“Is someone there?” I called. No response came, but I was positive I had heard a distinct sniffing sound. I dismissed it. When you were locked in the punishment room, Betsy had said, hallucinations were common. Yet just after I began leaning on the wall in an attempt to sleep, the sobs and sniffles resumed.
“Hey,” I said softly, “Is anyone there?”
A muffled yes came in reply.
“I’m Danielle; I’m in the next room.”
“I’m Gracie,” came a reply.
“Gracie Brownlee? The head of form five?”I asked.
“Yes. Danielle Stinson?” Gracie replied.
“What did the form monitor do?”
“Stepped on and tore Matron’s shawl.”
“Yikes. Matron must be so mad! Did she beat you?”
“Yes. What are you here for again, Danielle?”
“Broke a bowl. Got a good flogging for that, didn’t I!” I said proudly. We both mused over this.
“Good night Danielle.”
We were both so different. Prissy perfect Gracie and ragtag me—the pair at Saint Mary’s Hostel for Girls least expected to be found together. Yet our first conversation of barely even a minute left me with the impression that we would be best friends.
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