Disclaimer: I don't own it.
A/N: I love holidays; they're no limits on how long I can write. :)
Chapter 4: When One Door Closes, Another One Opens
(early January- mid March, First Year)
The train ride back to Hogwarts passed by more pleasantly than I'd expected; James sat in the compartment with me, Rose, Al, and Hugo. Fred stopped by for a few hours, too, and I was surprised to find that he wasn't annoying at all. I soon realized, however, that Fred's change in attitude towards me was due to James' presence only; when James went to the bathroom, Fred immediately became as aggravating as always.
I was tempted to tell James--I was sure James would make Fred regret it--but I didn't want Fred to call me a snitch. Something of my thoughts must've shown on my face, though; Fred lost no time in announcing that he had to meet Savannah and therefore must depart.
"Ha, better go quick, Fred. You don't want your girlfriend to beat you up, do you?" James joked as Fred was closing the door. He turned to the rest of us and said, "She's a scary creature, that Savannah. Powerful, and I don't mean in the magical sense."
"A little afraid of Savannah yourself?" Al asked, grinning.
James shook his head. "Of course not," he said, puffing out his chest arrogantly. "I'm not afraid of anything."
"Except Savannah," Al said in an audible whisper.
"Don't make me hurt you, Al," James warned him, though his words lacked any real force. James quickly became bored without Fred there to talk to him and huffed loudly quite a few times--when he felt neglected or had nothing to do, he wanted people to know it--until he suddenly seemed to have an idea. Turning to me, he said, "It's your turn to choose a topic, you know?"
The others looked confusedly at James, but I immediately understood his meaning. He wanted to play the word game. "Foods?" I asked.
"Nah, we do that too often," he replied, scrunching up his nose at the thought. I could understand his annoyance; whoever was first always ended up winning. There were, after all, only so many "i" foods to choose from.
"Er…" I thought about it for a moment before asking, "Fruits?" James made a gagging motion; he hated any foods that were remotely healthy. "Hey, I don't criticize your topic choices."
"Because I choose good topics." I merely crossed my arms and looked expectantly at him. Sighing a deep, long suffering sigh, James said, "Oh, fine, then. You start."
"Apple."
James took a second to think, then, "Eggplant."
I rolled my eyes. "That's a vegetable, stupid."
"Then the topic should be broadened to include vegetables, too." I opened my mouth to tell him that would make the game too easy, but James quickly cut me off. "Come on, Lily, I'm at a disadvantage otherwise. I don't know any fruits."
He did have a point, though I wasn't happy about admitting it. I'd chosen the topic simply because I would have an easy victory. "Fine. Tomato."
"Orange."
"Endive."
"E… E…" James looked thoughtfully around the compartment as if he would find an "e" fruit/vegetable lying around somewhere. "Er…"
"Endives," I modified for his sake.
"Strawberries."
"Spinach."
"H… Er…" Nearly a minute passed as I waited patiently--well, as patiently as I could. "You know what," James said suddenly, disgruntled. "I give up. There are no bloody fruits or vegetables that begin with the letter 'h.'"
"Honeydew," I said sweetly, and he groaned. I'd just won my second game in little over a week; I was on a roll.
"Bugger that."
"You two are so odd. Has anyone ever told you that?" Rose asked me and James (she, Hugo, and Al had been amusedly watching our game), and I grinned.
"Yeah, I know," I told her. "You're not the first person to tell me that. Or the second. Or even the hundredth," I joked, though that was probably true.
James, however, acted as if he had been mortally wounded. Holding a hand to his heart he melodramatically said, "Well, fine, then. Me and my oddness--"
"My oddness and I," Rose corrected.
James ignored her. "Me and my oddness will be leaving now." As he reached the door, he stopped to say, "But I really do need to go. Make sure Fred's still living and all." With a wink, he left.
Talk in the compartment quickly turned to my upcoming birthday--January 10th--and what I wanted for a gift. I always hated these types of questions because I was horrible at thinking up gift ideas. "You can get me anything you want," I told them over and over again, but they refused to listen.
I wondered suddenly if Céline would forgive me by my birthday, if she would even remember that it was quickly approaching. I knew it'd be foolish to expect that she'd buy me a present, but I didn't need a present as long as we were friends again. That in itself would be present enough for me.
Once the train had arrived at Hogwarts, I soon found out that I wasn't the only first year Gryffindor girl who'd had to face some difficult times over the holidays. Melinda Fudge's grandfather had died of old age on Christmas Eve, and I found her crying in our dormitory when I went upstairs.
"Melinda?" I asked uncertainly. "What's wrong?"
Melinda, startled, jumped slightly and looked guiltily up at me. "S-Sorry, Lily. I'll- I'll be okay in a- in a minute. I just n-n-need…" The rest of her words were lost in a sob.
