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down any of their planes?” I asked Bengie.
    Bengie put her soap dish on the shelf above the line of basins. In the mirror we watched our own cluster of faces. Watched Bengie take off her dressing gown and roll up her pajama sleeves.
    â€œNaah. We didn’t get even one. The English took all the Irish anti-aircraft guns a while back. They didn’t think we were important enough to ever be bombed.”
    â€œBut we heard gunfire,” Lizzie Mag said.
    â€œThose were just ground guns. They couldn’t shoot high enough to hit a sea gull.”
    â€œThe nerve of those English,” I said. “We could have shot down all the German planes last night if they’d left us our own property. The English are always taking our stuff.”
    â€œWell, at least we got to see the boys.” Phyllis Hollister peered closely at herself in the mirror and peeled away a smudge of potter’s clay that had lodged under her chin.
    â€œI swear, Phyllis Hollister!” Bengie looked disgusted that we would even be interested in seeing the boys, although I knew for a fact that she’d gone more than once behind the kindergarten huts with Gordon Craig, who was a boy prefect and who always played leading man in the school shows. We’d been told that only one thing went on there behind those kindergarten huts. Nobody told us exactly what that one thing was, but we knew it was strictly forbidden, even for prefects. Still, it was pretty disgusting for Phyllis to be talking about boys when all those people had been killed. Not thinking about boys would be impossible. Talking about them now just didn’t seem right.
    Bengie dried her face and arms and said casually, “Morning assembly will be very interesting today. There’s going to be a sensation.”
    â€œA sensation? What, Bengie? What kind of sensation? You mean because of the air raid?” All of us spoke at once.
    â€œPartly. You could say that.”
    I could feel my stomach tightening. Was the sensation about me? Was it because someone had seen me kissing Ian McManus? But lots of others had kissed too.
    â€œYou’ll find out. Just don’t miss assembly, that’s all.” Bengie wiggled her fingers over her shoulder at us as she departed.
    â€œShe’s so mean not to tell us,” Lizzie Mag said.
    Ada nodded. “ ‘A little knowledge is a dangerous thing.’ You know who said that?” she asked Maureen.
    Maureen looked puzzled. “Was it one of our teachers?”
    By then girls were drifting into the bathroom from the other dorms, and all of them were talking about last night.
    â€œMaybe the sensation’s about Miss Müller,” Lizzie Mag whispered. “Maybe she’s been found out.”
    I emptied my hot-water bottle into one of the basins. The water made a small, lukewarm puddle that barely covered the stopper. If I added more water from the faucet, it would be freezing cold. “Maybe somebody else saw her,” I whispered. “Oh, cheese, Lizard. I’ve been hoping and hoping she’s innocent.”
    Mean Jean Ross, who wore a big silver crucifix around her neck, said, “It sounds as if somebody’s head is going to be on the block this morning at assembly.” When she said that, she smiled her Mean Jean smile. She loved it when someone got in trouble. Her father was a Methodist minister, but none of the holiness had rubbed off on her.
    â€œWe’re hoping the head on the block will be yours,” Ada told her, chopping down with one hand and running her finger across her throat.
    â€œReally,” Mean Jean said.
    Second bell was trilling in the distance and we had to hurry. Lizzie Mag and I skipped washing and headed back to our cubies.
    I got dressed quickly, fastening my narrow garter belt, pulling up my black stockings and navy-blue knickers. I hadn’t opened this week’s laundry parcel, so I ripped it apart now, shook the folds from my white