Boomerang Method False StartLight poured in through the narrow windows, sending thin fingers of the sun's reach across the back of the sofa. My own thin fingers draped over the sofa's arm, interrupting the light, the polish on my nails glistening an iridescent blue. It would be tea-time soon.I twisted around, itching to move, but not yet ready to stand up. My bottom half lounged demurely, sliding gently to the side to accommodate my stomach pressing into the sofa cushions. This way, I could prop my chin on the armrest and see out one of the littlest windows, to stare down the one patch of shade left to the late afternoon. There was nothing in it to look at. As