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“Are you cold?” He asked her, cocking his head to one side like a puppy, so close that the heat of his words warmed her cheek. Michelle was only a junior, the same year as herself. A sound sleeper, she was not roused by the creaky openings and closings of drawers as Lucy packed a single duffle bag with underwear and soap that was pilfered from a multipack of Zest in the Beck’s downstairs bathroom. And he liked her. ’ ‘How dare you?’ roared the general. To witness this girl sewing on a loose button, flopping the coat about on her knees, tickled his ironic sense of humour; and laughter bubbled into his throat. But the first one was brought home, and it was the beginning of the end. She imagined descending the stairs, hearing Mike’s uproarious laughter as she peeked around a vacant corner with a lump in her throat. Her interest grew as she read, a certain distaste disappeared. She wanted to return his gaze but focused intently on a spot next to and above the brick fireplace, as her music teachers had always taught her to do instead of looking directly at the audience.
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