Serafina
By mid-morning my nerves were shredded. I hadn’t touched breakfast, just wore a path between my window and the door, every step ending on the same thought: if Dante finds out, I’m finished.
Amelia sprawled across my bed like this was a lazy Sunday instead of a problem with teeth.
“Okay,” she said, clapping once. “I’m here. What’s the plan?”
“There isn’t one,” I said, which was only half a lie.
“Wrong answer.” She sat up, eyes bright. “You don’t sneak. You cover. What if I go with you and we ‘just happen’ to run into him? Totally innocent. If anyone asks, you were with your cousin the whole time.”
I stopped pacing. “And when I actually sit down with him?”
“I peel off to another table,” she said, like it was obvious. “He gets ten minutes. You get privacy. I stay close
