My shoulders slumped, and I thought I might cry in front of Greta for the first time in years. There were all my secrets, spread out on the table. Like someone had taken my insides and scooped them out for everyone to see. Look, here are her stupid hopes! Look, here’s her dumb soft heart! But then I watched Greta pick up the teapot and pour tea into her mug. It poured out smooth and neat, and not a single drop spilled. She set the teapot back down on the table, running a finger around the lid before picking up her mug. Her
