“Stop looking at me like that.” “Like what? You’re the one drawing pictures of me. Can I see it again? Are there more?” “No. I told you, it’s nothing. People are hard. I was practicing. It’s nothing. I draw random people all the time.” “Like who?” I cross my arms over my chest, my limbs weak and rubbery for an entirely different reason now. I can’t leave this alone. He throws up his hands. “I don’t know. Margaret Thatcher.” I almost choke on my tongue. “Margaret Thatcher?”
