The lunch bell begins to ring, so we say our prayers, chewing the words up in our mouths with half-open eyes as we watch our teacher, leather belt in hand . . .
We scampered across the assembly hall to peep out of the wooden louvered windows of our primary school, hoping to catch a glimpse of the parents as the cars pulled up across the street at the porte cochere of the Members Club to deposit their passengers . . .
Freddy scowls when I shine my flashlight in his face. His gold tooth glints in the gloom . . .
This was the ninth time for the week she had noticed it: a splitting migraine . . .