The year that she turns fifteen I learn my first hard lesson about the affliction.

Doll, one of the older girls says: "Rose will die soon." The dorm room is hot but I have a shawl draped over my naked legs. I am eight, and Rabbit is reading a book in the bed next to me.

Moppet chirps in response, "Shhh! Not so loud, Doll." She is Doll's age. She and Doll are the oldest girls in the dorm.

"What do you mean?" Rabbit asks. She is still holding her book up but her eyes are sliding toward the other girls.

"Fifteen, you ninny," Doll tells Rabbit, matter-of-factly. She has always been the dominate one in our tiny home. Each of us knows what fifteen means, the weight of it like a hot stone at the back of our throats. None of us is blind to what the affliction is. It killed each of our mothers; it's why we're here.

"Shut up!" Rabbit hisses. I can tell in her voice that she is angry and hurt at the thought of Rose's loss.

I cannot imagine how Doll can stand to say such things. Doesn't she love Rose?

"I'm just warning your," Doll adds, as though she were teaching the rest of us a lesson that we would be wise to heed.

Doll is dead inside, but I do not realize this until I am much older.