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Tuesday had never thought of it in those terms, but yes, she didn’t trust people. People, in groups, alone—people disappointed you. That was what they did. They abandoned you. They didn’t believe you. They looked through you like you were made of smoke.
Vince cleared his throat. “Do you believe, Dex Howard,” Vince asked, “that you are real?”
“Yes,” said Lila under her breath. “I am aware I married a fortune cookie.” “In a cape,” said Dex. “Well done.”
The only reason anyone called instead of emailing was because they wanted something they knew they had no business asking for.
he was known for his passion for the arts, his wild fancies, and his fastidious attention to AP Style.
something about the way he held his shoulders, the gleam in his eye, the cackle that was surely at the back of his throat, made Tuesday think he was always wearing an opera cape, even when he wasn’t. It seemed an exhausting way to perform one’s life.
