The train jolted to a stop, doors hissing open, and we stepped off onto the platform, the morning chill still clinging to the air. Sara led the way, her boots clicking fast on the concrete as we headed out of the station and into the nearby mall, a big glass building buzzing with early shoppers.
I trailed behind, my hands shoved in my pants pockets, my shoulders slumping—already done with this before it even started. She dragged me into a clothing store first, racks of dresses and tops crammed tight, pop music humming low over the speakers, the air smelling like new fabric and perfume.
She darted around, grabbing stuff off hangers—a flowy blue dress, a tight green top, some skirt I didn't even look at—then spun to me, holding them up.
"What do you think, Ezra? Which one will look good on me?" she asked, her voice all chipper, her dark hair bouncing as she tilted her head, waiting.
