Chapter Twenty-Five
“Stop fidgeting.” I pressed the collar of Mari’s shirt as flat as it would go.
“These clothes feel funny,” Mari said.
“They feel clean,” Jac said.
Mari rubbed her legs together, like she wanted to hear the blue fabric of her pants swishing against itself.
“If you fuss with your clothes, they’ll know you aren’t used to them.” I resisted the urge to trail my fingers along the soft fabric of my new, gray sweater.
Jac had spent an entire day slathering us with goo, prodding us with needles, and shoving medicine down our throats. But it was the clothes that made me feel like I’d slipped into a stranger’s body.
“You’ll have to get used to wearing something other than crusty rags.” Jac tapped away on the tablet in her hand. “Your belongings will be meeting you at your n
