“Mads, can you close up tonight? I promised the band we could run through our new set, and I’m already late.” She throws her crossbody bag on and grabs her keys from the desk. “Please, please, please,” she pleads, and I shake my head no. Sensing she’s losing me, she adds, “I’ll clean the mats for you for a week.” “Sold.” I hold out my hand. “You should have started with that offer.” I hate cleaning the mats after class, and a week of not doing them sounds pretty good. Imogen passes me the spray cleaner and spins her keys. “Thanks, Mads. I owe you one.” “Nope. You owe me a week.” I take the
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