“What about you, then?” she shouted.
“I’m Ruby!”
Izzy thought that if they hadn’t been shouting, Ruby’s voice would have been husky. It had that edge to it. She had that edge to her, anyway. She was shorter than Izzy, just enough to probably be of a height when Izzy wasn’t wearing heels. With heels on, Izzy brushed the other side of six foot, which she loved more than most people, probably. She’d once cried on her mum’s shoulder that she felt like an elephant compared to all the other girls (and, what was worse, boys) in her class, and her mum had petted her head, then said, Isabel? Great Danes don’t produce chihuahuas. It had been so absurd, it had actually comforted.
She liked the way she towered over Ruby, because it didn’t feel as if she should be able to. Ruby was tall and lanky bu
