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Miriam, and Savannah. They’d blubber instead of giggle, their pretty faces swollen with tears, ugly from all the crying. Their knees would be raw and bloody from hours of kneeling on grains of uncooked Uncle Ben’s rice. They’d look at her with pleading eyes.
    Please, Nell, let us go.
    Please, Nell, we love you so.
    But it would be too late. Too goddamn late. Nell would stick her hands into a pair of oven gloves. Pluck the pot of boiling water from the stove. And with a pirouette as graceful as Eva Evdokimova’s, she’d spin around and splash the water out of the pot in a ribbon of liquid and steam. They’d scream. Their flesh would turn to soft wax. She’d pry their mouths open with kitchen tongs and pour liquid fire down their throats, scorch their faces, and, with her bare fingers, peel back their blistered skin.
    Nell ducked into the office bathroom, blinked at herself in the mirror. The polyester blouse she’d plucked off the JCPenney sale rack was ruined, but whatever. She hadn’t liked it much anyway. Her sweater, however, was a different matter. The right sleeve of her cardigan was soaked. It was doubtful she’d ever manage to get the stain out.
    Stupid cow.
    Her skin burned beneath the wet blotch that had grown cold and a deeper shade of brown. It was almost pretty, like drying blood.
    A few minutes passed before Linnie returned with a bottle of seltzer water in hand. “They didn’t have lemon juice,” she said, breathless and red-cheeked from her run across the street. “But this should help at least.” She tore a handful of paper towels from the roll on the bathroom counter and soaked them in water that fizzed against the white porcelain sink. Nell watched wordlessly as Linnie began to blot the hem of her shirt, ignoring the wool weave of her sweater to focus on cheap polyester instead. When Linnie leaned in close, Nell breathed deep, inhaling the shampoo scent of her hair. She wondered if Linnie had a boyfriend; if, outside of the office, she was more dangerous than demure. Nell imagined her gasping in the shadowed stairwell of a decrepit apartment building, her face twisted in a mask of lust as she huffed Nell, oh Nell . . . oh Nellett . . . oh Barrett, yes.
    â€œYou know . . .”
    Snap.
    Nell could just about hear the sizzle of her own nerves.
    Linnie paused, as if disturbed by Nell’s dazed expression, then cleared her throat and looked back down to the hem of Nell’s shirt. “You know,” she repeated, her voice soft, her eyes averted, “you shouldn’t let them treat you like that. They think they’re pretty great, but it isn’t right, the way they act. That Mary Ann . . . she’s a bully. They all are.”
    Nell worried her bottom lip between her teeth. Barrett had teased her about that very thing once. Lucky you don’t wear lipstick, sis, or you’d wolf down half a tube every day before lunch. Linnie wore lipstick, her mouth frosted pale pink, reminiscent of Mary Ann’s forgotten doughnut. If Barrett had the chance, would he run off with a girl like Linnie Carter? Would he leave Nell behind for the girl with a cotton-candy mouth and a cubist face?
    â€œDo they bully you ?” Nell asked. Linnie glanced up, seemingly surprised by the question, then shook her head in the negative.
    â€œNo, but I don’t think they’d bully you either if you stood up for yourself. It’s a matter of self-respect.”
    Nell glanced down to the bit of polyester held between Linnie’s fingers. She reached out, allowing her hand to brush against her newfound friend’s. That’s what Linnie was now. A friend. It hadn’t been what Nell had intended, but somehow, in some way, her plan to change her future had worked, and it hadn’t even been that hard.
    Nell leaned in. She wanted to thank her new friend for her help, to brush her lips across