In the bath for several minutes you wait for little bubbles to build bubble towers on your arm and leg hairs. If you lift your leg out of the water, you can hear them pop. You wouldn't be able to hear just one of them pop, but thousands of them popping are almost as loud as a swish. Everyone knows the decibel of a swish. Louder than any sound out of my mouth.

Micaela stuffed her bed and snuck out at night. She had a wig propped on her pillow, and something worked out with the Thursday night sister that Micaela claimed was a fulfilment of requests for lemon chicken, but I am sure it was more sinister. Yes, it was more sinister. Micaela went out the back window to see an Indian boy with thick glasses. Then she went to see his brother, who did not wear glasses. Lemons stuffed into where the neck has been--when I was little, I thought that was the back-end of the bird.

I started to call Micaela a little whore in my head, but only in my head, whereas the other girls in our hall called her a whore to her face. I started wondering whether I should continue to lend her my soap and my bath sponge for the shower. Did you know that Micaela always wears black underwear, I told the other girls. It never gets dirty, that's why, I told them. They came up with a plan for Micaela.