SEVENTY-SIX
I eyed off the armchairs, wanting to sag into one and knowing that I couldn't. I had to sit with perfect posture and poise, as if this was a job interview. In a way, perhaps it was.
"Grab a seat," our escort directed, listening to something over his headset. He waved at the chairs and walked away.
I carefully sat down in the middle chair, where I'd be facing front. The same girl who'd fixed my dress helped me smooth my skirt. "Good luck," she whispered. I managed to smile in response.
I glanced at Nathan to my right. His smile seemed as rigid as mine and his hand tightened over my fingers. Wonderful. My support was as scared as I was. We were screwed. They wouldn't believe a word of our story and a few well-placed questions would pick it apart like frayed hessian.
The inte
