demonstrated centering the clay. His hands moved with an economy that made the material look willing. I watched carefully, convinced that attention would make up for experience.
Five minutes later, my clay leaned sideways like a structure awaiting evacuation.
Sabrina pressed her lips together.
“Go ahead,” I said. “You look uncomfortable.”
She burst out laughing.
“I’m sorry.”
“You are clearly not.”
“No.”
The clay collapsed.
I stared at the flattened shape.
“A plate,” I said. “An ambitious change of direction.”
She laughed harder, and some of my embarrassment disappeared.
Then
