Cindy pulled fourteen thick white candles from her backpack.
They were small and smelled of vanilla, cinnamon, and nutmeg - a combination that reminded me of my mother's oatmeal.
We placed them on the carpet next to my bed in the shape of a seven-pointed star.
I shut off the lights.
The sun was setting, and brilliant orange, pink, and golden rays glinted across my shadowed room.
"Is there a reason for the scented candles?" I asked as she and I sat cross-legged in the center of them. Our knees almost touched. We were super close, but the position was like second nature to her and me.
She shrugged. "No, I just like the smell."
"Me, too." I smiled. Nervous butterflies doing the hula in my stomach. "Now what?"
"Shhhhh," she said. "I'm concentrating."
"Oops." I stifled a giggle.
S
