The Girls of No Return Read Online Free PDF Page A

in front of her face and stared at me until I met her gaze. It was unflinching. I nodded.
    Bev placed the knife next to her on the chair and repacked my bag. Then she stood up and held out her hand. “Welcome to Alice Marshall,” she said.
    Margaret and I stood up. I cleared my throat. I was afraid my voice would crack, but I managed to shake her hand rather firmly. “Thanks,” I whispered.
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    â€œCongratulations,” Margaret said as we walked away from the director’s cabin, my bag a bit lighter on my back. “You have successfully used up your Get Out of Jail Free card during the first bag check.” She stopped suddenly on the trail and turned to me. “Listen, Lida. That really was your only pass. If we ever find anything even remotely like a knife in your belongings again, you’ll be sent home before the excuse is even halfway out of your mouth.”
    â€œOkay.”
    â€œMore than okay.” Margaret was glaring at me, and I didn’t like it.
    â€œFine,” I said. “It was my only one, anyway.”
    â€œGood.” She smiled. “Clean slate, Lida. Everyone deserves one at least once in their lives.”
    â€œAre there lots of bag checks?” I asked.
    â€œWeekly,” she said, “and unscheduled ones as well.”
    â€œDo you find things?” I’d felt pretty brave packing the knife. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one.
    â€œYou wouldn’t believe what we find.” Margaret stopped walking and turned to me. “While Alice Marshall certainly isn’t a school for delinquents — we’re no prison, you know — the girls who live here have usually acted out in some way or another. Parents choose Alice Marshall because they know their daughter will be free from the dangers she faced at home — and those include the ways one can be a danger to oneself.” She raised her eyebrows at me. “Everyone brings their own baggage,” she said. “It’s our job to help them unpack it.”
    â€œOkay,” I said. “Whatever.”
    The path that led away from the director’s cabin eventually opened onto a clearing where a number of larger structures stood clustered on a carpet of pine needles. Through the trees beyond, I could make out the inky blue line of a lake. Margaret led me past a group of buildings that looked exactly alike: dark wood siding, wraparound porches, a kind of Swiss ski chalet feel. She named each one as she passed, but I wasn’t paying attention. I doubted I’d ever find my way around this place without some sort of guide dog or Sherpa.
    â€œ. . . Math and Science Building,” she was saying. “And over there’s the Rec Lodge. That’s where you’ll find me most of the time.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œI’m the Outdoor Ed instructor,” she said. “I’ll be taking you on all of your backwoods voyages.”
    â€œSounds great,” I said. “Is there some way to test out of that?”
    Margaret laughed drily. “Funny,” she said. “No, there’s not. Our most popular program at Alice Marshall involves a solo camping trip. The parents love it, and many of the girls look forward to it,” she added, looking at my expression. “It’s a chance to really test your knowledge of the woods . . . and of yourself.”
    â€œJesus,” I muttered quietly.
    â€œIt was all in the pamphlet,” she said, her mouth curling up at one corner.
    We passed the Bathhouse and the dining lodge (“also known as the Mess Hall,” Margaret said), and then we turned left and walked through more pine trees (though never in a straight line, I noticed — this place must have been designed by a drunk) until we came to a cluster of nine or ten smaller cabins. There were noises coming from inside these cabins: giggles, whispers, coughing, talking, jarring exclamations. Whenever we passed a particularly noisy