I paused, realizing I’d been typing my thoughts about John instead of polishing the climactic battle scene that would decide Captain Caruso’s fate.
Concentrate, Nora.
A knock on the door.
I turned toward the sound, catching my reflection in the mirror that hung there.
The keyboard imprint hadn’t entirely faded—dehydration, probably—and my hair looked like I’d cuddled with an electric fence.
Another knock.
What was with these people? Why was I suddenlysopopular?
I briefly considered pretending to be asleep. Or possibly dead.
But then I imagined Charlene’s expression if I missed half the morning again.
“Sorry, I’m busy. And naked!”
I cringed. That… soundedwrong.
Footsteps shuffled outside. Then receded.
Thank god.
I opened the photo album on my phone, ignoring the jolt of seeing John and me so close together, and tried to read the agenda I’d snapped a pic of yesterday.
Nothing until 2 p.m.
When I was sure the coast was clear, I opened the door?—
And nearly stepped into breakfast.
A plate of eggs and tomatoes.
A bowl of porridge drizzled with honey.
And—God bless caffeine—a giant, steaming cup of black coffee.
I carried the tray inside and set it on the bed, wondering who my secret chef was.
Then I saw the squirrel mug.
Ah.May.
I stretched out on the bed and texted Otis.
Hey Oaty Schmoaty. How’s the stage fright?
Three dots popped up almost instantly.
Lots of panic. Very little disco. Miss you.
Miss you too. You’ll be amazeballs. Because you always are.
That should be your middle name, really.
In fact, changing your name in my phone right now to Oatcake Amazeballs.
