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before it seeped through my fingers. I’d run globs of liquid soap from the dispenser down my arms and through my hair before cupping my hands again to rinse. Then I’d kneel below the hand dryer, hoping the burst of air would dry my hair so that no one would notice. I’d pray that no one would walk in and see me. It usually took four tries under the hand dryer to dry my hair enough.
    I undress quickly and wiggle down into the tub, wincing in pain. My wounds are stinging but the heat of the water is comforting. The bathroom is all white and spotless. There is not a speck of dirt or dust to be seen. This is what I imagined Mrs. Duggleman’s house to be like, I realize. I breathe deeply, inhaling the intoxicating scent of the bubbles and I feel my muscles start to relax. I squeeze a huge glob of shampoo into my open palm, the fruity smelling liquid trailing down my forearm. I want to be sure that I smell nice for them, that I’m all clean.
    A few minutes later, Shelley knocks at the door and asks if she can come in. I straighten and tense up again, but I’m mostly covered in bubbles so I say yes.
    She gasps when she sees the marks on my body, but then composes herself.
    â€œAre you doing okay?” she asks. “Do you need anything?” I politely tell her no. “May I take these and wash them?” she asks. Before I can protest she scoops up my sweaty clothes and sets some clean clothing down on the floor. I breathe a sigh of relief as she closes the door softly behind her. I sink down into the water to rinse the shampoo from my hair.
    A moment later I hear voices, and I realize Shelley’s husband must be home. I quickly stand up from the tub and reach for the towel. It is so thick that it feels like a blanket and I long to wrap myself in it fully, but even the pillowy threads of cotton aren’t soft enough against the stinging wounds.
    I unfold the outfit that Shelley has brought in and quickly try it on. I’m without underwear, but the pants are a soft, fleecy material and feel comfortable nonetheless. I slip the plain T-shirt over my head. It feels great to be so clean and to smell so good.
    â€œOh, Bernice, you’re out!” Shelley remarks when she sees me standing in the hallway. My hair is dripping down my back, forming a large wet circle on the back of my shirt. “Luke!” she calls. “Come and meet Bernice!”
    A handsome man dressed in a suit rounds the corner. He’s got a wide smile and holds out his hand for me to shake. I do so, a bit apprehensive.
    â€œHi, Bernice,” he says, his voice deep. “My name is Luke. I’ve brought home an early supper for us. I thought you might be hungry.” For once, I can’t help but smile. I’m famished and I can smell whatever he’s brought. My stomach is grumbling.
    I follow them into their kitchen and dining room, both exquisitely decorated and clean. There are two pizza boxes sitting on the countertop and Shelley has set the table with plates and napkins. She’s put out a jug of milk and three kinds of juices. I quickly scoop up a couple of slices of pizza and finish them before Luke and Shelley have filled their plates. They look over at me in surprise but say nothing.
    After the meal, Shelley asks if I’d like to go shopping. On our way out, she glances down at my running shoes, which are ratty and worn. She makes a remark about getting new shoes too.
    We arrive at a huge mall, the size of several city blocks. There are quite a few shoppers, many of them well dressed. We pass a teenage girl who is holding up a hanger with a pretty blue dress on it in front of her chest. She asks for her friend’s opinion. “I wouldn’t be caught dead in that!” Her friend tells her. I chew on my lower lip as we pass, feeling embarrassed because I like the dress a lot.
    â€œI was just joking around,” the girl holding the dress says. “It is pretty ugly.”