“No, Mrs. Thomas,” I say in a firm voice that carries the length of the hallway. “Lottie Diamond and I did not steal Sandi Cardoza’s necklace.”

“She’s lying. They did it!” Delia’s voice makes Mrs. Thomas flinch. Her fragile mood makes her sensitive to sharp sounds and bright lights.

Mrs. Thomas raises her hand for quiet. Delia’s father pays full fees and Sandi Cardoza’s father donated a new generator to the school, so she has to make an effort to investigate. She asks the bathroom line, “Did anyone see Adele and Lottie steal the necklace?”

Silence.

“Does anyone know where the necklace is now?”

The line remains stubbornly quiet. If a girl steps forward to say that, yes, they saw Lottie and me with the necklace, they’ll be rewarded by Delia and Sandi, but how sweet will that chocolate bar taste after Lottie’s given them a cut lip and a black eye for lying about us?

“Check our room,” Lottie says. “We’ve got nothing to hide.”

Moments later, Mrs. Thomas strides into Dead Lorraine’s room and pulls open our drawers. She checks the pockets of the clothing hanging in our wardrobe and strips our beds to find what might be hidden under the sheets. Then she hauls my suitcase from under my cot and rifles though the contents. Heat stings my face. The bounty of cans and unopened biscuits is embarrassing but no longer shameful. I shared with Lottie last night, and together we’ll make quick work of eating what’s left. The cans and boxes prove that I have no reason to steal.

“All clear.” Mrs. Thomas’s mouth softens into a smile. She’s relieved that we’re innocent and still eligible for the Golden Sun Award. Her happiness is selfish. Stealing in the dorm casts a shadow over her reputation. If we’re good girls, then by extension, so is she.

“They stole the necklace and hid it,” Delia huffs. “They knew you’d search the room.”

Mrs. Thomas blinks and her jaw clenches, and for a moment it appears that her soft mood has evaporated and, with it, any shred of patience or kindness. Delia steps back, expecting a lashing.

“Now, now,” Mrs. Thomas coos. “You’ve got no proof that Adele and Lottie are the thieves, so my hands are tied. I’ll list the item in the lost-property book, and if it doesn’t turn up in a week, I’ll make a report to Mr. Vincent.”

Delia bites her tongue. Mrs. Thomas won’t make the report this week or next week or the week after, because she’s afraid to admit her failures to a white man. She’ll write the items into the lost-property book, knowing full well that what’s lost at Keziah is never found.

“Get washed and dressed for chapel and take your mind off earthly things,” Mrs. Thomas says. “We have much to be thankful for this morning.”

She drifts out of the dorm and back to her house, where she’ll take the plastic rollers from her hair and style it into the elaborate victory rolls that were popular during WWII, but are way out of style in 1965.