“But how does it match?” I asked. “It’s uncanny.”

I can’t tell if she’s smiling when she replies, but it feels like she’s smiling. Like, in the whole room. Again, odd. Captivating in a nearly unhealthy way. And I’d swear her hair moved to just that much neater curls, like my eyes and brain had said ‘what if you..’ “It’s pretty easy,” she starts, but relents. “Beyond easy. Uncontrollable. When I enter an atmosphere like this, I match it. Or it matches me.” I have to admit I couldn’t, at that moment, recall the color of anything else in the room. “Normally it brings me folk I don’t want to talk to.” Definitely a smile now. “Nice change.”