I sign the letter and put the corner of the paper to the candle flame. The page catches fire, and I watch it burn. Ash falls onto the dresser, and the color reminds me of the moths above the phone booth on Live Long Street. The flames heat my fingertips and I drop the burning letter onto the concrete floor. Lottie watches me. She thinks I’m crazy. She could be right. The fire burns out, and I crawl under my covers and turn my face to the green wall.

Ten minutes later, Mrs. Thomas rings the lights-out bell and shines her flashlight into our room to start her nightly head count. When she’s done, she locks us into the dormitory and goes to her house to sit with her cat.

“You think I’m stupid,” I say in the darkness. Lottie’s Surely even you can see that? comment about Darnell Parns stings more than the cuts on my hands.

“You’re clever with books,” she says. “But you’re ignorant.”

Now what, I ask you, does that mean?

• • •

Tuesday morning is the same as Monday. The wake-up bell rings at six. We stumble from our cots in the bruised light and troop to the bathrooms at the end of the dormitory hallway. No matter how quick you are, there’s always a line for the four showers and six sinks. Plus, girls in their final year push to the front of the line, no matter what: a perk of being old enough and smart enough to sit for their graduation exams. Twelve months from now, during our final year, we’ll do the same.

Lottie is right in front of me, but I ignore her, still stung by being called ignorant.

We shuffle forward in our nightgowns, the concrete floor cold under our bare feet. Andrea, an older girl, leaves the bathroom with wet hair and a bar of personal soap wrapped in a washcloth. The school provides soap, but it’s the cheap kind that the natives use and it barely makes lather. Lottie moves to the front of the line.

Delia, Peaches, and Sandi Cardoza come up and stand next to her. They will cut in, and most girls, expecting a reward, will let them.

“Try it,” Lottie says, “and see what happens.”

Delia scoops a butterscotch candy from her pocket and holds it out the way that a child offers a dog a bone. This is new. The pretties usually leave Lottie alone, but I think that Delia is trying to impress Sandi Cardoza with her powers of persuasion. A bold move.

Lottie examines the bribe, and I hope that she turns it down. I hope that Delia, Peaches, and Sandi have to move to the back of the line. It would serve them right.

“No, thanks,” Lottie asks. “I don’t like sweets.”