arly the next morning, Fenwick drove Lisa home, and Meredith went down to the dining room, where her father was reading the newspaper, waiting to have breakfast with her. Normally she'd have been curious about the outcome of his meeting last night, but now she had something more pressing on her mind. Sliding into her chair, she said good morning, then she launched her campaign while his attention was still on the article he was reading. "Haven't you always said that a good education is vital?" she began. When he nodded absently, she continued. "And haven't you also said that some of the public high schools are very understaffed and inadequate?"

"Yes," he replied, nodding again.

"And didn't you tell me the Bancroft family trust has endowed Bensonhurst for decades?"

"Mmmm," he murmured, turning to the next page.

"Well," Meredith said, trying to control her mounting excitement, "there's a student at St. Stephen's—a wonderful girl, from a very devout family. She's very smart, and she's talented too. She wants to be an interior designer, but she'll have to go to Kemmerling High because her parents can't afford to send her to a better school. Isn't that sad?"

"Mmmm," he said again, frowning at an article about Richard Daley. Democrats were not among his favorite people.

"Wouldn't you say it's tragic that so much talent and intelligence and, and ambition will go to waste?"

Her father raised his gaze from the newspaper and regarded her with sudden intensity. At forty-two he was an attractive, elegant man with a brusque manner, piercing blue eyes, and brown hair turning silver at the temples. "Just what are you suggesting, Meredith?"

"A scholarship. If Bensonhurst doesn't offer one, then you could ask them to use some of the money the trust has donated for one."

"And I could also specify that this scholarship is to be awarded to the girl you've been talking about, is that it?" He made it sound as if what Meredith was asking was unethical, but she already knew that her father believed in using his power and connections whenever, and wherever, they would benefit his purpose. That's what power was for, he'd told her hundreds of time.

She nodded slowly, her eyes smiling. "Yes."

"I see."

"You'd never find anyone more deserving," she prodded eagerly. "And," she added, seized by inspiration, "if we don't do something for Lisa, she'll probably end up on welfare someday!" Welfare was a subject guaranteed to evoke a strong negative response in her father. Meredith wanted desperately to tell her father more about Lisa, and about how much their friendship mattered to her, but some sixth sense warned her not to do it. In the past, her father had been so overprotective of her that no child had ever met his standards for a suitable companion for her. He'd be much more likely to think Lisa deserved a scholarship than that she deserved to be Meredith's friend.

"You remind me of your grandmother Bancroft," he said after a thoughtful pause. "She often took a personal interest in some deserving but less fortunate soul."

Guilt stabbed at her, for her interest in having Lisa at Bensonhurst was every bit as selfish as it was noble, but his next words made her forget all that: "Call my secretary tomorrow. Give her whatever information you have about this girl, and ask her to remind me to call Bensonhurst."

For the next three weeks Meredith waited in an agony of suspense, afraid to tell Lisa what she was trying to accomplish because she didn't want her to be disappointed, yet unable to believe Bensonhurst would refuse her father's request. American girls were being sent to school in Switzerland and France now, not to Vermont, and not to Bensonhurst with its drafty stone dormitories and rigid curriculum and rules. Surely, the school wasn't filled to capacity as it once had been; therefore they wouldn't want to risk offending her father.

The following week a letter from Bensonhurst arrived and Meredith hovered anxiously by her father's chair while he read it. "It says," he finally told her, "they're awarding Miss Pontini the school's one scholarship based on her outstanding scholastic achievements and the Bancroft family's recommendation as to her desirability as a student." Meredith let out an unladylike whoop of glee that earned her a chilly look from her father before he continued: "The scholarship will cover her tuition and room and board. She'll have to get herself to Vermont and provide her own spending money while she's in school."

Meredith bit her lip; she hadn't considered the cost of a flight to Vermont or spending money, but having succeeded this far, she was almost certain she could think of something else. Perhaps she could convince her father that they should drive; then Lisa could ride to Vermont with them.

The next day Meredith took all the brochures about Bensonhurst, along with the letter about the scholarship, to school. The day seemed to last a week, but finally she was sitting at the Pontinis' kitchen table while Lisa's mother bustled about, laying out Italian cookies as light as air, and offering her homemade cannoli. "You're getting too skinny, like Lisa," Mrs. Pontini said, and Meredith obediently nibbled on a cookie while she opened her schoolbag and laid out the Bensonhurst brochures.

