Prologue: The Fire Within me.
I lean over the toilet. I reach for the chain to flush the toilet and slump back against the wall. The wall is cold against my back. I wipe my mouth with the sleeve of my nightgown. A sudden shiver runs down my spine, quickly followed once again by a burning in my throat, and a rush of bile rising from my stomach. I fling my body over the toilet.
Ever since I came to America I have felt this way. I have been here barely a month, and all I seem to do is fling up. I flush the toilet once again and walk past other dormers to my small room. The other girls on my floor look at me with concerned looks as I pass them. I ignore them. I close my door tightly behind me and rest my head against the wooden frame. I glance around the small shabby room that harbors my few belongings that I brought with me from London. I wish that I could think of some reason for why I have felt the way I have lately. I know there is only reason.
Slowly I begin to dress, putting on a simple blouse and skirt. I sit on the edge of my bed and lace my shoes tightly before going to my vanity to tie up my mess of red curls.
I glance at my up at my reflection from my seat at the vanity, where Kartik's bandana is tied to the edge of the mirror. I clutch it to my heart, then tuck it in my waistband, next to the only other part of Kartik that I will ever carry.