“Hannah.”
“Laptop charger.”
Noor stands.
“Are you leaving?”
“Yes.”
“With him?”
I stop.
Fourteen people are staring at me.
Maybe sixteen now.
Someone appeared in the doorway.
Fantastic.
I shove my toothbrush into the bag.
“Basketball boy’s place.”
Nothing.
Not one sound.
Lila’s mouth opens.
Closes.
Opens again.
I should photograph this.
I may never achieve silence in her presence again.
“Tonight?” she finally asks.
“That is generally when overnight bags are used.”
Maeve whispers, “Kane Haverhill?”
I throw in my laptop.
“No. His eighty-seven-year-old grandfather.”
“Hannah!”
“I’m kidding.”
Noor looks like she has stopped processing language.
“You’re sleeping at Kane Haverhill’s?”
“I am sleeping.”