You see, I absolutely despised attention, and any form of it given my way would result in the excessive production of my sweat glands, the sudden shaking of my lanky limbs, and just about anything else you could think of that would conclude with my utter embarrassment.
At that moment, though—on an otherwise typical Monday evening of the second month living in this new reality of my own living hell (post-apocalypse, as some might call it)—it seemed my attempt at avoiding that very thing was unsuccessful, as the heavy box full of protective gear that had been in my hands fell to the uncarpeted floor, making a loud sound like a gunshot in a serene forest.
Just as expected, everyone in the room turned their heads in my direction, some with contempt at the disturbance, others with plain curiosity.
"Livvy?" the stuttering boy in front of me whispered, bringing back my attention to him.
"Huh?"
