She unpacks it reverently, running her fingers along the material.
It's just in time — her rescheduled examinations are tomorrow — but she has to try it out before that.
She slips it over her head, settling it into place, and grabs her backpack from its place by the door. The elevator is fast, but it's speed is no match for her impatience as she heads down to the ground floor.
She's hung around in the library a few times now. But when she steps out of the elevator this time, there's an important difference: nobody can see her.
Or, well, they can see her, obviously. But nobody can see her face. Which means she doesn't need to think about how to hold it, or how people are going to interpret where she chooses to look. It means she can open her mouth and wiggle her tongue side-to-side, just to see how it feels, and nobody will look at her weirdly. It means that when she smiles, it's just because she wants to, and not because anyone expects her to. It's wonderful.
She has a mask and done enough studying. She wants to take a second stab at adventure. What's going on in the nearest park?