“I like them,” she told Cat. “They’re almost Bollywood but slower, no? How do you say their name again?” “Like ‘Suzy,’” said Cat into her cavernous, dark closet. “Siouxsie and the Banshees. They’re totally old school, right?” She parted and reparted the dark curtains of her wardrobe, tossing this and that onto the bed. “Thank you again for lending me clothes,” said Sejal, who at that moment was wearing a pair of Cat’s jeans and a cast-and-crew T-shirt from her high school production of My Fair Lady. “It’s perfect. I used to be more Elizabethan, but now I’m strictly Batcave, so I was probably going to sell these clothes anyway.” Cat had taken to the task of dressing Sejal with great enthusiasm, as though she’d been sent a huge doll with MADE IN INDIA stamped on the foot. “Are you okay? You seem a little fidgety.” “I am like that only. And I’m anxious about school. I—I feel I should tell you I’ve sometimes had panic attacks. Not for a long time now, but…I do not want to freak you out.”
