She really is wonderful, and things have never been so good between us. It’s almost like the unpleasantness of being accused of killing someone dealt with that awkward moment between Kinnesberg and me a few weeks ago. We’re closer than I ever expected, and it feels good. Right. Like we were always destined to be like this.
On the inside of my forearm, there was a pink mark where my arm had thawed. My eyes widened with shock. There, perfectly formed in my reddened skin, was a child-size handprint. I glanced around, doing a full sweep, listening for what I then knew was a giggle. I wondered if I could follow the breeze, and set off in the direction she took.
I quirked an eyebrow. I agreed to an interview about me, not Asterson. Suddenly, I wasn’t sure I wanted to do the interview anymore. I shifted in my seat and looked back over at Rebecca, who was turning her attention to me. “Pollo, what do you know about the mysterious Thomas Asterson?”
Mr. Weis looked up at me in surprised confusion from behind his glasses, which now sat crooked on his face. It took him a second to realize what had happened. There wasn’t a trace of anger or irritation on his face. In fact, his eyes were filled with nothing but respect.