“Don’t point, sweetheart.”
“But look!”
Brittany turned around.
“What are you all looking at?”
Nobody answered.
The boy was practically bouncing in his seat.
Brittany pulled out her phone and switched to the front-facing camera.
Her expression changed instantly.
A bright pink, glittering mass was clinging to the ends of her expensive blonde extensions.
She stared at it.
Then she touched it with one finger.
The slime stretched into a thin, sparkling strand.
She pulled her hand away.
The strand followed.
“What is that?”
She touched it again, this time with more force.
The pink substance stretched farther, clinging to several strands at once.
Her eyes widened.
“IS THAT SLIME?”
I looked at her.
“It’s slime, sweetheart. I bought it for my granddaughter.”
She stared at me as though I had just announced that I had stolen her passport.
“YOU PUT SLIME IN MY HAIR?”
“Your hair was in my lunch. I thought we were sharing.”
