I ran my hand over the part that ached and it did feel a little warm. My underwear was wet, I looked awful, and to top things off, my neck still hurt like crazy. I was in a bad mood and I didn’t want to see anyone. “Thanks,” I said, gathering up my books and heading for the hallway with an awkward little wave. Too bad it didn’t do me any more good this time than it had the other times. Mortified, I pulled the jacket closed again and cursed my mother-and the freaky metabolism she’d given me-for what had to be the millionth time. My shirt was clinging to my chest like it had been painted on, and the fact that I was still too cold was … more than obvious. Her voice trailed off and I glanced down, shocked to realize she was right. Your shirt is still pretty damp and it’s kind of …” I was almost dry and only reasonably cold, so I was pretty sure I could make it through the rest of the day without it.īut she gestured for me to keep it. Shoving the thought away-there wasn’t anything I could do about it, anyway-I started to shrug out of Mickey’s jacket. What did it say about me that the prospect was a lot less daunting than what I actually had to face in the next few weeks?
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