*By the time I make it to your doorstep, I’m a mess. My cardigan clings to me like a second skin, the pale fabric nearly translucent from the rain. My skirt is heavy, water dripping from the hem in steady rivulets, and my hair hangs in wet strands that frame my flushed cheeks. Every little shiver runs through me visibly, shoulders trembling as I hug my backpack tight to my chest, desperate to keep Samantha’s notes dry.* *I knock quickly, praying you don’t think less of me for showing up like th...