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say that?” Giggle. There was a long pause as Mrs. Kimble’s gaze darted nervously from Amanda to the hallway.
    Her anxiety was contagious, so I wanted to flee the area quickly. “You wanted me for something?” I prompted her.
    â€œOh, yes, of course.” She’d been focused on Amanda, a confused look on her face, but now she turned to me and her expression grew more sure. “Yes, I was going to ask that you escort”—she paused before speaking the name, afraid to get it incorrect again—”Amanda to her next class.”
    â€œSure,” I said. I turned to look at Amanda. She reminded me somehow of a painting, maybe a van Eyck or a Michelangelo. It wasn’t that she was beautiful, exactly (though I guess she was), it was more that she was . . . timeless, like the Mona Lisa or Botticelli’s The Birth of Venus. I felt both that I’d seen her face before—that I recognized it—and also that there was no one like her in the entire universe.
    I realized I’d been staring, and I got embarrassed, but Amanda seemed not to mind. Or maybe not to notice.
    Mrs. Kimble, on the other hand, appeared ready to pass out from anxiety. “Very well!” she screeched, and she gave a nervous clap of her hands. “Well, that’s settled. And I’m sure you’ll find Hal makes a lovely guide .”
    And suddenly I wasn’t the only one who was staring. Amanda looked at me so intensely I had the sensation I’d never been looked at before.
    Or maybe it was that I’d never been seen before.
    It couldn’t have been more than a moment that passed, but somehow it seemed we’d been standing there forever.
    â€œYes,” she said finally. “I’m sure he will make a lovely guide.”
    Callie was shaking her head in mock despair. “Hal, you can’t seriously tell me you don’t remember her wearing this dress.”
    The moment, the meeting—it was all burned into my memory. But whether she’d been wearing a pair of jeans or a ball gown, no way could I have said.
    I shook my head. “Sorry,” I admitted. “I’m drawing a blank.”
    â€œHal,” Callie sighed. “Sometimes you’re such a guy.”
    â€œYou say that like it’s a bad thing,” I said, mock defensively.
    â€œNo,” Callie said quickly. “I just meant . . . I just meant, yes, I’m sure it’s the same dress.” Our eyes met for a second and then she looked away and brushed something off her shoulder. The red of her hair shone against the dress she was holding, and I made a mental note to someday paint her wearing a gray dress.
    â€œHal, Callie.” Nia’s voice was a whisper, and when we looked her way, she gestured for us to come closer. We went over to where she was sitting and kneeled beside her. “Louise texted me. She said she had Amanda’s stuff. But when I got here, she wouldn’t tell me how she got it.”
    As if drawn over by our discussion of her, Louise suddenly appeared between two towers of boxes. “So, you found it.”
    Nia stood up, still holding the sparkly red shoes. “You knew we would. That’s why you texted me to come.”
    Louise shrugged. “Oh, I texted you?”
    â€œYou know you did. How did you get my number?” Nia folded her arms across her chest in a position I’d come to recognize as her don’t-try-and-put-one-over-on-me-mister stance.
    â€œMaybe a little bird gave it to—” Louise broke off; the sound of a car pulling into the empty parking lot her customers used made us all turn our heads toward the door.
    â€œWhy are you—” Nia began, but Louise put a hand up to silence her. I don’t know if it was Louise’s impressive bicep or her own confusion, but Nia shut her mouth. A moment later, we heard the car pull away.
    â€œLotta strange people been coming by here lately,” Louise said,