It was exhausting to make so many decisions, to give preferences. Mama had never really worried about Zoe’s clothes unless her daughter was growing again, and that was always high-stress.
Zo couldn’t stop her body lengthening and costing money for fresh cloth covers. Still, sometimes she’d tried, concentrating fiercely while lying in bed, attempting to will herself into shrinking while her bones stretched without her consent, arms and legs grinding with the deep, desperate pains only young creatures know.
Pretty impossible, and obviously irrational—kids grew, it was what they did—but Zoe still felt the same old bite of shame, and was relieved when they left the building, hurriedly remembering her gloves and tugging them on so hard she was afraid she’d tear them. At least Jack didn’t have
