He knocks on my door at seven. By now I’ve had two mental breakdowns, a small wardrobe crisis, a blood leak when I attempted to shave a second time for no reason, and three showers—one after I got blood on everything, another after I accidentally bathed in cologne, and a third when all this stress has caused me to sweat too much. The skin on my fingertips is old-man wrinkly. I have drunk enough lemon and ginger tea to make me want to puke. And when I open the door, I trip on my shoes and bang my forehead against the jamb.
“Hi!” Tom is smiling down at me. “Ready?”
He looks the same as he did at lunch, except that he’s thrown a hoodie over his T-shirt.
“Yes,” I say. “I—I think so.”
“Okay, come on.”
I wrap my new shawl around my neck, and pull my hat over my ears. He smiles as he sees me
