“Okay, you can turn around now,” I told him, confident that I was looking as decent as humanly possible. He put his hands into his pockets and slowly turned to face me. The look on his face didn’t reveal to me anything as to how he felt about the way I looked in his shirt. Of course I would look hideous in it; the color was wrong for me, if I paid any attention to that sort of thing to begin with, and there was no shape to it—or me for that matter. “Thank you for the shirt,” I said, not quite sure exactly what to make of his vacant expression. “And I’m sorry about your jacket and the…er…tantrum.” Nothing. “I do want to know where we are, though. I want to know why you picked me up. I want to know how you knew what I was going to ask before I asked it. And…I want to know why me. Why me of all people?” I rambled. His smile returned. This looked promising. “So many questions from someone who couldn’t even say hello.
