14 OPHELIA CLARK
October 18
The rain raged with a viciousness that distorted the world beyond the windows of Isra’s Lincoln, smudging the colors and reducing my view of the neighborhood homes, trees, and lawns to blobs. As Isra brought the car to a stop in front of the blurry shape that was my house, I psyched myself up to get soaked while getting to my front door. Before I made a run for it, I turned toward her.
“So what happens now?” I asked.
“This is the part where you get out,” Isra answered with a coy smile. I gave a reluctant nod as I took my jacket off to use as a make-shift tarp over my head. I reached for the door handle, but stopped when I felt Isra’s hand on my shoulder. “Just one more thing,” she said. “Always trust your intuition. It will keep you safe.” I nodded once more
