Morah Hertz’s eyes narrowed even more, until she was practically squinting. “So, chutzpah as well?” she said softly, but in a voice icy as the rink itself
The rink was a study in contrasts: dark figures against white ice. Rachelli flexed cold fingers; she should’ve kept her gloves on.
“But with gloves, I wouldn’t be able to draw,” she remarked to her best friend Etty, who’d stepped off the rink to grab a drink. “Don’t you just love the action going on there?”
She tilted her head back toward the skaters, simultaneously taking a long swig from her water bottle. “Go back on without me, I’m just going to sketch this, okay?”
Etty giggled, freckles dancing across an up-tilted nose. “For the yearbook? You’re too much, Rachelli.”
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