Free Francie by Emily Hahn Page B

her breath in annoyance and apprehension. She saw Jennifer repeatedly, every day, all day, first thing in the morning and last thing at night, but she never learned to relax about it.
    Sometimes Penny tried to reason with Francie about this difficulty in her new life. “Why let her get you down?” Penny would say. “It’s only what she’s trying to do, and the more you allow it the worse she’ll get, the little drip.”
    â€œI’m not used to it, that’s all. Nobody’s ever been so mean to me before—anyway not unless I gave them some cause,” added Francie with a sudden memory of Gretta and a few others. “But Jennifer started it and she’s been at it ever since the first night here. Why, do you suppose?” She stared with honest pained bewilderment at her friend.
    â€œSuppose we try to figure out why,” said Penelope. “There’s a reason for everything … What makes one girl mean to another, usually?”
    â€œWell, usually,” said Francie in thoughtful tones, “it’s jealousy. At least, it was always jealousy as far as I was concerned … and I’m not bragging.” She broke off and looked carefully over her shoulder. “You know that, don’t you, Penny? It might sound like boasting, but you know what I mean. I told you about all that—Jefferson and the parties and being popular. You’re the only one in the whole school who would understand.”
    She sounded plaintive, but Penny did indeed understand, and said so. “However, that theory doesn’t get us anywhere in this case,” continued the English girl, with the reflective air Francie so much liked and admired. “You haven’t grabbed any of Jennifer’s boy friends—if they exist, which is doubtful—and even if your clothes are nicer than hers she can’t possibly resent it as we only wear uniforms here. What do you think, yourself? Is there anything you may have said, or done, without thinking?”
    â€œN-no, not that I know of. But I’ll tell you what,” Francie lowered her voice and peered through the curtains of her cubicle to make sure they were not overheard. As Jennifer lived in the same dormitory, they got little chance of talking out of her hearing; they got little privacy altogether, and the two newcomers agreed that was one of the aspects of school life that they found most trying. “I’ll tell you what,” continued Francie. “Maybe her people did just what Pop did to me, and insisted too much on what friends we were bound to be. Pop gave me Jennifer Tennison for breakfast, lunch and dinner every day for weeks before I met her. Of course, not having friends here, it worked all right with me and in the beginning I was ready to like her. But it might have had just the opposite effect with her if the Tennisons did the same thing.”
    â€œThat could be how it started,” said Penelope. “As for the rest—oh well, they say there’s a bully in every school, and though Jennifer can’t very well twist your arm, there are other ways.”
    â€œYou’re telling me!” said Francie.
    Now, in the corridor, she bristled instinctively at the sight of Jennifer. Yet Jennifer’s first words were friendly enough. “Hullo, Francie,” she said, pausing.
    â€œHullo, Jennifer.”
    They stood there regarding each other, two girls in gray flannel uniforms, much of an age. It might have surprised a casual onlooker to know that one saw the other as a snake coiling for the strike.
    â€œFinding your maths any easier going?” asked Jennifer. Like Penelope, she was very good at mathematics. Unlike Penelope she was always reminding other people of it.
    â€œI try, but it’s awfully hard,” said the incautious Francie.
    Jennifer fell back a pace, registering extreme astonishment. “Oh, never. Surely not! Yanks are always frightfully good at sums.