When I strode up the stairs to the employee entrance of the Library of Congress, my stomach rattled with the sounds of starvation. I'd fled the house before I'd had a chance to eat breakfast, the most important meal of the day. For someone who was supposed to be smart, my lack of intelligence was startling.
Nicole already graced the top step, her enormous tie-dyed bag clutched tight at her side. Her red hair had been piled on top of her head in a high bun, revealing her long, graceful neck. A yellow cord wrapped around it and dipped into the front of her thin, butter-colored shirt.
She smiled and waved. "A bunch of eager beavers, you and me."
"So we are," I said, plopping down next to her. "And I'm not even a morning person. But I skipped breakfast, and I don't know if I'll make it unt
