Twenty-one.
Alida could remember twenty-one. Barely. A classmate had thrown a joint party, pretty, happy American girl who loved speaking English and candy and rock-and-roll. Redheaded and bookish, her parents would never have allowed her to throw a party on her own and Alida allowed herself to be talked into an overly extravagant affair which culminated in several scandals.
Alida had never liked parties.
Twenty-one nights after she stumbled into the Nexus she was leaning out of one of the upstairs windows when she let go of the windowsill and let herself fall. Partially to see what would happen. Partially because there was no one to stop her, to make remarks or look at her askance or tell her not to. Partially because it hurt not to and the pain of feeling her bones knit themselves properly over the next hour or so was a welcome respite.
She needed to find Marc. Badly.
Alida had never liked parties.
Twenty-one nights after she stumbled into the Nexus she was leaning out of one of the upstairs windows when she let go of the windowsill and let herself fall. Partially to see what would happen. Partially because there was no one to stop her, to make remarks or look at her askance or tell her not to. Partially because it hurt not to and the pain of feeling her bones knit themselves properly over the next hour or so was a welcome respite.
She needed to find Marc. Badly.