16 July 2027
Friday. Fourteen people came up my stairs tonight, all wearing the same lanyards. They said they were a team. A team of what, I asked. Of sales, they said. I have never wanted to know less about anything.
Twelve is my limit. It has always been my limit. So the grown-ups split them up: some came to me, and the others went down the hall to the older me, and both doors shut at exactly the same moment. Two houses, one team, the same hour. I liked that. It was like a race.
Mine finished with a lot of shrieking. Hers came out very quiet and pale, and sat on the floor, and somebody said ‘never again’ and somebody else said ‘next year’.
Then they all went down Lake Street to a restaurant to tell each other about it. Nobody invites me to the restaurant. Margery says I would only stare.
— Cathy (please come back)
