Anke dreamt last night, the night before she flew to America. She dreamt of crude faces, foreign faces, scary faces, all looking at her. She dreamt of a Headmaster, a wrinkley old man with a long twisted beard and a thick unibrow. He read the paper she presented to him and threw it into the fire with a curse, to the horrified expression on her face. She looked beside her, but her friend was never there. She was alone. When she walked through the doors of the Spring dormitory and wondered, as a child would, if these Americans would be kind. The girl was feeling homesick, longing to visit Greece once more. Maybe even Germany, that place farther back in her memory. It all would happen in time, hopefully.
The second door she opened brought her to a common room of sorts, a large one at that. There was a kitchen adjoining a living room area. A door led onwards to where she assumed she needed to go. Alone and feeling small, Anke did not know where she needed to be.
