Dezba nods. "Neither was I. Schools are for the rich. We weren't."

And she can't help peeking into the locker. Everything here is so foreign, so unlike anything she'd seen before. Some of her books talked about school, but they were centuries old.

"I--I don't know. Nothing here smells right. It smells too fresh, too clean. But, what's a hot spring?"

And she takes the jacket gratefully. On her small frame, it falls down long enough to be a dress and she buttons it up to the neck, then bows in return. "Thank you. I'm Dezba. I'm very pleased to meet you. But, how do we get out of this place?"