Anna sways to the quiet music as she reads.  You know, Emily, she muses, turning a page in her book: If we were to just leave, who would notice?  She listens for the reply as the fan slowly turns overhead.  I just watch her in the mirror.  There is a smudge of eyeliner across my cheek; I wipe it off with my sleeve.  Behind her, I see my poster proclaiming Music is what Feelings Sound Like.  I look back at Anna and sigh: watch the light play across her porcelain features and catch in her honeyed hair.  She turns another page.  My eyes roam across her lips.  She finally looks up, her finger hovering over the inked words, and smiles at me.