As students and staff at St. Albert's kept talking about the Concerned Parents' Initiative and its possible ramifications, Natty was getting more and more thin-skinned and moody. She would explode in anger at the slightest provocation and was prone to pick fights and arguments even with her friends and with her favorite teachers.

"You know, this is so not helping your case," I tried to tell her, but she did not want to hear that.

"Don't you get it, Cathy?" she snapped. "They want to get rid of me, kick me out of this school. What I do or don't do does not make the slightest difference, they just want me out of here. Is that so hard to understand?"

She turned up the volume on her record player. Bob Dylan was singing "It's all over now, baby blue".

Natty had gotten into the habit of withdrawing to our room after classes and playing her rock and folk music records at a high volume. Students would knock on our door to complain, and Natty would argue with them, until finally they alerted a prefect who set us an ultimatum to turn down the volume, or else the record player would be confiscated.

It was, all in all, an awful time, both for Natty and for me. I felt totally helpless, unable to comfort her or to do anything at all to influence the vote on the upcoming School Council meeting.

I talked to Nancy about it, but she was feeling just as awful and helpless as I did.

"My dad is on the School Council, and he will vote against that stupid proposition," Nancy told me. "But, as Barnett pointed out, he carries only one vote."

Thus, our class excursion to Wales created a welcome diversion.

On a late Saturday afternoon, we boarded the small bus that our school had commissioned for this purpose. It was a long drive, taking more than eight hours. Though we took several breaks, all too soon we got bored. To our dismay, Ms Jefferson suggested that we pass the time singing.

Oddly, that turned out to be much more fun than expected. There is something very uplifting and exhilarating about fourteen teenage girls singing in chorus at the top of their lungs "Oh my darling Clementine" and "What shall we do with the drunken sailor?" or "Old McDonald had a farm". From there we progressed to the Beatles and finally, on Natty's suggestion, to Bob Dylan. We gave a very spirited rendition of "The times they are a-changing", if I say so myself.

The notion of us kids being 'beyond the command' of our fathers and mothers appealed to us, naturally. Not just Natty but all of our classmates strongly supported the American civil rights movement. They were expecting some unspecified kind of revolution, both cultural and political, in the near future. Even the four 'rich girls' in our class, Barnett, Lane, Bradford and Mellon, entertained similar opinions. When you are young, being consistent at all times is not very high on your agenda. Which is just as it should be, if you ask me.

It was getting dark already when we reached the outskirts of the Derwain Hills. From there, it was a slow and strenuous trip uphill, along winding, narrow roads, through forests and the occasional small village.

"This is almost like going home," Erin Morgan observed.

The Welsh girl was sitting with her nose pressed against the side window, beaming with happiness.

We were all in high spirits if a bit tired when we finally arrived at our destination, at what appeared to be three quaint little blockhouses scattered over a small clearing on top of a hill.
It was pitch-dark already. As it turned out, all fourteen girls were supposed to sleep in one of the blockhouses. There were only two rooms: a large dorm furnished with bunk beds, and an almost equally large bathroom.

We undressed, put on our pajamas and went straight to bed.

When I had first arrived at St. Albert's two months ago, I had been one of only two girls in my class who did not own pajamas, the other one being Natty. Our so-called experts on the 1960s in the Institute of Temporal Physics had neglected to provide me with any kind of sleepwear, the first time they had sent me here. I was glad that this time around I had insisted that they supply both Natty and me with pajamas.

Although I felt tired, I found myself unable to fall asleep, at first. My classmates seemed to be experiencing similar problems. In the darkness, I overheard whispered conversations long after lights-out. Eventually, all conversations ceased. Later that night, I woke up to hear a rustling of sheets, accompanied by a quickening of breath and intermittent little gasps. I wondered idly who of my classmates that might be. From the other side of the room, I heard someone else slightly shift their position. The first girl fell silent for  a couple of moments. I imagined she must be listening intensely for further noises. When there were none, she resumed her prior activities.

The next morning, I was jostled awake by Erin Morgan who informed me that the other girls were already up and having breakfast in the adjoining blockhouse. I hurried to join them at the long breakfast table. My classmates were grinning as I sat down on one of the two benches that framed an equally long table.

They were serving us rose hip tea rather than coffee or at least black tea. This did not help to improve my mood. If you have ever tried rose hip tea, you will know what I am talking about.

