12
Rada is in our room when I get there, her curly red locks spread across her pillow as I bury my face in my own, resisting the urge to sob. The only thing that could make this day worse is having to face the rest of it with red puffy cry face.
There’s a weight on my bed as Rada joins me, and the warmth of her palm on my back.
“You okay?” she asks.
“No,” I yell into my pillow. “I couldn’t catch a horse, and the big Russian god-woman just told me to be a stripper’s assistant.”
“Strippers have assistants?” Rada asks, and I roll over, wiping away the last of my tears.
“Sorry, no. She called me a stripper, but she told me to apply to be a magician’s assistant.”
“Oh, yeah,” Rada says, rolling r’s and dropping her voice low like, Devana’s. “Pretty girls, kut in half. Zip.” She makes the
