a romantic aura, Sukie called it a rendezvous. “My rendezvous tomorrow with Bobo,” she said to the mirror. She placed her palm on her heart and filled her face with sincerity, an activity that required pushing her breath into her cheeks until saliva bubbled up behind her lips. When a bit of drool broke the mood, she gave herself a strict talking-to. “No expectations.” She decided to make a “flatman.” Sukie’s mom had taught her this: to select the clothes she planned to wear the following day and lay them on the carpet the night before in the shape of a flatman. She tried on dozens of things, and, to avoid bad luck, rehung them all precisely—the collars on blouses and jackets turned down and matching, all shoulders even, jeans clipped so the legs fell to the exact same length. She retied the bow on her scooped-neck blouse six times until it was a vision in symmetry, and reset her shoes side by side neat as bottom teeth. Everything even, even, even. Once she’d arranged her selections on the floor and admired the look, she stripped to her bikini underpants, pulled on an oversized T-shirt, and crawled into bed.
What do You think about The Girl With The Mermaid Hair?
