[ A N D R E A ]

I sigh and drop my jacket's hood, giving Preethi a flat look. "Do you seriously not rem—" Hold on. She's panicked; maybe not a good time to be sarcastic to her. I raise my hands. "I'm...Andrea. Andrea Gelman? Ring a bell?"

"Jeez, Andrea—I forget you do that shifting thing." Preethi slaps me on the arm, sighing in relief. My shoulders dip in comfort; I shed my jacket, hanging it beside the door. "Yeah. You use that face to scurry off when things get tough! I remember now. Like that time I told you to meet Robbie. He was cute! I dunno what you didn't see in him..."

"The first thing Robbie boasted about was his gun collection. He had 55 guns. And he wanted kids. A lot of kids. Already. You don't remember? He kept saying that with my chest's size, I'd be great at nursing kids, that creep...so I left before we even had the appetizer down."

I'm trying to move, get to my room, but Preethi's in a talkative mood. I keep trying to side-step her, but she closes in, excited. She has an idea; I can tell. I don't want ideas—I just want a warm shower.

"How about, um, Liz?" Preethi says, blocking my way through the narrow hallway.

"She was sweet. But she got handsy really fast. Even when I asked to slow down. So I went to the bathroom and..."

"Flor?" Preethi's running through everyone she's set me up with.

I glare at her. "Pree, I—"

"Flor?" she asks again. I sigh. Cave. Flor was cute. They had amazing fashion; leather jackets and colorful shirts. Their makeup was always fantastic, too. I wanted to get lessons from them.

"They were cute, but..."

"But what?"

"I don't know. I think I got nervous and just...said I got along well with them, and that we'd be great friends, but I didn't have that spark."

"But you did have that spark?"

"Yes." I wave my hands and step past Preethi once she gets out of the way. "It doesn't matter."

The hallway opens up to the main room—kitchen and living room in one. Only, it's...a mess. Cookware strewn around. Chairs pulled out. Papers and trash scattered.

I turn and give my suitemate a raised brow.

"I got inspired, okay? And anyway, with all of this freaking violence everywhere, I can't even focus on job applications! Ugh! So inconsiderate..."

It reminds me of what I just went through, and I take a minute, shutting my eyes, leaning against the wall. Preethi continues.

"...I mean, werewolves are hot, sure. And I know I should like them, I mean—I was a teenage girl once. But they're so hairy. And they smell like dogs! And they do this shit and blow stuff up and—"

"Hey." I face her, scowling. "You seriously want to continue to spew those stereotypes? How many stereotypes have you had to dispel about yourself?" I look her up and down, her deeply brown skin.

Preethi huffs, folding her arms across her chest. "Well, you're not wrong...but I did hook up with a werewolf once, and he was hairy."

"At least he won't be cold in the winter." I step to the fridge and glance at all the magnets and photos. Preethi loves to travel; she's visited over thirty countries and counting. There are magnets from each place. Photos of her and some friends from college, post-college, work. Another of Preethi and her family—her four siblings, all older than her; all boys. And, standing shorter than everyone else, her two grinning parents. Seeing it makes my heart hurt a little.

There's a little corner dedicated to me. My alma mater, a small state school—then Columbia for my graduate program. A photo of my favorite pizzeria in Buenos Aires, Las Cuartetas. Me as kid, crowded Miami Beach behind me, arms out, parents standing on either side. I smile a little, missing Miami's warmth. And mugginess, strangely enough.

"You look spooked. Everything alright?" Preethi asks as I pull the water filter from the fridge, pouring a glass. My hands are shaking, I notice. Still.

I shut my eyes and focus on reverting back. I focus on my face, each feature—the tight curls of black hair. The strong nose that everyone but me hates. The tired eyes, full lips, perpetual neutral-scowl; the short, curvy body—

It rips through me. I fall onto the ground, but I'm back to myself. My skin stings. Too soon to shift back. I should've waited a little bit. Shifts need time. Overextending my body can lead to disaster; organs in the wrong place, too many features, things permanently altered, whatever. Shifting is a delicate art, and I've only ever been self-taught. No guide, no resources. Which makes it all the more dangerous.

Preethi shudders, facing away. "That's gross, you know."

