"You're soaked," Grace said, handing me a paper cup of water.
"I know," I said, because there was nothing else to say with my hair dripping through my jacket and the campus bag squelched against my thigh.
Grace shut the door with her elbow and pointed at the couch. "Drop it. Now."
"I can—" I started.
"No. Drop it." She pushed the bag and my umbrella into the hall and sat me down like a stern guardian. "What happened? Did you fall into the river or did the sky decide to punish you for wearing cotton?"
"I misjudged a weather app," I said. My voice wobbed. I hadn't planned to use the word embarrassing, but Grace put both hands on my knees and made me look at her. "And I missed my bus."
She smiled in a way that was almost kind. "Welcome to Mariner Heights, Emerie Thomas. First day of city—"
"First soaked day," I corrected.
"First soaked day," she agreed. She set my paper cup on the low table and produced another mug from somewhere. Coffee, black, no nonsense. "Sit. Tell me the whole tragic script. I want to know who to blame."
"I got off the shuttle two stops early," I said. "Wanted to stop and buy a notebook. Then the sky opened. Then I ran like an idiot. Then a cyclist nearly wiped me out. Then—"
"Then you arrived at my doorstep like a drowned kitten," Grace finished, eyes sharp. "Why didn't you
