"Quite welcome. Quite welcome. Anyway, it all simmers down to one basic fact. I must think first and foremost of the school's welfare, beyond that of the individual's. Therefore, I think it would be far wiser and far better for all concerned, if Michele would enroll in some other, less rigid institution."

Milly's head jerked up.

"You mean, you're . . . expelling her?"

Mrs. Dusney folded her hands and looked through the window at the spring sky. There were motes of dust dancing in the sunlight.

"Let's just say we're asking you to find a more suitable school."

"But why?" Milly, said, her voice harsh and throaty with disbelief. "Why. Mrs. Dusney? Poor marks? That's no reason for expulsion! Has she ever stolen? No! Has she ever been tardy or truant? No! Then why, Mrs. Dusney?"

Mrs. Dusney remained unmoving, her eyes still on the sky. Her voice was quite calm. "It's everything, Emily. Her marks, her stubborn, sullen, uncooperative nature. Above all, her obviously unhealthy devotion to Andrea Keane. Really, you must understand I have the other girls to think of."

"Mrs. Dusney! Are you implying are you even thinking that MY daughter

is a-a-

Mrs. Dusney's hands trembled, like leaves in a wind.

"Really, Emily, it's not at all necessary to become so upset! I'm implying nothing of the sort! Why, if I had ever even thought...! It's just that Michele would probably be far happier and less prone to ... unhealthy associations if she were in some other school. A co-educational one, perhaps."

Milly rose. She could feel herself shaking, her nails digging into her palms. She fought to keep her voice down.

"How dare you! How could you! You evil, filthy, sadistic old woman! To imply that... Mike won't be here in the fall, Mrs. Dusney. I wouldn't allow her to be!"

Outside, she leaned against the dusty, rose-colored brick, fighting nausea. "The witch! The witch!"

She drove home recklessly, wildly, the sweat on the steering wheel burning the raw spots on her palms that her nails had made.

The key wouldn't fit in the lock, and she cursed at its stubborness, using words she thought she had forgotten. She flung the door open, crossed the foyer, and went up the stairs.

Mike lay across the bed, asleep. Her body was sprawled in the awkward yet somehow throat-catchingly graceful way of a fifteen-year old. She breathed heavily, and her hair was plastered to her forehead in damp little curls.

Milly felt an almost over-whelming rush of tenderness. She reached out a hand, carefully smoothed back the wet ringlets.

That was when she saw the paper.

It was half under the girl's body, and covered with her large, uneven scrawl. Milly bent, pulled it loose, started to lay it on the dresser top.

The words leaped up at her, stinging her eyes with their clarity.

"My darling Andrea,

"How can I possibly stand a whole summer without you? You in New York. Me stuck in this hole, doing nothing but thinking of you. I love you, I love you..." Low in her throat, Milly moaned.

The sound was like that of hurt animal.