Julia taps a finger against her chin. “If she just shifts the bottom half of her torso toward the right …” “… and her upper half to the left …” Maureen finishes, adjusting my shoulders so I manage just the right curve to her eye. The two of them take a few steps away to observe their handiwork, while I stand there, frozen in this one position. Then they engage in further debate about the angle of my hand and the twist of my back, for what might be seconds, minutes, or hours for all I know. My attention drifts elsewhere. Ever since Tanner walked me home, I’ve been thinking about him. Soon I’m imagining him sitting up in the imaginary stands at a meet, tense as he watches me compete at Regionals, all his focus on my every move, how amazing I am, how graceful and perfect. You know, that sort of thing. A girl can dream, right? “Joey. Joey!” Bright red-painted nails snap in front of my face. Maureen looks at me with exasperation. “Where are you tonight?” “Sorry,”
