Dora screwed up her face. It wasn't that she really wanted to admit this, but - well, if they were going to die, it was best to do it on a clear conscience, right?
"You promise not to freak out or yell at me or any of that?" she mumbled. "'Cause if we're gonna die, then I should tell you, but I don't want you to yell at me, either."
Blinking rapidly, Dora pressed her lips together, feeling the same sort of panic her mother was. "Would she do that? D'you think she'd think of it? I mean - is your handwriting similar to hers? And they'd know, right? I mean, they'd know that we wouldn't be allowed to write, that it'd be a trap--" She fell short. They'd know, but they'd take that chance anyhow.
She sighed. "It might work though. I think I can do her good enough to pass. I've been watching her, and I think I might be able to pull it off."