Suzanne is the rich girl. She arrives to the school and gets picked up in a chauffeured big black car. Her dresses are always chic and immaculate, the envy of the other girls in the class. Her hair is stylishly cropped in the latest Parisian trend.

The thirty-six little girls in the class sit dutifully quiet, hands clasped on their little desks, awaiting their first torment of the day. They know the rules. No speaking, no chatting, no laughing, no jokes, no camaraderie. There are no established friendships among this crowd. There is a distinct and understood hierarchy that has been set by the young woman standing in front of the class in her white ao dai. She is their teacher and she has perfected the gift of demoralizing and shattering young souls down packed, by pitting them against each other.

She swings around from writing on the chalkboard, her arm with the piece of chalk still raised mid-air.

“WHAT?” she yelps sharply.

Silence.

The little girls silently squirm in their seats.

“I KNOW I heard something.”  The young teacher‘s eyes surveil the room, they narrow and then they concentrate on one girl like a heat-seeking missile. Oh, good, the teacher thinks to herself. This one is easy. She grabs a new piece of chalk and walks to the girl’s desk. She holds her hand outstretched. The girl’s eyes have started to tear. 

“Take it!” The girl reaches for the chalk with her little hand. “Put it in your mouth. Maybe next time, you’ll be quiet.”

Tear are streaming down the little girl’s face as she puts the chalk between her lips. The soft sediments of the chalk stick start dissolving in her mouth and she gags. Spit is escaping at the corners of her clamped lips. 

She feels a poke on her left arm. She turns her head and sees Suzanne. Suzanne holds a small piece of paper in her hand under her desk. She looks up to check if the teacher is still at the chalkboard. Then she signals for the girl to use the piece of paper to wrap around the chalk.

The girl does as suggested and is able to withstand the rest of the day without vomiting the calcium carbonate.

The little girl is elated and tells her family about the new friend she made in school that day. She’s the rich girl! And she didn’t look down on her, she HELPED her! Maybe she’ll be able to ride in that big black car someday instead of going to school in a cyclo.

But the next day, the seat next to hers is empty. She waits but Suzanne does not appear all day. Or the day after that. Or the next. Rumors start circulating in the schoolyard that Suzanne has been kidnapped and is being held for ransom. The little girl knows kidnapping is rampant in Saigon. It is an everyday occurrence and topic of conversation. She cries for her newfound friend and pleads to Buddha to keep her safe.

Weeks after her disappearance, Suzanne is dropped off at the school in the middle of the day. She enters the classroom silently. She is barefoot. She is disheveled. Her dress is filthy. Her face and hands are covered with dirt and grime. Behind her once chic Parisian hair, the top part of her right earlobe is missing. 

Suzanne never speaks again, even without chalk in her mouth.