As we approach the sixth floor, George looks down at the ground where I was standing. He frowns at me. “You got glitter all over the floor.” I look down. He’s right. There must have been a glitter pocket trapped in the sole of my shoe, because there’s now glitter all over the floor of the elevator. I’m telling you—worse than herpes. “Sorry,” I mumble. He raises his eyebrows at me. “Aren’t you going to clean that up?”