"What happened?" I asked again, hurrying over to her side.
"My grandfather… he… he died!" she moaned, tears pouring down her face once again. "And Abby's m-mad at me for being sad. She t-told me that…" Again, she broke off in the middle of her sentence to sob. "She told me that I shouldn't be sad; that I- that crying m-made my face look unattractive. S-She said she couldn't have a- a depressed best friend."
"Oh, Melinda, I'm so sorry," I whispered, sitting down next her on the bed and wrapping an arm comfortingly around her.
"W-Why aren't I allowed to- to be sad?" she asked plaintively, leaning on me for support.
"You are allowed to be sad," I assured her. "Abigail had no right to say that to you. If she were any best friend at all she'd be the one comforting you, not the one insulting you." Melinda cried even harder at my words, at the meaning behind them.
"She's n-not usually so bad, you know?" Melinda said, once her tears had started to flow less strongly. "U-Usually she's quite n-nice."
"I can tell," I said dryly, and Melinda gave a hiccupping laugh.
"She's just n-never understood w-what's it's like to… to lose someone," Melinda said in a sad voice. "H-Has anyone you've known ever p-passed away?"
"Yes," I answered. "My best friend when I was little. A girl named Mary Collins."
"I'm sorry." She hesitated for a moment before asking me, "Does the p-pain ever st-stop?" I could tell she feared what my answer would be.
"Not completely, but it gets bearable," I told her truthfully, and I felt her nod her head. "Just give it time."
Eventually Melinda's tears ceased and she fell soundly asleep. I had hoped that, after experiencing Abigail's indifference to everyone else's problems first-hand, she might've gained some sense and stopped allowing Abigail to control her life, but these hopes were crushed the next morning. Melinda was as much Abigail's sidekick as ever, and she pretended not to remember our previous day's conversation. I'd like to think, though, that Melinda didn't quite hate me anymore after that night.
The rest of the week leading up to my birthday passed by in a blur. I awoke on the 10th--thankfully a Saturday--feeling warm and comfortable in my bed, having no desire of getting up at all. Snow was falling lightly outside my window, and I would've been happy to while away my day watching it from under my covers, maybe drawing the scene if I felt up to it. Rose, however, ruined my tranquility within a half an hour later. She burst into my room and, seeing that I was awake, dragged me downstairs. "Come on!" she exclaimed. "Everyone's already waiting for you!"
Everyone was waiting, indeed, I soon saw. James, Al, Rose, Hugo, Marie, and all of my other cousins--except for Céline and Angelique, of course--from a variety of Houses were sitting by the fireplace, surrounding a large pile of presents. I, still in my blue pajamas with the little yellow ducklings on them, blushed deeply when Rose thrust me into the center of the group. All of my family stared expectantly at me; was I supposed to make a speech or something?
"Er, well, twelve years ago from today I was born," I began, and I could instantly tell, from the puzzled looks everyone was giving me, that, no, a speech was not necessary. Yet, I felt it would be even more stupid for me to break off now than to finish, so I continued, "Mummy, on that day, started to have painful, brutal stomach pains that she could hardly bear--or so James always told me--" James grinned sheepishly at that---"and she made a panicked Daddy rush her to St. Mungo's while she screamed the whole time that he wasn't moving fast enough. Eleven hours, twelve minutes, and thirteen seconds--" I'd actually made that number up, but only Al, if his laugh was any indication, seemed to catch that--"I popped out, a pink, slimey, and massively big baby."
"'Massively big?' Yeah, right, Lily," cousin Eros muttered disbelievingly, glancing pointedly at my small frame.
"I was!" I exclaimed defensively. "I weighed over a pound and half more than James or Al! Just look all of Mummy and Daddy's pictures of me as a baby. Actually," I quickly corrected, "don't. They're utterly mortifying."
Hugo laughed. "She's actually telling the truth. Dad and Mum--well not so much Mum--used to be afraid to let me play with her; thought she'd crush me or something."
"Oh, you're such a liar," I accused, playfully smacking his shoulder. He (maturely) stuck his tongue out at me and rubbed his arm as if I had really hurt him.
"Enough stalling, Lily," another cousin called out, "and open the bloody presents already! I'm hungry enough to eat a bloody hippogriff!"
"Language!" James snapped. "Don't blo--Don't swear in front of my baby sister!" Which, I thought, was a bit rich of James, since he used the word "bloody" all the time in front of me.
Ignoring James, I made a face in the general direction of whoever had complained--I couldn't tell for sure who it was. "You can go to breakfast if you want," I said, shrugging, "I don't mind. It was enough that you actually came." Unlike a certain someone else.
