The morning was grey and moody. At least that's how Winnifred felt. The first and second period lectures seemed to last forever. The teachers rolled on and on about things that Winnifred completely lacked the knowledge in; she saw the class losing the interest also. Mark and Riley started a game of chess in the back, Charlotte was applying her eye liner behind the held up textbook, Heath, sitting in a seat in front of her, was hand-signaling Billy across the classroom. Winnifred heavily sighed and carefully dragged out her Dante's Inferno from her bag. Casting sideways glances, she settled the book on her lap and, stretching out her foot, kicked Heath's ankle; warn me if anything happens. He lazily showed her a thumbs up, not even turning around. Winnifred made a wry face and kneeled down over her book.

When Heath leaned back over on his chair, rested his hand on her desk, and started gently tapping his fingers, she was so utterly disgusted and far from regaining her appetite, that she was glad to be distracted. Winnifred glanced up at Heath; he carefully slipped her a piece of paper and whirled on his chair in the other direction. Winnifred leaned over the paper, trying to decipher the handwriting.

Pass this to Billie.

Half of the paper was folded. Winnifred immediately unfolded it, only to see lines of code. She cast an angry stare at Heath. That one indifferently twirled in his chair on two legs, but the corners of his lips slightly twitched. Continuing to glare at Heath, Winnifred, not even bothering to turn around, stretched her arm back to Sammy and slammed the note on his desk.

Sammy jolted awake and looked at the note in wonder. Then, understanding the meaning of the written, he quickly made a little paper airplane out of it and sent it Charlotte. It delicately landed right onto her powder. Charlotte irritably glanced at the sender and, crumpling the paper into a ball, hit down Mark's bishop. Mark swore, while Riley showed Charlotte a thumbs up. Quickly reading the note, Mark stuck it into Jacob's hood. Jacob, reading the newspaper, indifferently fetched it out and tapped Billy on the shoulder.

Billy turned around in surprise as the paper was rudely crushed into his hand by Jacob who did not even pay attention what he was passing. Billy suspiciously eyed the classroom, tracing the note's pathway; slipped on from Heath to Freddie, slammed down from Freddie to Sammy, sent flying by Sammy to Charlotte, thrown on from Charlotte to Mark, hidden by Mark to Jacob, and passed on from Jacob to the ultimate recipient. Glancing sideways at Heath, Billy quickly decoded the message. His full lips slowly stretched into a broad grin. He showed a thumbs up to Heath and reached down into his pockets. His fingers grasped different objects, trying to find the right one...a lighter, some weed, an eraser, an old crumpled piece of paper, a cell phone, car keys, an old bullet...his fingers finally felt what they were looking for. Pulling out the box of cars, Billy pushed out the deck of cards onto his hand, quickly searching through it. Grabbing one out, he wrote something on it with his messy handwriting. Taking out the gum out of his mouth, Billy rolled it into a ball and stuck the card on it. Slipping the slingshot out of his leather boot, he positioned it in the rubber band, gum forwards, card backwards and, quickly aiming, shot it at the board. The "bullet" did not fly very far, due to the card's large surface area, however Billy was sitting close enough for his gum to hit the the desk in front of the teacher. The class froze.

Mr. Hastings bushy brows furrowed into one thread as he suspiciously picked up the inordinate ball.

"Who did this..." he threateningly bellowed, but trailed off when he saw the writing on the card. The latter impatiently ripped the joker card off the gum, revealing the only word written on it - Down. Hastings perplexedly looked down...

BAAAAAAMMMM!

The grenade detonated right into Hastings's face, exploding into millions of brilliant colors. The classroom fell into chaos. Some where screaming, others were laughing or swearing, but Winnifred felt someone's hand grasp her wrist and drag her out of her seat and out of the classroom. A whirl of colors passed before her eyes, their toxic smell clogged her throat and lungs, she started coughing, the thought of fuck I'm going to pass out passed her head, but then cold air banged into her face. Winnifred stopped short, trying to regain her senses after such a quick shift of atmospheres. After her sight stopped being as if in a haze, she recognized that she was a good corner away from the classroom and that in front of her were Heath and Billy. Both stupidly laughing.

