I dreamed about nothing, it was all a blank. Nothing but the sky overhead and the dirt under my feet. Nothing but rain that hung in the air without falling.
Nothing but the moon.
“If you’re dead, Miss Ali is going to be really, truly, exceptionally pissed.”
I turned sideways and found Mac standing beside me. For a second, I thought he was like the raindrops and the dirt and the moon, but then he took a step toward me.
“Rossetta.” His voice was dangerously pleasant.
“Yes?”
“Picture, if you will, my feelings about Pierce Brosnan’s performance in the Mamma Mia movie, circa 2008.”
I winced.
“Now,” he continued, “picture someone forcing me to grow a mini-mustache and setting my entire summer wardrobe aflame.”
Uh-oh.
“Mac,” I started to say, but he didn’t give me the chance to finish.
