The city looked especially lousy that night.

Not lousy in a dramatic way, either—just the regular New York kind of lousy, with taxis splashing dirty slush onto sidewalks and people rushing past like they had somewhere important to be. Holden Caulfield stood outside Grand Central for a minute, collar turned up, hands shoved deep in his coat pockets, pretending he was waiting for someone. He wasn’t. He just didn’t feel like moving yet.

He’d already walked about a million miles since leaving Pencey, and his feet felt like they belonged to somebody else.

Inside, the terminal buzzed with voices and footsteps and announcements that sounded like they were coming from underwater. Holden drifted toward one of the benches near the information booth and sat down hard, his suitcase bumping against his shin. He lit a cigarette, even though he wasn’t really supposed to, and watched people go by.

That’s when he noticed her.

She was sitting two benches away, hugging a pale blue coat around herself like it might float off if she didn’t. She looked about his age, maybe a little younger, with dark hair falling loose around her shoulders and eyes that kept moving, as if she were counting exits. Her suitcase was small and scuffed, like it had already been dragged through a couple of bad decisions.

She was pretty. Not in a flashy, phony way. More like quiet-pretty. Eyes that looked too thoughtful for someone her age. She had this soft, faraway expression, like she’d already left whatever place she came from.

Holden tried not to stare, but he did anyway. He always did that. There was something about her that made him uneasy in a familiar way—like seeing someone else wearing the same invisible bruise.

Holden noticed things like that.

He didn’t know why, but he kept looking at her.

She caught him eventually.

Her eyes flicked over to him, sharp and quick, and Holden immediately felt like an idiot. He turned away fast, pretending to study a cigarette vending machine, even though he didn’t need cigarettes. His ears burned.

Jesus. Real smooth, Caulfield.

“Hey,” he said, stopping a few feet away so he wouldn’t seem creepy. “You waiting for somebody or something?”