A bit later, Ms Jefferson showed up, accompanied by a girl in her early twenties. Our teacher introduced her as Sue Baker. Sue was going to be our guide for the time of our stay here. She was going to introduce us to the most amazing nature trails – several of the girls groaned at that – and teach us techniques and skills that would enable us to survive if we got lost in the wilderness.

"Sounds like she is trying to turn us into girl scouts or something," Jen Turner complained, in a low voice. Her sister nodded morosely.

As the morning went on, it seemed that our worst fears were about to come true. Sue and Ms Jefferson led us on a trail that went uphill and downhill and uphill and downhill again, and so on. A beginner's trail, as Sue was quick to point out. A few days from now, we would be able to master much more advanced trails, she assured us, with an easy smile.

"I can't wait," Mallory Carmichael muttered.

As it was, we were all hard put just to keep up with the pace Sue and our teacher were setting. On a beginner's trail, for crying out loud.

"Don't worry, you will get used to that soon enough," Sue cheerfully told us.

I was not the only one of the girls who failed to see anything reassuring in that.

When we returned to the blockhouses in the evening. we were all of us tired and suffering from sore muscles.

Which did not keep certain girls from bitching and bickering until late in the evening. Notably, Dorothy Barnett who kept complaining about things such as blisters on the soles of her feet.

Mallory cleared her throat. "Barnett, I am going to tell you this just one more time: shut the fuck up."

"The hell I will. I am not going to let you boss me around like that, Carmichael."

Mallory smirked. "Ah, but you have to, seeing as how Jefferson appointed me head girl of this class for the duration of our stay here."

It had not exactly been one of our class teacher's most brilliant decisions. I would have been the first to admit that, if anybody had asked me, which of course they didn't.

"I want you girls to keep quiet after 11 p.m.," Ms Jefferson had laid down the rules. "That is to say, no squabbling, raised voices, no fights. You may talk quietly to each other, but you are not to disturb the sleep of other visitors of this place. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Miss," we had chorused.

"Plus, I need one of you to be in charge, to make sure that at least  some resemblance of order will be kept up among you girls in my absence.  Any volunteers? Nobody? In that case, I have to appoint one of you." Her gaze had flicked over the girls of the Upper Fifth and had come to rest on Mallory who had been busy messing with her hair. "How about you, Carmichael?"    

"What?" The girl had looked up, flustered.

"Right. I am appointing you as temporary head girl of the class, Carmichael. That means you will have a position similar to that of a prefect at our school. In particular, you will have disciplinary privileges. It will be your task to see to it that your classmates behave, and to keep order in my absence. Do you have any questions concerning your responsibilities, Carmichael?"

"Um ... Actually yes, I do have one question. Can I decline this position, Miss?"

"No, you can't."

And so it had been decided.

"Head girl or not, that doesn't make any difference to me, Carmichael," Dorothy scoffed.

"It ought to, though." Mallory grinned. "Remember, disciplinary privileges?"

Dorothy Barnett blushed. "You wouldn't dare."

Mallory smiled.

"I wonder if any of you guys could lend me your hairbrush for a moment," she asked the assembly at large. "Mind you, I am not going to use it to brush my hair," she added, almost as an afterthought.

"You can use mine," Jen Turner offered.

"Or mine," Ndemba chimed in.

Dorothy blanched. "You wouldn't dare, Carmichael," she repeated.

"You know, now you are really, really tempting me, Barnett," Mallory sweetly observed.

"Go ahead and spank her already, Carmichael," Helen Langden suggested. "It will do her good."

"Yeah, it's kind of overdue anyhow," her friend Jess pointed out.

Mallory focused on Dorothy. "Why don't you tell me one more time that I wouldn't dare put you over the knee, Barnett?"

Dorothy opened her mouth to say something, then apparently thought better of it.

"Aw!"

It was a veritable chorus. Apparently I was not the only one here who felt a tiny bit disappointed about the outcome of this confrontation.

The next morning, after eating a hearty breakfast, we took off into the wilderness again. Our guide Sue taught us basic survival skills such as identifying the cardinal points, starting a campfire, identifying edible plants and finding potable water. We even learned how to climb trees.

On the third day, we went white-water rafting in two boats, which turned out to be more fun than we would have expected.

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A / N : If you ever read Enid Blyton's Malory Towers boarding school novels - in the original, non-purged version, mind you, the version that your parents got to read as children and which they hopefully still have on their bookshelves - you will know what inspired the description of Mallory and Dorothy's confrontation in this chapter :-)

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