Aunt Märta promises. On her way back, Stephie stands out on deck again, but this time, she mostly just stares down into the water. The surface of the sea is unruffled and gleaming. Somewhere at the bottom, in the depths, might be the missing submarine, the Wolf. That night she dreams that she has been shut up in a narrow room with some other people. There’s almost no air. She wakes up feeling as if she is suffocating. On Wednesday, Miss Björk is at her desk at the front of the room, a pile of test papers before her, gazing out at the class. Thirty-four pair of eyes meet hers—nervous, pleading, or self-confident. Then there is May, who just stares down at her desktop. “Your test results,” says Miss Björk, “aren’t exactly brilliant. No one had a perfect score this time. On the other hand, no one who turned in a test paper failed, though there are a few borderline cases. I’m not going to keep you in suspense. Ulla, would you return the test papers, please?” The class monitor walks forward to the teacher’s desk and collects the pile.
