Maybe all this is still just some elaborate act I’m getting the hang of. Maybe—no, definitely—I stillhave no idea what I’m doing, or if I’ve done the right thing. But the difference is that now I’m the kindof person who tries to save herself, who will do anything to do it. The kind who has hope that thingscan get better. For herself. For her mom.
And—I can see it in the foreign reflection staring back at me from the gold-framed mirror—thatcounts for something.
I exhale, set my shoulders, then tilt my chin. It’s go time.
Back outside, Ludmil is seated off in some shadowy corner on his phone with Chowder under hischair, and Mario is clapping like a kid who just got a Batman blow-up castle for his birthday.
“You’ll see!” he’s enthusing, “Your skin after this
