A blur of Umbros and Minnie Mouse slippers, pitter-patter down the hall.
More retching. A door slams.
Murmuring from the crowd, to no one in particular:
"Did she make it?"
"I think she made it."
More like a background buzz.
She returns, shuffling slowly, looking frailer and slighter still, both hands holding her stomach.
"I just made it that time," she says, smiling weakly.
That girl. Her name is Jennifer. She's a recovering heroine and cocaine addict, who was physically abused as a child, and now suffers from horrible flashbacks that trigger deep depressions. She has a carefree, easy-going smile. And she is an excellent Ping-Pong player.
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