My eyes cut to the right, gaze catching on the small black infinity symbol inked into Izzy’s wrist. I have the same one, in the exact same spot, just under the heel of my palm. We got them last winter. Older brother of a kid in our class did them. “Eyes like smiles like figure eights,” I sing quietly.
Izzy smirks, singing back whisper-light, “Girl, you got me spinnin’…”
