22Yulia
I don’t know how long I sit there, trying to find a comfortable position on the hard chair, but eventually, a quiet rapping on the window draws my attention. Startled, I look up and see the girl who was watching me before—the one with the rounded face. She’s standing outside, her nose pressed to the glass as she stares at me. I don’t see her friend, so she must’ve come alone this time.
“Hello?” I call out, unsure whether she speaks English or would even be able to hear me through the glass. “Who are you?”
She hesitates for a second, then asks, “Where’s Lucas?” Her voice is barely audible through the window, but I can tell that her English is of the American variety, with only a trace of a Spanish accent.
“I don’t know. He left a little while ago,” I say, studying her as thoroug
