The weather didn’t help my mood when I arrived at Logan International Airport in Boston. My nose was stuffed up from the airplane pressure changes, and the low clouds spat a misty rain that I knew would wreck my dark hair into a cloud of frizz even if I pulled it back.
Suddenly my strategy of pretending this trip was a new triumphant beginning—well, allowing my mother to bully me into it in the first place—seemed the dumbest thing I’d ever done. Second dumbest thing. The first, of course, was letting my doctor talk me into the contaminated flu shot that gave me CLS. Okay, this would be the third dumbest thing, the second being pursuing Leo Bowman, who’d dropped me for someone less attractive but smarter.
Well, maybe the fourth…
I was so caught up in my self-recrimination, having documen
