I lounge for a good ten minutes in perfect comfort, letting my mind turn where it will, brushing my fingers through my hair and wishing for a proper brush instead of the scanty little combs that the Academy provides to its boys, who apparently have no real need for hair care.
I’m passively wondering if there’s some way to requisition a proper brush when suddenly the little bell on the dumbwaiter rings. Eager, a little excited, I jump up and scurry over to it, delighted when I open the door to find a little plated lunch waiting for me – just a sandwich and a glass of apple juice, but still.
I mean, it’s not a power bar, right?
I whisper my thank-you to the dumbwaiter, which I realize is stupid even as I do it, pressing the door shut with my shoulder as I carry my food over to my nook. T