"What the hell?" She laughed, throat still plugged with gas. Billy chuckled.

"A great excuse to miss class," Heath explained, watching in amusement how Winnifred grabbed his shoulder to properly cough out.

"Geez, Freddie, I didn't think you were so prone to gas!"

"Prone?!" Winnifred blew up in indignation. "Prone?! What even was that?!"

"Alright, so when the old fogey lowered his gaze, Heath threw the color bomb. It explodes when it hits the ground. The timing was hella great this time," Billy grinned. Winnifred turned to Heath, hiding his hands in the pockets.

"And did you make them?"

"How otherwise, man? Borrowed Johnny's chemistry kit," Heath's eyes merrily twinkled. Winnifred hemmed and rubbed her sore throat.

"It's impressive," she finally confessed, starting towards the picnic area. Heath hurriedly jogged after her, quickly nodding to Billy on the way. The latter held a hand and walked the other direction, taking out his weed in the process.

Winnifred walked past the picnic area and to the abandoned school church. Heath slightly slowed down, but her pace remained unchanged. Sighing, he followed her in. Barging into the church, he looked to his sides for her. Winnifred took a random bench in the center and was now pointlessly examining the large, broken glass window behind the altar. Heath silently slipped in next to her, thrusting his hand around the bench and behind her shoulders.

"Quite a strange place to choose for ditching," he commented, observing the window along with her.

"No one will bother looking here," Winnifred shrugged. "At least it's quiet."

Yeah, quiet was the wrong word here. Grave silent is a better one. Heath snuggled his face into her wild, dark hair, taking in their magnificent smell. They either smelled of autumn leaves or wild prairie violets. Today, it were autumn leaves.

"Gotham," he whispered. Winnifred made a small smile.

"Madrid," she answered, moving closer to him. Heath pulled her over even closer by the shoulders.

"Dresden."

"New York City." Heath sharply pulled up and cast Winnifred an annoyed look. She answered him with a sugary smile.

"New York City. You're on a y," she most kindly reminded him.

"I know," he grumbled and turned around to look at the church walls, hoping it would bring him inspiration. They did not.

"Yorkshire?" He attempted. Winnifred chucked.

"It's a region, smart one." Heath pressed his lips and turned around.

"Think Japanese cities," Winnifred hinted.

"Tokyo?" Heath skeptically snorted. "You think that helps?"

"Fine, think World War 2."

"World War 2..." Heath sighed and stood up. He slowly walked down the alley. Broken glass and dry leaves crumpled under his feet. Heath stopped right in front of the window. Past the sharp broken glass edges, Heath saw the old oak tree in the distance where students usually hung out. The wind ruffled the shriveled branches, tearing and blowing the leaves into the grey sky. The debris under his feat slightly slid down, driven by the barely noticeable breeze. Some crows cried in the distance. Heath turned around to Winnifred, who answered him with a wordless stare. Heath opened his mouth to say something, but suddenly the church doors slammed open.

"Shit." Heath duck behind the altar. Winnifred slid under her bench. Glancing out from his graffitied hideaway, Heath saw the old janitor grumpily walking in, suspiciously sneering around and holding a broomstick as a weapon.

"Who's here?" He rasped, scouring each aisle with bloodshot eyes. "I know you're here!"

He started towards the center aisles. Heath swore. Winnifred tensed. The janitor was about an aisle away from her, and she was perfectly familiar with the unpleasant punishment. Winnifred carefully started backing up on her elbows, trying not to make a noise. She could practically hear the janitor's breathing when a shrill whistle penetrated the atmosphere. The janitor's head sharply snapped up. Walking past her row, he started towards the altar. Silently thanking Heath, Winnifred crawled out of the cursed aisle and made her way to the door. Carefully standing up, she grasped the door knob, cautiously eyeing the janitor. The latter stopped right in front of altar, triumphant smile painted on his wrinkled face. Lifting the broom up, he posed to expose the trickster. Heath desperately tried to think his way of out this. Winnifred cursed between her teeth, walked out and slammed the door behind her with an earsplitting bang. The janitor immediately whirled around. Heath took the moment to run. With lighting speed, he ran away from the altar and jumped out of the broken window. The janitor, thrusting out curses and spit, raced towards the door. But when he jerked it, it did not open.

