Thursday morning, Julia got up, albeit stiffly, and went to school. There was nothing she'd like any less, but she knew that staying in a routine would help her to forget about being kidnapped.
Sister Mary Tobias met her at the door. "Julia! I'm very pleased to see you. I was hoping you'd be here today. We have a new student, and I've assigned you to show her around."
"Gee, Sister, that's nice of you." Julia mentally grimaced.
"Her name is Emilie Rochester. She transferred here from the Wadman Institute of Fine Arts in Chicago."
Julia and the nun rounded the corner into the library. A girl was standing there, waiting. She was very, very tall, with pink hair. Julia had to smile. "Hi!" she managed tos pit out.
"Hi," the girl said. "Julia, right?"
"Rights. Emilie, right?"
"Right!" Both girls smiled at each other.
"Well," Sister Mary Tobias said, "I'll let you two get to class."
"You're going to hate it here," Julia confessed to Emilie as soon as they were out of earshot of the nun. "Everybody's so stuck up."
"What about the band?"
"Band may be the one saving grace this place has. What do you play?"
"Clarinet."
"Oh, that's good. The flute section leader hates when anyone new joins."
They had reached room B-12, Sister Hannah Christopher's English class. "We're reading Death of a Salesman," Julia said as the bell rang.
"I hate Death of a Salesman."
"So does everyone here."
They entered the classroom and found twenty pairs of eyes staring at them. Sister Hannah Christopher was writing on the board, but she, too, turned to take in the newcomers.
"Sister Hannah Christopher, this is Emilie Rochester."
One of the girls in the front row cracked her gum and said sarcastically, "Nice hair."
"Thanks!" Emilie replied brightly.
Julia smiled at her newfound ally, then dropped into her seat. As she opened her canvas knapsack, something fell out. Hurriedly scooping it up, she saw that it was small and wrapped in tightly bound black felt. Under her desk, she carefully undid the leather thongs binding it and something small and metallic fell out into her hand. There was a piece of paper rolled tightly inside of a metal ring.
"Julia, would you like to discuss your theory about Willy Loman's death?" Sister Hannah Christopher asked suddenly, and guiltily Julia shoved her hands, and the mysterious gift, under her desk.
"Uh…" Julia said, not quite knowing how to answer. "Oh. Uh, Willy feels as though his life is not worth living because he is a friendless job man with nothing to live for but his job, and even that's in the toilet. It makes sense that he kills himself."
"I see," said Sister Hannah Christopher. "Thank you."
She moved onto someone else, another question, and Julia reexamined the gift under the desk. She carefully unrolled the piece of paper and read.