Where Sleeping Girls Lie

by Faridah Àbíké-Íyímídé

With Where Sleeping Girls Lie, I write to young girls who feel so much anger, and need desperately for someone or something to tell them their rage is important, and that the capacity to heal from deep wounds is not at all impossible.

“It never looked as terrible as it was and it made her wonder if hell was a pretty place too. Fire and brimstone all right, but hidden in lacy gloves.” —Beloved, Toni Morrison

Sade had read up on the school’s houses. All eight of them: Curie, Einstein, Hawking, Mendel, Franklin, Turing, Jemison, and Seacole.

Sade had read up on Turing House briefly. It had been described as the house for the jack-of-all-traders, students with no particular special interest in any one subject; sister house to Seacole; and unlike most of the other houses, Turing had produced the least famous alumni.

“And the one in the middle is their leader, April Owens—she actually used to be Elizabeth’s roommate.”

It was like constantly being haunted by herself, with no reprieve from the ghosts inside her.

Not all her feelings reflected reality and not everyone needed saving.

“How does access to other houses work? If I made a friend in another house, could I just visit anytime?” Ms. Thistle nodded. “You are allowed to visit other houses before curfew. Sometimes the door might be closed—in which case someone will need to let you in, but if it’s open and it’s before curfew, then you certainly can!” Sade gave her a smile. “That’s very useful to know. Thank you, Ms. Thistle.”

best liars, Sade had found, were the ones who were also lying to themselves in some way. They’d lied so much to others, it was too easy to also eventually convince their own minds of the lie.

There was no instruction manual for ridding yourself of your own self.

“They say terrible things are done in darkness, but terrible things are also done in a light too blinding for anyone else to look at directly.” —Dear Senthuran, Akwaeke Emezi