Heath tumbled down the ground, laughing and swearing at the same time. With a low smack, he landed flat on the grass, mouth still stretched in a grin and arms stretched out to the sides. The grey sky frowned on him. Thank god Winnifred wasn't. She stood above him, hands resting on her hips, and chuckling at his undesirable situation.

"Let's go," she giggled, eyes scanning him up and down. Heath theatrically sighed.

"Oh, Winnie, give me a rest," he complained. "Do you understand all the consequences of jumping out the window?"

Winnifred rolled her eyes and clicked her tongue. But she was smiling.

"Where's that bloody janitor?" Heath finally asked, not particularly interested in what he was asking. Winnifred smirked.

"I locked him in the church. So I don't think he's a problem anymore." Winnifred made a step forward, and outstretched her hand to help Heath get up.

"Besides I don't think he can jump from windows and make it out alive," she added. Heath grinned, eyes moving up and down her face. They slowly shifted onto her hand. Winnifred impatiently moved it, inviting Heath to take it. Which he did; only when Winnifred tried to pull him up, he pulled her down. Winnifred toppled down next to him with a small exclamation of surprise.

"There," Heath said in satisfaction, letting go of her hand. "Now you'll admire the sky with me."

"Heath," Winnifred jokingly scolded, but made no attempt to get up. Heath broadly grinned and turned his gaze back to the sky. For a few moments, Winnifred lay next to him, but soon scooted over to him. Turning on her side, propping her head on the elbow, she lightly dropped her fist on Heath's chest.

"C'mon, you lazy ass, let's go," she gently reprimanded him, looking sideways at his relaxed face. Her fist continued to softly pound up and down along his chest.

"C'mon, Heath." Heath shifted a little, following the drifting clouds with his eyes. Instead of answering her, he silently took her fist into his hand and lightly squeezed it. Winnifred sighed and turned her gaze away from him. Their idyll was ruined by the janitor.

"There you are, shameless scums, bloody fools, wait for me to get y'all!" He belched at them from the window. Winnifred and Heath jumped up, as if scalded by hot metal, and raced down to the old oak. They stopped when the church along with its janitor were far from sight.

At one point, Aunt Martha asked why Winnifred never invites her friends to their house. And so, at the first moment possible, Winnifred invited Heath and Johnathan for the nearest Saturday. They surprisingly agreed, and now, her room was looked like a ginormous tornado, in the form of Margaret, went through it, tossing around dresses, shoes, makeup, blouses, skirts, fishnet stockings, and curses. Margaret hastily brushed her thick hair, grumbling at Winnifred.

"You just had to invite them!" She grouched at her cousin. Winnifred untroubled fastened her hair with a pin.

"Oh, don't worry," she smiled to Margaret from the mirror. "They're very well mannered young men, not like those idiots in college."

"Still!" Margaret sharply sliced with the brush, tearing out a lump of hair.

"You never invited them before!"

"I forget," Winnifred shrugged, guiltily smiling. "Here, let me zip up your dress."

Margaret obediently turned around. Winnifred zipped her dress in abrupt jerks.

"Done," Winnifred slapped Margaret on the back. Her cousin nervously turned around and looked at Winnifred. She wore a simple, gentle blue dress, face delicately rimmed with glimmering hair.

"You look wonderful," Margaret smiled. Winnifred partly sighed, partly laughed.

"Oh c'mon, who am I trying to impress? Guys who I've known for my entire life?!" Laughing and shaking her head, Winnifred took the brush out of Margaret's hand and tossed it at the night table. Then, she took her cousin by the shoulders and reassuringly looked into her eyes.

