He sits back against the wall. “Hey,” he says, like he’s just thought of something. He has my tail twined around his arm again from wrist to elbow. He lets go, and it slithers away. (I can control the tail if I think about it, but it mostly moves of its own accord.) I rest on my heels. We should sit like this more often—I like the way Baz looks, looking up at me. He wipes his mouth with his butterfly-blue cuff.