There was a mad rush towards the portrait hole. I hadn't expected so many people to actually leave--if I'd known my family would take me seriously, I wouldn't have said anything--but only Rose, Al, James, and Hugo remained after my declaration. I rolled my eyes. What was it about Weasleys and food?
None of my presents really stand out in my mind as anything special. I know that I loved them at the time, that I was thanking the givers over and over again for their thoughtfulness and generosity, but they soon blurred together with all of the other gifts I had received in the course of my lifetime. I do remember, however, returning from breakfast to find one other present on my bed: a new box of charcoals. This had become something of a tradition between me and Teddy, though neither of us ever mentioned it to the other. Teddy would anonymously send me a new set of charcoals for my birthday, and I, in turn, would anonymously send him a completed picture for his birthday. I liked how it was our little secret.
The sole other gift I remember came from a completely unexpected source: Scorpius Malfoy. I hadn't realized that he knew when my birthday was, nor would I have ever expected him to care enough to give me a present, but I was proven wrong in both cases. Sure, his gift was only a single potato, yet it meant more to me than all of my other gifts combined, for it meant that I wasn't just imagining our slow progression to friendship.
I'd been wandering through the hallways in the hopes of seeing Céline when Scorpius called out my name (after glancing about to make sure no one else was in the corridor, of course). "Here," he said, shoving something into my hands when we had reached each other. "A birthday gift."
When I looked down and saw the potato, I couldn't help the laugh that escaped from my lips. "A potato?" I asked, and then sincerely said to him, "Thank you. I don't think I've received such a sweet and simultaneously bizarre gift in my life."
His cheeks turned slightly pink, which, I later found out, was the equivalent of a furious blush for him. "It's nothing. Just something I had lying around."
"You just had a potato lying around?" I repeated, giggling again at the idea. "Happen to have any green beans with it? Because I love those, too."
"Look, if you don't like it--" he began, and I quickly sobered up.
"Oh, don't get mad, I was just teasing you!" I exclaimed, pulling the potato protectively close, afraid he might try to steal it back or something. "It's what friend do, after all."
"Friends?" he repeated, his jaw clenching at the word. "We're not friends, Potter. I just happened to have a spare potato--" it took a lot of self-control for me not to laugh a third time when I heard that--"and since you're obsessed with them, I'd thought I'd give it to you. If I'd known you'd take that as a sign of friendship, I wouldn't have bothered."
I was a little hurt at hearing that, but not enough so that it dampened my spirits. "Oh, come on. You meant that as a sign of friendship and you know it." His face reddened again, but I couldn't tell whether it was from anger or embarrassment this time.
"I did not," he said stiffly, stubbornly.
"Fine, then," I replied, "if you didn't mean it as a show of friendship, then take the damn thing back." I held it out for him, but he didn't take it. Secretly, I was glad of this fact; I really didn't want to give that potato up. As long as he only denied our friendship--though even I would admit that the term had to be used loosely--and didn't take away the symbol of it, I was secure in the knowledge that he cared for me at least somewhat.
"And what, exactly, am I going to do with a potato?" he asked in a drawling voice, sneering at the thing.
"Hm, I don't know." I pretended to think deeply about it for a moment, tapping my finger thoughtfully against my chin. "Eat it, maybe?"
"I don't want to eat it. I don't want it full stop."
"Then we're friends," I said decisively.
"No, we bloody well aren't," he replied with as much certainty.
"Keep telling yourself that, Scorp--" he winced at the nickname--"but it won't change a thing. We both know that you consider me a friend, you big softie!" He opened his mouth to angrily respond, but I started to walk away before he could do so. That was my trick to winning all arguments: I left before my "opponent" could get in his say. "Thanks again for the gift, friend."
I could hear him start to follow me, and he managed to shout out, "We're not--!" before I escaped down a hidden passageway that James had once shown me. His footsteps, as he approached the passage where I was hidden, slowed down, remained confusedly silent for a few seconds, then suddenly slapped angrily against the floor as he stalked away.
Once his steps had faded into silence, I let a grin spread across my face. He could say all he wanted to me about this not-caring nonsense, but I now had proof to the contrary. I finally had become friends with a Slytherin; now all I needed to do was get him to admit that he considered me a friend, too.
This took much longer than I anticipated, however. By the middle of February, he still stubbornly insisted that he talked to me: a) because I forced him to, b) because he had nothing better to do, and c) because he wanted to prove that he didn't consider me a friend. I wasn't angry at him, though; I had a lot too much fun trying to get him to admit the truth to be mad.
"You remind me of Mr. Darcy," I once told him during one of my attempts, and he frowned at me in confusion. "From the muggle book Pride and Prejudice?" He still looked puzzled. "Don't tell me you've never heard of it!"
