My New Family

Chapter Seven: First Day With Camille

     We are back from school and I am in my room. Camille is doing my hair in some soppy style. She was really annoyed when I didn't want to when she asked if she could use me as a model for a new hair-do she made up. I told her, politely, of course, that I am not in the least interested in hair styling, but to no avail. First she brushed my hair and got out every last one of the numerous knots. It really hurt and I yelled several times but she just said, ''Evelyn! You naughty girl! KEEP STILL!!!'' By the time she has finished I am nearly in tears. Then Pauline comes in and says sorry. ''It's OK, Pauline," I say kind of stiffly. This is the second time she's got me in trouble for a messy uniform and Sister said if it happens again I will get double de-merit points on my ping slip. Pauline is looking at my hair almost wistfully. She doesn't realize that there are problems connected with having the prettiest curly hair in the family. For one thing, you get relatives fawning over it and flattering you, and Camille torturing you with a hair-brush. It gets so knotty and hurts so much to brush and comb and is sometimes hard to wash too. Many's the time I've wished I had straight hair. 

      Finally, Camille finishes. ''There, very pretty. Tell Susanna to come and have a French braid done.'' ''Yes, Camille.'' I walk out of the room, my hair roots aching. I feel unnatural and uncomfortable. "Susy, you're the chosen victim for torture in the form of a French braid,'' I say. Susanna cries enthusiastically, ''YES! I've been wanting this one for days. You'll be next Cath.'' And skips off, black curls streaming behind her. I think her hair is prettier than mine, but no-one (unfortunately) shares my opinion. Catherine squeals and writhes at the prospect of having to sit still for half an hour. ''Go and hide,'' I say, joking. She runs off immediately. ''No! Cath! I was joking!'' If anything annoys Camille, it's missing out on a hair-do. And Cath will blame me and Camille will find out that I hate hair styling and hate me for it. I run after her, but, nope, she's gone, can't find her, hunt for an hour, and come late to dinner. Everyone, even Catherine, are sitted around the table. Camille is furious. ''You're late, Evelyn.'' She says, her tone hard and cold. Pauline gives me a look that says, ''Now you know what it feels like.'' ''You and Catherine, come to my room immediatly after dinner. I am ashamed of you, Evelyn, late for dinner at your age!'' I grit my teeth, ''Yes, Camille.'' "What?" "Yes, mademoiselle Freyer!"

      I am in Camille's room. She looks mad as. Spitting angry. I gulp. ''Catherine, why did you run off and hide when I wanted you for a hair-do?'' ''Because Evelyn told me to. And she critisized your hair-styling, called it torture.'' Thanks, little sis. I really needed that. Can't keep yourself quiet, can you? ''Oh, Catherine! I'll forgive you because you were led astray by an older girl. Go and have a lollipop.'' She likes Catherine best, because of her pretty manners and wavy golden hair. And because she's a dob. Catherine is gone. ''Evelyn, is her accusation true? Do you hate hair-styling? (as though that's wrong) And why where you late for dinner?'' ''Yes, it is true, but when I was joking! And I most certainly do, and because I was looking for Cath because you I knew you hate missing out on a hair-do.'' ''You mean because you didn't want to get into trouble. Evelyn, I'm disgusted at you. For your punishment, you will go straight to bed instead of watching The Miracle of Marcelino with the others, and since tomorrow is PE at school, you will give Sister Aloysious a note from me stating that you must be given extra math problems during PE time instead of doing PE with the other girls.'' I groan and Camille says, ''No complaining, or I'll spank you. Now go to your room and get into bed, no reading, talking, or playing.'' As I get ready for bed, I think that Camille was either very, very angry, or that her punishments really are as bad as Philomena joked the other night.

      A slight noise disturbs me that night. I open my eyes, and bending over me, a hungry, malicious look in her glassy blue eyes, is Camille. I am frozen for several seconds, then I scream and slam my eyes shut with horror. ''You had better be asleep, little French birdie, or it will be the worst for you when I return,'' she hisses. I fall asleep, exhausted, and when I wake up, my blankets and pillows are all on the floor. And I'm freezing.