She thought of what it must be like for a little boy, leaving the easier, warmer atmosphere of his mother’s Personal for the men’s, where even looking in someone else’s direction was taboo. Some said the custom arose because of the need to preserve some privacy in the midst of others, but psychologists also claimed that the taboo grew out of the male’s need to separate himself from his mother. No wonder men behaved as they did in their Personals. They would not only be infringing on another’s privacy if they behaved otherwise, but would also be displaying an inappropriate regression to childhood.

Amy kept her eyes down, ignoring the other women and girls in the common stalls until she reached the rows of shower heads. Two women were entering the private stalls in the back. Amy’s mother had been allowed a private stall some years ago, a privilege her husband had earned for both of them after a promotion, but Amy was not allowed to use it. Other parents might have granted such permission, but hers were stricter; they did not want their daughter getting too used to privileges she had not earned for herself.

She would take her shower now, and put her clothes in the laundry slot to be cleaned; the Personal would be more crowded after dinner. Amy sighed; that wasn’t the only reason to linger here. Her mother would have received the message from Mr. Liang by now. Amy was afraid to go home and face her.

Four women were leaving the apartment as Amy approached. She greeted them absently, and nodded when they asked if she was doing well in school. These were her mother’s more intellectual friends, the ones who discussed sociology and settled the City’s political problems among themselves before moving on to the essential business of tips for stretching quota allowances and advice on child-rearing.

Amy’s mother stepped back as she entered; the door closed. Amy had reached the middle of the spacious living room before her mother spoke. “Where are you going, dear?”