But he was sure to be online at midnight, as she’d asked. Wasn’t he? She wrote a little note reminding him, and read it over once, twice, a third time. Then she sighed and deleted it. She’d already asked him to be there. Nothing was more pathetic than multiple messages saying the same thing. Wait—could she maybe send a note about something else, and then add the part about being online at midnight very, very casually, at the end? That would be fine … except she could think of nothing else to say. And anyway, it was only an hour away. She thought of checking in on Paliopolis, of looking for him there, but somehow Paliopolis had lost its savor. She kept seeing Mrs. Fisher’s smug face. Addiction. She’d show them. She fingered her imaginary hatpin. The Elf had to be on tonight. Was he truly mad at her, or was she making that up? Why had she made that crack about him selling papers? She was so utterly stupid. Skye would be disgusted. Spontaneity is fine, she’d say. But there are things you shouldn’t do without thinking first.
