“First,” Mrs. Thomas says, “interrupting an adult is against the rules, Adele. You should know better. And, second, whatever you heard about Lorraine is not true. She didn’t die in the room. She died in the Norwegian hospital in Mahamba.”

That is a big, fat lie. Everyone knows Lorraine was stone-cold dead before Mr. and Mrs. Vincent rushed her to Mahamba in the back of their car. The mercy dash to the hospital was for show . . . That’s why the room’s been empty for three years. Nobody will sleep in it. Their parents won’t let them.

“Third”—Mrs. Thomas keeps counting—“there’s nothing to be done about the situation we’re in. You will have to cope.”

I grit my teeth to stop from yelling, My father is white. He pays full fees. I am supposed to get first pick of rooms. My parents aren’t married and my father hasn’t donated a new generator but still . . . That’s how things are. Mrs. Thomas blushes, because she knows the rules have been broken. It is outrageous, and nothing she says will make it better. I grab my suitcase and drag it onto the porch.

“Adele . . .”

I turn my back on Mrs. Thomas, something that I’ve never done before, because nice girls aren’t rude. Nice girls don’t break the rules, but putting me in a dead girl’s room is not nice, so I don’t care.

5

This Is Where You Live Now

The room is small and dusty, with two cots pushed against the pea-green walls. A high window lets in slanted light, and a second, lower window lets in a breeze that stirs the dust motes in the air. I cover my mouth and nose, and try not to breathe too deeply. The dead are lonely. Lorraine’s ghost is waiting for a warm body to move into so she can laugh, talk, and eat again.

I sit on the edge of the right-side cot, with my sore shoulder slumped. I could call the mechanic’s shop back home in Manzini and get one of the mechanics to go and get Mrs. Button, who lives in the pink house behind the yard where scrap cars are kept for their parts. Mrs. Button is a widow with three children working in South Africa. She has time to kill, so she can walk over to our place and get Mother. Then Mother could use the mechanic’s phone to call the principal’s office and complain to Mr. Vincent about the room. But I don’t want her to know I’ve been dumped. Mother wants me to be everything that she wasn’t: popular and clever with books. The truth will hurt her. Mrs. Thomas is right. I will have to make the most of it.