A little awkward in her role of philanthropist, she talked excitedly about Bensonhurst and Vermont and the excitement of traveling, then she announced that Lisa had been granted a scholarship to go there. For a moment there was dead silence while Mrs. Pontini and Lisa both seemed unable to absorb the last part of that, then Lisa slowly stood up. "What am I," she burst out furiously, "your newest charity! Who the hell do you think you are!"

She stormed out the back door and Meredith followed her. "Lisa, I was only trying to help!"

"Help?" Lisa snapped, rounding on her. "What makes you think I'd want to go to school with a bunch of rich snobs like you who'd look at me like a charity case? I can just see it, a school full of spoiled bitches who complain about having to get by on the thousand dollars a month allowance their daddies send them—"

"No one would know you're there on a scholarship unless you tell them—" Meredith began, then she paled with angry hurt. "I didn't know you think of me as a 'rich snob' or a 'spoiled... spoiled bitch.'"

"Listen to you—you can't even say the word bitch without choking on it. You're so damned prissy and superior!"

"You're the snob, Lisa, not me," Meredith interrupted in a quiet, defeated voice. "You see everything in terms of money. And you didn't need to worry about fitting in at Bensonhurst. I'm the one who doesn't seem to fit in anywhere, not you." She said that with a calm dignity that would have pleased her father immensely, then she turned and left.

Fenwick was waiting in front of the Pontini house. Meredith slid into the backseat of the car. There was something wrong with her, she realized—something about her that prevented people from feeling comfortable with her, no matter their social class. It did not occur to her that perhaps there was something special—a fineness and sensitivity—about her that made other kids want to put her down or stay away from her. It occurred to Lisa, who was watching the car pull away, hating Meredith Bancroft for being able to play teenage fairy godmother, and despising herself for the ugliness, the unfairness of her feelings.

At lunch the next day Meredith was sitting in her usual place, outside, huddled in her coat, eating an apple and reading a book. From the corner of her eye she saw Lisa walking toward her, and she concentrated harder on her book.

"Meredith," Lisa said, "I'm sorry about yesterday."

"That's okay," Meredith replied without looking up. "Forget it."

"It's pretty hard to forget that I was lousy to the nicest, kindest person I've ever met."

Meredith glanced at her and then back at her book, but her voice was softer, though final. "It doesn't matter anymore."

Sitting down beside her on the stone ledge, Lisa continued doggedly, "I was a witch yesterday for a lot of selfish, stupid reasons. I felt sorry for myself because you were offering me this fantastic chance to go away to a special school, to feel like someone special, and I knew I'd never be able to go. I mean, my ma needs help with the kids and the house, and even if she didn't, I'd need money for the trip to Vermont and other stuff once I got there."

Meredith had never considered that Lisa's mother couldn't or wouldn't spare her, and she thought it seemed horribly unfair that Mrs. Pontini's having had eight children meant Lisa had to be a part-time mother too. "I didn't think about your mother and father not letting you go," she admitted, looking at Lisa for the first time. "I sort of thought, well, that parents always wanted their children to get a good education if they possibly could."

"You were half right," Lisa said, and Meredith noticed for the first time that Lisa looked as if she were bursting with news. "My ma does. She had a big fight with Pa over it after you left. He said a girl doesn't need to go to fancy schools, just to get married and have babies. Ma started waving this big spoon at him and yelling that I could do better than that, and then everything started happening. Ma called my gramma and she called my aunts and uncles, and they all came over to the house, and pretty soon everybody was chipping in money for me. It's only a loan. I figure if I work hard at Bensonhurst, I ought to be able to get a scholarship to some college after that. Later, I'll get a great job and repay everybody."

Her eyes were shining as she reached out impulsively and squeezed Meredith's hand. "How does it feel," she asked softly, "to know you're responsible for changing someone's entire life? To know that you've made dreams come true for me and Ma and my aunts—"

Unexpectedly, Meredith felt the hot sting of tears behind her eyes. "It feels," she said, "pretty nice."

"Do you think we could be roommates?"

Meredith nodded, her face beginning to shine.

Several yards away, a group of girls who were eating their lunches together looked up and stared: Lisa Pontini —the new girl in school—and Meredith Bancroft—the weirdest girl in school—had suddenly stood up, and they were crying and laughing and hugging each other, jumping up and down.