He’s about to walk away but stops. Turns to me and opens his mouth and starts to stutter like he’s not sure if he should say what he wants to. Then finally deciding to go ahead and say it, but refusing to take his eyes off the floor when he does. “It’s just . . . you’re kind of pretty . . . and she might try to turn you into one of them . . . one of her clones,” he says. “I don’t want to see that happen to you, that’s all.”
I tuck my lip under my top teeth.
“Is that supposed to be a compliment?” I ask.
“Nope,” he says.
“Just a warning.”