The boys' bedroom door was tightly closed, though Reynie was convinced he could hear Sticky shuffling around the room, and shifting papers. Reynie looked down at Constance, then at the door. Constance scowled,
and knocked twice on the door. The rustling stopped, and Sticky was silent. This time, Reynie knocked, and called to his friend. "Sticky? Can we talk to you?" Silence. Then Sticky spoke, sounding muffled due to the
door sandwiched between him and his friends. "I'd like to be alone right now." Kate glanced concernedly at Reynie. "What now?" she whispered. Reynie thought for a moment, then raised his fist and knocked once
more. "Sticky, please, open the door." In a moment, it swung wide, and Sticky stared angrily out at them.
"What?" Constance fidgeted uncomfortably. "Um…" she began. Kate rolled her eyes. "Oh, good grief, Sticky? Can't we just come in and at least get comfortable? I'm sick of hanging around in this drafty hallway."
Sticky, still furious, stepped aside and allowed Reynie, Constance and Kate to file into the bedroom. Reynie looked around at the room with unease. There, on the floor, were great piles of newspaper, loose sheets of
notepaper, and scattered books. Sticky seemed to have uprooted every drawer in the room. Settling himself on a chair, Reynie watched Kate scramble up the bunk bed latter to perch on the metal guard railing, while
Constance stood awkwardly before Sticky, her small arms folded in a gesture of defiance. After a moment, Reynie cleared his throat in an effort to remind Constance of the task at hand. She stood on one foot, then
the other, then spoke.
"Listen, Sticky," she began. "I know that you can be an annoying, puffed up, maddening, vexing, wimpy, bother – " Sticky glared at Constance. "Get the point, Constance!" She reddened. "Bothersome," she went on,
"and snobbish. But I really am sorry for calling you Icky Sticky, and for saying all the things I just said." Reynie was impressed. Constance rarely apologized to anyone, so this was definite progress. Sticky scrutinized
Constance with a slightly hurt, slightly appraising glance. At last, he nodded and, with an odd expression, asked Constance if he could ask her something. "Can I have that in writing?" It took Constance a few seconds
to realize that Sticky was joking, and even she joined in on Kate and Reynie's titters. Though she blushed, and covered her head with a pillow, Reynie could tell, that she was relieved to have made up with Sticky. "By
the way," said Sticky, his lips twitching, "I'm sorry for calling you an obstinate imp. Even if you are one." At this, Constance used the pillow she was holding to pummel Sticky.
Amid the laughter and growled threats, Reynie sank back in his chair, beyond tired. This conflict with his friends had spent a good deal of his energy and patience. WHAM. A pillow bombarded Reynie, and much to his
friends' surprise, he tossed it back, catching Sticky in the stomach. Kate laughed with pleasure, and snatched up another pillow, ready to fire. Reynie ducked behind an armchair just in time; Kate's pillow sailed ove
r
his head, and hit the wall instead. Constance, who was beating Sticky mercilessly with a pillow, went inexplicably pale, and dropped her pillow. Reynie, his eyes on Constance, didn't see Kate's tossed pillow, and it
thumped into the side of his head. Staggering, Reynie desperately blinked back stars. He swiveled his eyes over to Constance. She was crouching on the rug, smoothing a well-creased sheet of paper. Then it came to
Reynie. Her poem (or rather the beginnings of a poem) had fallen out of Reynie's pocket, and now Constance knew he had read it. He could tell by the way she stared nervously at him, alone. "I'm sorry, Constance,"
he said. "It was sticking from under the rug in your room. It was a good start, you know." Kate was retying her ponytail. "What's going on, you two?" Constance colored. "Reynie got hold of one of my poems." "Well, I
don't see why that's so bad," Kate commented. "It wasn't exactly my usual style of poetry, though." Sticky rolled his eyes. "You mean you wrote something other than nasty, badly written poetry? I don't believe it."
Constance sighed. "I meant it to be for Mr. Benedict. I've never written him a nice poem before." Reynie nodded. "He'll love it." There was an awkward pause. "I thing I'm just going to…" Constance trailed off, and
made for the door. "Erm…I think I'll get ready for bed." She left, looking disgruntled. Kate wrinkled her nose. "That Connie-girl is something else." Reynie nodded. "Something else, indeed."
In his own mind, Reynie knew that Constance was upset because he had seen proof of her softer side, the one rarely perceived, and almost always hidden in layers of grief, disguised as anger.