Mia
What the hell just happened?
I look at the woman—Jodie, as I’ve learned—who is glaring at Mr. Turner with a scolding expression, though he can’t see it as he walks away from us.
Where am I meant to put these?
I have no laptop. What does he expect me to do—cut the pages out and stick them in a scrapbook?
Clutching the folder to my chest, I ask Jodie, “Where do I go?”
She runs her fingers through her hair, glancing at the door Mr. Turner disappeared through. “Come with me.”
She leads me down the corridor, stopping outside a wooden door with three panels of glass. She opens it and gestures for me to go inside.
A long wooden table sits in the middle of the room, a projector positioned in the center facing a large white wall. Several chairs sit empty around it.
This must be the pla
