Six.

Madison Bell had apparently come to her senses. When she knocked on the door to my apartment, she was wearing a winter coat and jeans. Maybe it was getting too cold for dresses and stockings. Her blonde curls looked flatter today. She almost resembled a normal human being, rather than an angel.

“It’s cold,” she said, more to herself than to me. She had just taken off her coat when I realized the heat had been off for two days. I was growing acclimatized, wrapping myself in blankets or wearing jackets to bed. But now I had company, and…

“I’ll turn up the heat,” I told her, embarrassment coloring my cheeks. Mom would probably scold me when she got home, but she wasn’t home yet. I just had to make sure Madison was gone before then.

The thermostat said 55. I set it to 68.

“Make yourself comfortable,” I told her. “I set up my books at the table there, and I have juice or milk or whatever if you want some. We don’t really drink pop, but there’s iced tea.”

“I’m alright, thank you.” She sat at the kitchen table and wrapped her arms around herself. I turned the thermostat up to 72.

“I thought we could start with this article,” I said and sat beside her at the table. Time trickled on. The apartment warmed up. The essay was forming slowly but surely.

But the longer we worked, the more I realized how contrary Madison was acting. When I would talk, she would nod her head. Her eyebrows didn’t tilt together in concentration. There were no smiles on her lips, even forced ones.

When we were working on citations, I watched her from the corner of my eye. She would read a passage, left to right, and forget to go to the left again. She’d stare at the right-most word on a line, one second, two, three, four, and with a blink she would start again.

Finally, in the early evening, I made the mistake of asking: “Are you sure you’re alright?”

Like a light switch, Madison Bell was Madison Bell. It’s like how pine trees become Christmas trees. Suddenly, for one week, they just are. Bright, beautiful, everywhere.

“What? Oh yeah! I’m sorry, so much studying just burns me out, you know?” Then she smiled. A forced one, but a smile nonetheless. “Maybe a snack would help - do you have any snacks? I don’t mean to put you out! And you know, I love the way your kitchen is set up, it’s so cool. My kitchen is way too big and no one even uses it, it doesn’t make sense. And you have to walk from one side of the room to the other if you want to use the oven. It’s so stupid.”

I sighed. Why did I have to say anything?

“Let me see if we have some chips or something.”

Over the next hour, Madison and I ate chips and worked on our paper. It wasn’t due until next week on Friday - over a week away - but by the end of the night we were almost done.

There was something else I noticed. Though Madison had asked for the chips, she only ate a few. And though she could snap on like a bright bulb in a dark basement, she fizzled and faded like a candle on a breezy evening. At six o’ clock, I was hardly able to see a difference between the girl who had shown up at my door and the one who was leaving through it.

“I had a wonderful time,” she said with only the tilt of a smile.

“Well you know how fun biology is,” I quipped. “What’s not wonderful about that?”

“Uh huh.”

I rolled my eyes. “It was a joke.”

“Oh.” She paused, then smiled again.

“See you tomorrow,” I said.

“See you.”

Maybe it’s the editor in me - the girl who can’t help but notice the stupid, insignificant details - but I could see something in Madison, something I couldn’t understand. And for the first time in what would be many times more, I was worried about her.