I need a few moments before I can talk. I glare at her, reaching up, bringing the glass of water down to the floor. "I'm aware."

Skilled, trained shifters can alter themselves gracefully. It's entrancing, apparently. It used to be a show that people would pay for, hundreds of years ago; royalty watching shifters onstage mimic and mock their political enemies, or mimic the royals themselves, going between faces, bodies. Even becoming monsters, engaging in fake-fights, whatever—

We're useful. Dangerously useful.

Maybe that's why we're now nearly extinct, my type of shifter—whatever it is. There's little recorded history on us. We became spies for different regimes, rulers. Even in the Cold War, trained for espionage, like psychics and seers.

I rub my cheeks and lean against the cabinet, shutting my eyes. Preethi moves to sit on the floor beside me, following my movements.

"You still didn't answer my question." she says.

I don't want to think about it. But it's a rare moment of care and consideration from Preethi, and she's the only person I can talk to. I give her an even look, chest re-tightening.

"I was at Luci's."

She leans forward, eyes widening. "You wha—"

"The wolves came. One of them, their gun was aimed right to the head, but when I told them what I was, one of them called the other guy—the one that was about to shoot me—off, but...it was close. So close. I—" something wells inside my throat, and I gasp for air, shuddering. I grab my knees and curl into them. The air feels too hot and too cold. Blood's rushing to my head. But I focus on my breathing, on keeping everything even and steady. In, out, again. In, out, again.

It's a rhythm that I keep losing ahold of. I cough and shudder, eyes welling with tears.

Every day, I hear of a thousand attacks—shootings, bomb threats, magical explosions, robberies, hate crimes, whatever. And not just in the city; everywhere. The endless flow of news has desensitized me—or I thought it did.

I was almost a statistic. A victim. A dead body.

It all rushes over me—

I can't move.

Preethi wraps her arms around me, setting her head on my shoulder. She lets me cry for a few minutes, handing me paper towels from the kitchen counter. And, once the tears have somewhat dried up, she leans in close, cheekily whispering, "Well, were any of them hot?"

"Oh my G-d!" I gasp, shoving her. The absurdity makes me laugh, hard, so hard that I'm wheezing and crying harder. I pat my eyes with the soggy paper towel I've been using and drop my hand. "So out of pocket..."

"You survived, Andrea. And that's what matters." Preethi wraps her hand around mine and squeezes. "And plus, you're my roommate, and we need to split the cost of this apartment. So I can't do it without you."

I give her a flat look. "Lucky that we met in college, huh..."

"Absolutely." She grins and stands, pulling me to my feet. "Because without me, you'd have nobody." Preethi intended it as a joke, but she's not wrong. She realizes, eyes widening, and attempts to backtrack it. "Shit, I meant for it to be—"

"No." I wave a hand, cutting her off, and force a thin smile. "I get what you mean. Speaking of this apartment, please try to clean up when you're done with something? I know you, and I know you get excited, but—"

"Yes. Totally. It'll be completely clean by tonight." She digs into the pile of dishes in the sink, starting to load them into the dishwasher. And then she stops.

"But anyway, back to Flor. You liked them! But you always do this thing where you get close to a person, like them, then convince yourself that it won't work out, or that you don't like them, or that they're not good enough for you. Ugh! You're so smart, and driven, and you're pretty, and I mean, sure, you're a little hard to read sometimes—"

Hard to read...

I think of what Charlie said. A cold bitch who only cares about her job.

"Am I a cold person?" I ask Preethi, rubbing an arm.

She doesn't answer immediately, focused on scrubbing a pan.

"I know why you are the way you are. It makes sense, with your past, and with what you are" She clears her throat. "But...you need to let go a little. Loosen up." She looks at me, briefly, dark eyes soft.

"Preethi, I nearly died—"

She raises her hands. "Wait! Not today. Or tomorrow. But Friday, you're coming with me and some friends. We're going to The Club, and we're going to have a good time, and you're going to meet some cute person, okay? It'll be a chance to forget about all this and...start fresh! You survived. So now it's time to live!"

"Fine. Whatever." I say, rolling my eyes. So I'm cold and standoffish. Okay. It hurts, especially when Preethi silently agrees.

But it's okay. It'll be okay.

Maybe she's right—maybe it's time to start living.