“Well, hey there Quasimodo.”
James smirked. “What’s with the eyebrows?”
Grace subconsciously put a hand to her forehead, where she had thickened and darkened her eyebrows considerably with makeup. She looked like she’d been attacked by an Avon sales lady out for revenge.
She hadn’t gone more than a block before she spotted him. Or didn’t spot him, to be more specific; she didn’t want to turn around and look. But she could tell he was there.
Snake boy was following her.