A Violet Grows in Bellaire
Isabel Sutter
“Follow me.”
Without a second thought, I obeyed. Karina’s mop of black
curls and pixie eyes beckoned me across the courtyard. Though the
dad to get off work. She was waiting to bum a ride with us. It had
been hours since anyone marched through the hallways and the
rustle of starched skirts had stopped resounding in my ears.
up the fence and over the top effortlessly. I bet she’d done this
before. Following her movements, I swept up my skirt only to have
it slip out of my hand as I fumbled over the barrier. For once, I was
grateful for the girls in gym who had pointedly informed me on the
skirts.
“Hurry up, Annie!” Karina called as she pranced across the
parking lot.
“Where are we going?” I panted, my hair streaming out
behind me as I ran to catch up with her.
“We can’t take too long, Karina! My dad’ll be here soon.”
She didn’t turn around but her laugh carried back on the
breeze, ringing like the little golden bells my mom hangs on our
Christmas tree.
“Rina! Wait for me!” I yelled out, stumbling over the
emerging oak roots that punctuated the parking lot. Everything
looked easier when Karina tried it.
Suddenly, the heavy smell of oil hit my nostrils. It marked
my immigration into a new land.
Something special about our school was its location. The
city’s premiere prep school was tucked in between “massage
parlors” and Vietnamese restaurants and the Sunshine Apartment
Complex. At the academy’s founding, raw acreage surrounded
the campus: a wonderful, secluded area devoted to the cultivation
of young minds. Now we heard gunshots from the residents at
Sunshine Apartments and watched police cruisers line up to bust
66