“There's nobody here now. The school term, the winter term, starts next week. I'll show you around the place, but first we'll see my room. Oh, and we must have lunch.”
“You say lunch. My body says bedtime. Wake me up if I fall asleep!”
Everything was old, very old. Perhaps this was the old country.
“How do you like my room? I've got the best room, I'm the head girl. How would you like to be my slave and be in the room too, much better than in the dorm, you know.”
Er, what does she mean by slave? And what is the dorm?
“Yes, it's a tradition here. The younger girls help the older girls, make them breakfast, arrange their clothes, ironing and so on. Not really a slave, you would be my little helper – though you are not that little. But we use the word slave, it's tradition, and not the only one. You sleep in that little slave bed, much better that sleeping with a lot of other girls in one of the dormitories.”
“Say you will be my slave! My slave for the rest of this school year! You'll have to go on your knees and swear to it. You'll like it!”
“No!” That did not sound like a good idea to me, no way.
Susan sat on the edge of the bed, hid her face, maybe she was crying, she was not happy. “Oh and I thought that you were such a nice girl. I've just lost my last slave, she had to go to another school. You hate me!”
I put my arms around her. “Listen to me! I'm not being a slave to anyone, not even you. I'm too big to fit into that little bed. I've got a better idea. You share the room and everything with me, your bed is big enough for two. I like you, really!”