We spend the day exploring the city. In the morning, we go to the café downstairs for espresso and croissants; I bring the camera with me and snap pictures of Elizabeth, smiling, her hair disheveled. She's dressed in tight jeans and a top—and I realize this is the first time I see her out dressed so casually, and with short sleeves that show off her tattoo. She never wears short sleeves in class. I ask her if they gave her crap about the finger tats too.
She makes a grimace. "Sort of. You'd think they were hiring me to supervise a kindergarten. You're all adults there and seeing tattoos on display won't damage your impressionable little brains."
I raise one eyebrow at her. She blushes a little. "Present company excepted."
"I actually have more ink than you, Miss."
"And? You're not afraid you'll run out of room by the time you're my age?"
