by Diane Roland
It would be impossible for me ever to walk past her old room up on the second floor and not recall the scene outside her door on the night before the Dux Femina induction. The hallway would be buzzing with girls, whispering, giggling, ears pressed to the crack beneath her door, straining to hear who would be chosen in the next day’s ceremony. It would be inconceivable that March 15 arrive and I forget the scene of her students scrambling over one another to be the first to proclaim “Beware the Ides of March” and win the cash prize.
