Sweat beaded on my forehead as I lugged the oddly light box up the porch steps. Apartment 3B. This was the last stop. My phone buzzed with the recipient's name: bii. Imagining her, I pictured someone glamorous, like the girls who ignored me in school. But when I rang the bell, a freckled girl with messy hair in a bun opened the door.

"Uh, delivery for bii?" I mumbled, shoving the box at her.