"All's gonna go great! Trust me. They're awesome guys."

"Really?" Margaret asked, still a bit unsure. Before Winnifred could answer, a short whistle rang outside their window. Winnifred basically ran over Margaret and leaned over the windowsill.

"Too bad you don't have manners," Margaret mumbled.

Heath and Johnathan were outside.

"Hey!" Heath grinned, noticing Winnifred above. Winnifred just waved. Then, she ran back into the house, storming down the staircase and shouting on the entire house.

"Aunt Martha! They're here!"

"Then open up the doors, my child, don't just scream," an old lady winked. Winnifred raced to the doors and, barely stopping, jolted them open.

"You're here!" She threw her arms across both of the men, hugging them both. All were laughing. Without wasting time on useless greetings, Winnifred pulled them into the house. Inside, she critically examined them both.

"Why, you did really try," she finally whistled. "Especially you, Heath. Didn't expect a suit any time soon!" Heath just smiled, noticing Margaret standing in the back. He shortly nodded to her. Winnifred, noticing his nod, quickly turned around.

"Margaret!" She pulled her shy cousin over by the arm. "Guys, this is Margaret, my cousin. Margaret, this is," she gestured towards Heath, "Heath. And this," this times towards Johnathan, "Johnathan. My two best friends." Margaret mumbled a quiet hello. However, she did not get to say anything else, as Aunt Martha marched in. After subsequent greetings and manners, the guests were led in into the dining room. At the sight of the table, Heath's eyes widened.

"Winnie told me that you tend to lack the proper nourishment," Aunt Martha commented, catching Heath's gaze.

"As you, I recall, don't have a permanent home, Mr. Heath?" Heath quickly glanced at the old woman, trying to hide his weakness.

"No, it's alright truly..."

"Yeah right," Winnifred quietly snorted. Heath heard it and shot her a chiding look. She answered him with a mischievous half-smile on her face and sat down at the table. Heath sighed and sat down also.

The dinner was not at all bad. Quite the opposite. Aunt Martha was a cheerful, optimistic lady. As it turned out, she wasn't nor Winnifred's, nor Margaret's mother; she was the sister of their father and mother, respectively. Margaret was shy at first, but after a few subtle encouragement words from Johnathan, she soon loosened up. Overcoming his initial awkwardness, Heath fell into his daily routine of light sarcasm and joking. The only person who did not speak much was Winnifred. Confirmed that her guests feel at ease, she watched them with growing satisfaction and delight. After the dinner was over and the plates were put away, Aunt Martha excused herself, claiming that she needed to visit her friend and for "the young people to take a time for themselves." And they did, moving over to the living room. Heath was sitting on the couch, the glass of wine twirling in his hand. Margaret sat nearby, eyes neatly glued to her neatly folded hands, still not believing into what was going on. Johnathan lingered in the corridor. Winnifred was sitting on the floor, searching through various musical plates.

"Here we go," Winnifred triumphantly held up a plate. "Found it!" She quickly inserted her discovery into the player and pressed the button "on". Music filled the room. Heath immediately took the hint and, quickly settling his glass on the small table next to the couch, walked over to Margaret.

"May I..." smiling, he offered his hand. Margaret, hopelessly blushing, took it, and the pair set off into a calm dance. Winnifred beamed at Heath, immensely happy for his (for once) tactfulness. Heath winked at her from across the room and transferred his eyes on his partner. Meanwhile, Winnifred glanced into the corridor. Johnathan was standing there, one hand gripping a glass of whiskey and the other in his pocket, and curiously looking at the wall. Winnifred started towards him.

"Johnathan?" He slightly jerked his head, notifying her that he heard her. Winnifred walked up, leaning against his shoulder.

"What is it?" She softly asked. He raised his glass towards the photographs hanging on the wall and turned his face to hers.

"Are these yours?" He asked, smiling. Winnifred chuckled, eyes going from one depiction to another.

