“There’s a lot you don’t know, Olivia,” he says, his voice eerily still.

“I’m starting to realize that,” I say. “But soon—soon everyone is going to know because I’m going to scream it from the rooftops. And I’m not going to stop until the whole world knows who the real Levi Booker is and the lengths you people went through to make sure no one ever found out.”

“Olivia.”

“I’m telling Ana.”

I give him one last look and it’s a long one. I hope he feels what I feel. I hope his skin is crawling. I hope he’s afraid to fall asleep tonight.

And when I’m satisfied—when he knows that all the cards are in my hands—I turn around and start walking towards the subway station.

But Asher’s not done. He leaves me with three final words.

“Ana already knows.”

14

Francesca is fanning through a rack of t-shirts while I try not to fall asleep against a floor-length mirror. We’re at Odds & Ends, my favorite thrift store in Queens, where I’m on a first name basis with the manager. She usually ushers me into the back so I can check out new items before they go on sale. But she’s not working today; the assistant manager is. We are not on a first name basis and he never looks up from his issue of National Geographic to acknowledge me, which I usually find rude, but today I’m too tired to care.

Long story short: Francesca and I are slumming it with the other bargain shoppers.

“What’s your stance on faux-fur?” Francesca asks.

“Love a faux-fur vest,” I yawn. “I’ve been eyeing this purple faux-fur coat at the Skeleton’s Closet in SoHo. It’s children’s sized. My boobs are too big for it, but the rest fits fine, so I just won’t be able to zip it up. I’m waiting for it to go on sale.”

At least I was waiting.

I won’t be buying much of anything until I find a new job.

“I, like, never get to wear fun clothes,” she laughs. “I have a wardrobe of yoga pants and leotards.”

“It must be rewarding, though.”

“It is,” she says. “It’s grueling, but it’s the only thing I’ve ever felt passionate about.”

“That’s great,” I tell her. “You should love what you do, and you’re amazing. Honestly, I could watch you for hours. I wish I could move like that.”

“You should come to a class!”

“I’m not very graceful. I do my best dancing alone in the kitchen,” I laugh. “Or after drinking heavily. Vodka gives me rhythm.”

“I’m not opposed to boozy ballet.”

“Then sign me up!”