"I could eat." Maybe. She probably should. If her stomach didn't revolt at the very idea. She hated being nervous, it always ran through her body like a freight train, leaving a trembling mess of insecurity in its wake.

Standing on her tippy toes to reach a plate from the cupboard (ridiculous to behold, given she was a fully-grown adult now), she managed to get a small one down, along with a glass to pour herself some of the lemonade that was in the ice box. In stretching out, the agreement for the expedition fell from her pocket and in her haste to pick it up, she nearly smashed the glass on the counter.

Nonchalant she was not. Trying to recover, she moved more carefully, turning toward her brother, asking over her shoulder, "Do you want some lemonade?" It was a poor recovery at best, but she was antsy.