"Yeah," she answered, gaze lingering on one of them. It was a little girl riding a bicycle, two brown pony tails jerking up from delight.

"Auntie loves to look at these. That's why she made so many."

"Your aunt and cousin are charming people," Johnathan quietly said, still looking at her with a smile. Winnifred looked down.

"Thanks." Johnathan turned his attention back to the photographs.

"Johnny?"

"Yes?" He looked back at her. Winnifred gently put her hand on his arm. Her fingers carefully pressed on his sleeve.

"Dance with me," she softly asked, eyes shimmering in the dim light of the corridor. Johnathan looked at her for a moment, then reached his hand out of his pocket and held her back with it. The other hand, still occupied by the whiskey, stayed at her side. Winnifred smiled, fingers locked around his head. Johnathan was smiling, looking down at her with his blue eyes and slowly dancing to the music. Winnifred pressed her forehead against his, fingers slightly pressing against his head.

"Who could've thought you're such a good dancer?" She whispered before giving a short laugh and shaking her head. She lifted her eyes to see his looking at her with the rare affection he portrayed to the surrounding people.

"Dancer?" He shook his head. "No, Winnie. I'm a scientist."

"A mad scientist," Winnifred inserted, tilting her head and mirthfully glancing into his eyes.

"A mad scientist who puts work above all!"

Johnathan quietly laughed. Noticing a small bookshelf, he placed his glass and took her waist with both hands. Winnifred closed her eyes, letting herself fall into the moment. Johnathan watched her, partly smiling. Winnifred opened her eyes and pulled away.

"You know, sometimes I imagine I'm all alone," she quietly started, looking past his shoulder.

"Without Heath, without you. And I get so scared...I don't remember the life before Heath. I vaguely remember the life before you. But I never remember life fully if either of you are missing." She was quiet for a moment. Johnathan's eyes silently searched her face.

"But then I understand that it must happen some day." She continued. Her eyes filled with unspoken hurt.

"You'll go along your medical career, Heath will disappear somewhere known only to him, and I will go where my aunt will send me to." Winnifred stopped, trying to handle her emotions. Johnathan wordlessly pressed his forehead against hers. What could he say? It was all true. When he looked up again, Winnifred's face has gone rigid. Johnathan gently lowered her head on his shoulder, allowing for the spasm to come over. Holding her back, he looked into the space before him, still moving to the tact. He also knew that they will part ways. Of course they would. And Heath also knew. It seemed almost impossible for them not to. By the way how Winnifred shivered, Johnathan understood that the spasm, this time quick, was over. Her hands tightened around his neck. Winnifred hid her face into his shoulder. Johnathan lightly patted her on the back, trying to reassure her.

"Winnie?" He softly called.

"What?" She raised up, intently looking at him.

"You didn't speak much at the dinner today," he commented.

"Oh..." she looked away. "I was enjoying the moment." She turned back to Johnathan. A grin hovered on her face.

"I was so happy that you guys got together with Auntie and

Margaret, " she delightfully said. "You both made a great impression on Auntie, which is quite rare, and you managed to make Margie to talk which is also..." Winnifred trailed off, realizing something. She frowned.

"Did you just use a psychological trick?" She asked, suspiciously eyeing Johnathan.

"To get me to stop thinking sad stuff?"

Johnathan shrugged,"It's kind of an old technique, actually."

"Oh, you!..."

Winnifred opened her mouth in indignation, but then thought against it, and laughed instead.

"You're hopeless!" She shook her head. "Will you ever stop thinking about psychology for once?"

Johnathan didn't answer, preferring to simply grin. At that time, the music ended, and Johnathan let go of her waist. Winnifred shortly bowed her head, eyes glimmering from pleasure.

"Whatever you may say, Mr. Crane, you are a good dancer," she commented, and before he could answer, marched into the living room.

The guests stayed until midnight. As Winnifred climbed into bed, she mischievously glanced at Margaret.

"See? I told you they don't bite!"

Margaret grumbled something in return. Winnifred grinned and turned the lamp off.