Bobby Blanchard, Lesbian Gym Teacher. Monica Nolan

whispered to Alice.

      “Most schools are too sports crazy,” Alice whispered back.

      Bobby opened and shut her mouth, trying to think of a way to fight back against this determined attack on her new team. Fortunately, the German Mistress came to her rescue. “Sans mensa in corpus santus,” she argued. “And let us remember the Amazons!”

      “’, ^* Gussie Gunderson said suddenly.

      There was a knock on the door. A sub-prefect poked her head into the room. “Miss Butler, Mr. Rackham’s waiting for you in Manchester.”

      “I’ll be right there.” Enid shuffled her corrected papers neatly together and put them in her briefcase. With a “Good night, all,” she was gone.

      “Gallivanting again!” snorted the German Mistress.

      Rod Rackham drove out from Bay City one or two nights a week to take the young algebra instructor out on dates. Bobby had seen him once as he helped Enid into his sedan, a tall, muscular young man, with a handsome, if strong-featured face—all jutting jaw, chiseled cheekbones, and brooding brow. Bobby had noted enviously the perfect fit of his gray flannel suit.

      Bobby was grateful for the timely interruption. Another ten minutes of Enid’s fluent argument, and the anti-sport teacher might have reduced the Savages to an intramural club! It was time to mend fences in the faculty lounge, and she could do that best in the Math Mistress’s absence.

      “Let’s think about what Gussie said before we decide anything,” she said, in the certainty that no one else understood Greek either. “After all, she’s got the most experience here at Metamora!” She stole a glance at Gussie, who had dozed off again, then turned to the French Mistress. “Madame Melville, did Annette tell you she’s playing left wing?”

      “Oh? She is becoming such an American girl.” The French Mistress attempted her usual blasé tone but could not conceal her pride in her daughter’s accomplishment.

      If only the rest of the staff had daughters on the team! It was time for drastic measures.

      “How about if I cut a practice, or even two?” Bobby suggested. “Would that be less disruptive to the other clubs?” Privately she decided she would study the bulletin board and squeeze in extra practices when she could.

      The atmosphere in the faculty lounge lightened considerably. “After all, school spirit is important too,” reflected Miss Otis. “Some of the other schools with winning sports teams have done very well when it comes to alumnae donations from former team members.”

      The conversation turned to the ever-present Old Girls fund-raising efforts, and Bobby decided to make her escape while staff sentiment was still on her side. Besides, now she needed to redo her practice schedules.

      Mona pulled her aside before she left, under pretense of taking her sherry glass. “Don’t let Enid get you down,” the housekeeper whispered. “She’s just a little miffed because no one showed up for the first meeting of the Problem Solvers.”

      Is that all there was behind the Math Mistress’s hockey hostility? Bobby wondered as she closed the faculty lounge door behind her. If so, Bobby prayed a boatload of Metamorians would attend the next math club meeting. The brainy young Math Mistress often expounded on adolescent psychology, and Bobby would need her advice if she was going to mold Metamora’s problem student into the Savages’ star player!

      Bobby had stopped on the steps of Kent, deep in thought, observing without really seeing a figure bent over the flower bed that surrounded the sundial. Suddenly she realized that it wasn’t Ole, as she’d automatically assumed. Ole didn’t wear tweed suits, with the skirts slightly longer than was fashionable. It was Miss Craybill—Miss Craybill digging with a hand trowel, tossing uprooted flowers behind her with feverish energy. Something about her posture, the determination with which she dug, made Bobby hesitate, the polite greeting dying on her lips. It was as if the Headmistress was on the track of something far more sinister than weeds. Bobby turned quietly down the narrow path that led away from the quadrangle, to the gymnasium.