeem me, I thought. I expected it to make me into a different girl than the one I’d been. But I didn’t say it, because particularly in Anthony’s presence, it felt like a stupid thought.

  Is this a scholarship I could qualify for, too? I texted to Lily.

  “Haley?” Anthony prompted.

  “I expected it to be…transformative,” I admitted.

  “Pffft,” Anthony scoffed.

  “Exactly,” I said.

  I’d felt the same way about being friends with Taylor. Maybe even more. She had been a part of the beautiful scenery that I wanted so much to embody. Until her flaws made it impossible to see her that way. Which was exactly when I’d decided to ditch her. And that was probably meaner than anything I’d ever seen her do. Which was saying a lot.

  My phone buzzed with Lily’s reply:

  Ms. Fleming occasionally helps out Windham alums with college tuition, but she prefers it not be public. Different from her other charities. Please don’t share this information or you might put other girls’ scholarships in jeopardy. She likes it quiet. She’s quirky.

  I typed furiously: Could I qualify? Does the school have info about it?

  Probably not, I’m afraid, Lily answered. And no, not directly.

  How did you qualify? I insisted. If it’s so private, how did you know to apply?

  Word of mouth, a few different personal connections.

  I would like to apply, I typed.

  You can’t was the lightning-fast response.

  Why not?

  This reply took almost ten minutes:

  One applies by invitation only through the Honor Society.

  Lily might have guessed that I never quite had the grades for the Honor Society. But she probably didn’t know that for sure.

  Great! Then I do qualify. I’ll ask about it Monday, I typed.

  The Honor Society advisor doesn’t know about it. Don’t bother asking.

  Hmm, I thought. That was definitely suspect.

  ? I shot back.

  It’s done through an alumnae group, not through the school administration.

  What alumnae group?

  This time, Lily didn’t reply. Probably because she’d run out of ways to put me off.

  I was pretty certain she was lying. And if she would lie about this, what else might she lie about? I thought again of the things the girls had said about the night Taylor died. Jayla said Taylor was screaming. Lily said she wasn’t. If someone was going to lie, did it make more sense to fabricate screams or to deny them?

  Probably the second.

  52

  Anthony and I got back to the Farnswood campus in time for me to have a last-minute bite at his dining hall and then hop on the last shuttle back to Windham.

  I wasn’t in my room for five minutes before there was a knock on the door. It was Anna.

  I sucked in a breath when I saw her.

  “Oh, hi,” I stammered, feeling my cheeks burn with guilt. Had Norma Fleming possibly contacted the school, telling the administration a strange student was harassing her?

  “I need to talk to you, Haley,” Anna said. “Can I come in?”

  “Sure,” I said, as innocently and enthusiastically as possible.

  She closed my door quietly. I led her in and sat on my bed. She sat on Star’s.

  “Look, Haley.” Anna started to fold her hands, changed her mind, clapped them once, and settled them on her lap. “I wanted to talk to you because I’ve been told toda
y—by a somewhat reluctant witness—that she saw you carving letters in the front of your door.”

  “Who? Who said that?”

  Anna held up a hand. “Did you?”

  “What…no!”

  “So you’re telling me that witness was mistaken?”

  “Yes. Of course. Why would I do that?”

  Anna paused for a moment, regarding me sadly.

  “Is there anything you want to tell me?”

  “No,” I muttered.

  “I saw what was underneath the sticker you recently put on your door,” she said.

  “Oh.” I felt my face go hot, my pulse race.

  “Do you have anything to say about that?”

  “I…” I hesitated. “I would never do that. I just…I put the sticker up because I panicked. It scared me.”

  “So who carved those words in your door?”

  A ghost. Taylor. Not good answers.

  “I don’t know,” I said softly.

  “I understand that you lost your friend.” Anna lowered her voice. “I understand that it has to be difficult for you.”

  “Yeah,” I said quickly. “It is.”

  “I’m here if you want to talk. Or there are the counselors from the health center, too. If you would prefer that.”

  I breathed slowly, trying to stay calm and will the heat off my cheeks.

  I hated Anna. I hated people like her. Sweet-talking fake people like this who wanted to make you say things.

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” I said, smiling at her contemptuously.

  Anna glanced away from me but continued speaking. “I hope you understand that if you had something to do with the repeated door vandalism…the one on Taylor’s old door and your own…and it was a result of something you’re dealing with regarding Taylor…there are people who are here for you, who can help you. And if it was you, I would rather you deal with it up front, right now. Because the consequences will be a lot more severe if you deny it and then get caught.”

  Hate hate hate.

  “That’s not going to happen,” I murmured.

  “That’s not going to happen?” she repeated.

  “I wouldn’t do something like that.”