Now the long brown feathers dangling from Bernie’s hair rustled as she tugged on them. I wondered if they were from a craft shop or plucked from the grass around Magnolia Banks Lake. She leaned forward to examine the computer screen, which contoured her face in a shadowy glow. “It looks like we lost resolution when we changed the dimensions of this image,” she said. I sighed. “It’s past midnight. Can we go back to Paso Fino and look at this in the morning?” “I’m printing a mock-up,” she said, ignoring me. The legs of the plastic chair scraped against the linoleum and I shuffled over to the printer. Bernie and I had been in the basement computer lab since eating a quick dinner in Georgian Grande hours ago, and she didn’t show any interest in returning to the dorm soon. When I turned around, I was surprised to see Bernie chewing on one of the feathers in her hair, her shoulders arched to her ears as she leaned forward. Her tense posture betrayed her personality. She usually looked like she was on the verge of mediation.
