Katie was the antithesis of a California girl, with jet hair and skin the color of the ivory-rose underside of the shell Meg had found on the beach. She was also the most self-assured person Meg had ever met, but her confidence made her selfless and friendly, quick to smile and happy to forge her own path in life. Katie wore jeans when it was ninety degrees, but occasionally forgot to don shoes when she left the apartment. Her lips were striking, no matter the time of day, in a shade of cheap Revlon lipstick that reminded Meg of apples, so shiny and smooth, it seemed a reflection played off the pout of her ample mouth. Best of all, her long arms and the soft curve of her shoulders and upper back were resplendent with a rabble of tiny butterfly tattoos in the colors of a pastel rainbow. Meg often looked at her friend and was overwhelmed with a feeling of serenity, as if the girl was so gentle, so safe, she collected fragile, winged wonders around her. Though Meg felt neither fragile nor winged, it seemed a gift to find herself rooming with a young woman who made her experience a sense of unexpectedly deep peace.
