“Anger and intolerance are the twin enemies of correct understanding.”
Romilly tucked a slim notebook into her backpack. Until she bought her books, her pack would be blissfully light. Her mind swam at the thought of the day ahead. She had classes until noon: Comparative Religion, Quantum Physics, then Principles of Instrumental Analysis. She’d grab lunch at the Grotto, then go to Harvey Hall to practice piano. Her Numerical Analysis class was at three o’clock; afterward, she’d buy her books. Thank goodness the bookstore extended its hours at the beginning of fall and spring semesters.
Annie slumped into the living room, her backpack dangling off one shoulder. She was wearing mismatched socks, one navy and one black.
“Hey, kiddo,” Romilly said. “Check your socks.”
Annie stared down as though Romilly had told her that one of her feet had transformed into a chicken’s claw, then she blushed. “Oh, crap. Thanks for telling me.” She threw her pack on the couch, then skedaddled back to her bedroom to change socks.
Romilly exchanged a glance with her best friend Martha, Annie’s older sister.