Amy kept pacing back and forth in her bedroom. Her room was tiny, so there wasn’t much room to pace, but she made it work. She had to think.

“This is stupid,” she muttered under her breath. She touched the hem of her shirt—a shirt she had changed three times already.

“Jeans and a blouse. Jeans. And. A. Blouse.” She spoke each word like a mantra. She looked at herself in the mirror and blew out a breath. It was a simple outfit, and she looked plain as usual. But who really cares? ...