I haven’t been going to see my mother as much. If she sees my face, she’ll read me like a book. I have to tell her about the dance, however. She’ll almost surely attend herself. Especially since by this point she knows all the staff and has no fear of running into someone who might recognize her like Sasha Drozdov did. So I visit her the day before the dance, knowing she’s sure to give me shit for trying to avoid her. “Who’s that?” she says, pretending to peer through her fake glasses. “I don’t recognize you—have we met before?” “Ha, ha,” I say, and then quietly, because a library is one of
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