And he's pressing into her and she into him, bodies shivering, like they are two scared, lost children, starving, starving to be touched, to be held, by someone, anyone, the first one they can find who seems familiar enough, safe enough, strong enough to rescue them. They breathe, heavy. Hard. Their fingers strain at cotton. And then they slow down. Stop. Hold. Rest. Before one of them, or both, begins to sob. Before they break another piece that needs to be fixed.

I highly regret this day in advance.

She sits in the driveway, freezing, for thirty-six minutes. Arguing with herself. Because she thinks she's in love with him too. And there are two ways she can be a fool in love right now. She chooses the harder one. And knocks on the door.

Feels like I'm in a play and I don't know all my lines.

With practice, you will master your own dreams.

He moves like a dancer.

Janie blinks and leans against the wall, just in case. But it's no one's dream. It's just the end of some things. And the beginning of others.