Friday, after classes, Appie dragged Baron with her, her hand hooked through his arm like he might run away if she didn’t.
“We need to be dressed,” she declared, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Tomorrow is important. Very important.”
He didn’t ask what was happening tomorrow. He knew it wouldn’t matter—Appie would tell him, in her own way, when she felt like it.
“Ideally,” she continued, weaving him through the crowd toward the boutique street, “we should have had more time. A bespoke suit, cut and sewn just for you. But since we don’t, we’ll have to make do.”
“Make do?” he asked.
She tilted her chin proudly. “With the best boutique in the city, of course. Not one of the big brands. No, no. Those are for the people who want to be seen. This place—it’s for the peopl
