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water for 15 minutes just because she could.  There was no possible way it could not be more relaxing than the showers found in most United States homes. 
    She threw her dirty clothes on the floor and stepped onto a raised circular platform.  Shivering, she jabbed her index finger at the black button on the panel against the wall to lower a Plexiglas covering that sealed her inside.  She pressed a red button for warm water and waited for the ring of nozzles overhead to descend.  The ring fit perfectly inside the tube shower.  She stood still and closed her eyes as the ring passed over her body from head to—what she thought were eerily long and too thin—toes slowly.  Strong jets of lukewarm water that smelled faintly of chlorine saturated her hair.  Dresden raised her hands to her head and ran her fingers through her new haircut to shed any loose strands of hair.  The ring of pressurized water came to a stop at her feet and began its creeping ascension, this time misting her flawless skin with liquid soap.  For extra protection, Dresden placed her palms flat against her face.  She could smell the rose soap through the gaps between her fingers and she impatiently waited for the ring to move downward once again with water.
    There was little time for deep thought in the three-minute shower, and even if she did have time to think, her mind was filled with curse words to describe how cold she was in between the cycles of water covering her body.  Dresden was not relieved to be rinsed two more times, but she was overjoyed when the ring overhead whirred loudly, even if the sound was deafening.  Warm air blew from the nozzles as the ring inched downward.  By the time the ring passed her head the first time, her hair was almost dry.  She ran her fingers through her hair after the ring’s second pass and there was no trace of dampness. 
    The Plexiglas covering lifted from the platform and retracted back into the ceiling.  She grabbed her golden robe from the hook to her left and nuzzled the plush fabric against her chest before putting it on and tying the sash tightly around her slender waist.  She glanced in the mirror briefly and felt surprisingly satisfied with her haircut.  It was not as poofy as she imagined it would be.  Though slightly frizzy at the crown and uneven at the ends, it looked as if she had purposely styled her hair to be messy but cute, a look the girls at her school seemed to practice for hours to achieve.  Her look was carefree and wasted none of her time.
    By the time she picked her dirty clothes up off the heated emerald green tile floor, she had made the decision to sneak out of the house and ride her bike to the transmitter site.  There was no reasoning behind her choice, other than the nagging curiosity behind a Gaia in town.  It made little sense to her.  Why would a Gaia travel to Easton?  A painful pit in the center of her stomach told her it had something to do with the meetings she suspected were taking place on the Wotomack Bridge.  If she could not extract data from the transmitter to her rubberized bracelet with a microchip embedded in the thick pink band, perhaps she would get lucky and witness the Gaia closer than most people she knew.  She had to follow the feeling.  It was holding her hostage until she did what it told her to do.
    Dresden exited the bathroom and entered the first bedroom on the right side of the hall.  She could hear Pierre screeching curse words and she smiled to herself.  Ever since Dresden’s mother attempted to bathe him in the kitchen sink, he hated her.  Angelica tried bribing the macaw with treats and new toys, but Pierre wasn’t letting go of his grudge.  That bird was crazy.  He reacted the same way to strangers, though, so Angelica accepted she ticked off the bird and agreed to keep him around as what she called a ‘guard bird.’  If the bird never came to forgive her, Angelica thought, at least the family would always know if