The words vanish from my mind, and I stare at the ceiling in the dark. My heart beats fast. I’d rather be reading Jane Eyre, but I need to memorize a minimum of ten verses to make it into the finals of the Scripture competition. My mind is too busy to focus on Bible verses, though. I’m worried about Jane Eyre going to Lowood Institution. That Mr. Brocklehurst who runs the school? He has it out for her. I can tell. He’ll make her life difficult—just you wait and see. Jane is jumping from the frying pan into the fire.

On top of Jane, I’m also worried about myself. Knowing where I stand with Delia and the others gives me a surprising feeling of relief. But it’s also frightening. I’m not sure what comes next or whom I should make friends with. Loners do not do well at Keziah.

Lottie’s bedsprings creak, and her bare feet slap the floor. She waits a minute to make sure that I’m asleep and then creeps to the window. What she does after Mrs. Thomas locks us in the dormitory is none of my business, but I have to ask:

“Are you going to meet Gordon Number One?”

She jumps with fright and spins to face me.

“No! Of course not. I need to pee.”

The girls’ toilet block is across a grass field and hidden behind a screen of trees for privacy. When money comes available, three indoor toilets will be added to the washroom but, till then, peeing after dark is a nightmare.

Bold girls use chamber pots and empty them behind the banana field the moment the wake-up bell rings. Most of us cross our legs and pray for dawn. Some don’t make it, and washing wet sheets in the middle of the week is a worse humiliation than having to carry your own waste across the field and dump it in broad daylight.

“Why don’t you hold it like everyone else?” I ask.

“Mama Khumalo says it’s bad for you. When your body wants to go, you should go.”

“Mama Khumalo who made the slime?”

“Yes, her, and I really have to pee.” Lottie moves to the window, and I follow her. My bladder stings, and a night pee would be an adventure and a relief. Plus, maybe she’s meeting Gordon Number One after all. I’m going out with her to see things for myself.

“I have to go too,” I say.

“All right,” she snaps. “Follow me and be quiet.”

We climb over the windowsill barefoot and drop down into a crouch when we hit the ground. Moonlight falls through the Christ-thorns, and spiked shadows play across our nightgowns. It might be a warning to go back inside. I ignore the omen and wait for Lottie to lead the way.