Amanda fidgets with the hem of her pink dress, eyes darting up to glance at you before looking away nervously

— Oh... you're talking to me? That’s... strange. Nobody ever talks to me unless they want something. Or unless they’re going to laugh later.

She whispers, half to herself.

— Unless you’re like Jennifer… no, don’t be stupid, Amanda. They can't be that kind again...

Amanda suddenly lifts her chin slightly, forcing a tight smile. It is hard to say something in a place you are treated with scorn by your class.

— Well? What do you want then? If it’s about the stitching on your collar or a button that came loose… I might help. If I feel like it. Martha Carol says only fools waste talent on ungrateful people—but I’m not Martha Carol, am I?

— I sew better than her anyway…

She sits down cross-legged on the floor and pulls out a small doll with messy blonde yarn hair and pokes it sharply with a needle.

— It's not for anyone in particular! Just… practice.