"Why would I have heard about a muggle book? Grandfather actively kept me away from that world." I frowned at his tone as he said the word "muggle"--he made it sound dirty, inferior--but, and maybe this was just me being naive, I suspected his condescension had more to do with upbringing than any true anti-muggle sentiment (because who really cared about blood purity anymore?). "And I thought you didn't like reading?" His question immediately "turned my frown upside down," as the cliché goes; it was nice to know that he actually paid attention to me, even when I babbled. I could think of plenty of other people--most of my cousins, for example--who tended to tune out anything I said.
"I didn't read the book. I saw the film," I said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
"Ahh, of course." He paused for a minute, seemed to brace himself for something painful, then asked, "What's a film?" His pride, I could tell, had taken a blow from having to ask for clarification; Scorpius liked to know everything.
"It's, er, a muggle thing. People, called actors and actresses, pretend to be different people and act out a story that's then shown in cinemas and on televisions," I said lamely. It wasn't at all a good description, but I couldn't think of any other way to explain it.
"That all sounds rather daft," he commented.
"Well, it's better than it sounds," I assured him. "Films're great--well, some are. Others are just dreadful. I'll have to show one to you someday," I said lightly, praying that this wouldn't set him off. He didn't like when I made plans for the two of us; it was too "friendly," he claimed. That day, however, Scorpius didn't seem to mind, if his indifferent shrug was any indication.
Soon after this conversation, February faded into March, and still no admittance of our friendship passed from Scorpius' lips. But, as Hugo's birthday was starting to loom ever nearer and nearer, I had little time to feel disappointed. Céline still hadn't forgiven either of us by that time, and Hugo and I decided there was very little hope that she would by the 7th. Living without her, however--while we both still disliked it--got a little easier; it'd almost become habit by now. I no longer looked sadly at her every few minutes in Transfiguration, which Gryffindors had with Ravenclaws. In fact, I even began to enjoy myself a few times in class, which, I realized, I hadn't done even when Céline was sitting with us.
One day, around March 3rd or 4th, Hugo and I had a particularly amusing Transfiguration class. Professor Burroughs had somehow gotten hold of a collection of plastic muggle dolls, and he wanted us to change them into picture frames. Hugo and I were both having difficulty performing the spell--at least we didn't have to feel stupid anymore about not mastering spells as quickly as Céline, I thought sadly, though this was a small compensation--but I, at least, wasn't jabbing my wand dangerously at the toy.
"Be careful, Hugo," I told him with mock gravity. "You're going to hurt her."
"Good," he responded, prodding the doll with his wand once more. "It'd be nice to get rid of those beady little eyes of hers."
"Ah, don't tell me you're afraid of the doll," I said, laughing. "What could it possibly do to you? Except burst into flames from your violent wand movements, of course."
"I'm not afraid of the doll."
"That's what you always say about bees, but, once you see one, you scream at the top of your lungs and run away." His ears turned bright red and he muttered something about "common sense." "Are you going to do the same thing with the doll?"
"Of course not!" I was worried that I'd offended him, but he added jokingly, "Burroughs'd probably be offended if I did. I bet these dolls are all a part of collection of his." I let out the breath I didn't know I'd been holding in a sigh of relief. Ever since Céline had turned on me, a part of me always worried that I'd say something wrong and cause yet another close friend to hate me.
I laughed again. "Be careful not to hurt yours, then. He needs to be able to change them all back to normal once we're through, or else he can't play with them anymore."
"He'd probably fail us both if we ruined one."
"Or lock us in a dungeon and throw away the key."
"Feed us to a horde of angry trolls."
"Drop us in a nest of dragon eggs."
We looked at each other for a few seconds, then cracked up in unison. Professor Burroughs, hearing our giggling, shot a glare in our direction and snapped for us to stay focused. For reasons still unknown to me, that seemed hilarious and only made us laugh harder. Frustrated that we hadn't listened to him, Burroughs gave us each a detention, and when even that didn't stop us, he kicked us out of the classroom. "Don't come back until you've learned some self-control!" he barked after our retreating forms. "And make sure you master that spell by tomorrow!" He slammed the door shut behind us.
Neither Hugo nor I felt up to the challenge of "learning self-control," so we whiled away the rest of the period by wandering across the Hogwarts' grounds. A few sixth- and seventh-year students were also outdoors, but we ignored them and they ignored us.
"This is my first detention," I suddenly said to Hugo as we were passing the lake. Thin ice still remained along the outer edges of it, and I felt the random urge to knock off a chuck of it with the toe of my shoe.
"Mine, too--well, the first one I've deserved, at least," he responded, no doubt remembering the James incident. "Do you think it'll be as hard as my first?"
"Nah," I answered, shrugging. "James has detention all the time and says you only get the brutal punishments if you do something really, really bad--like blow up fireworks in the middle of class." I couldn't help a small grin.
"That wasn't my fault!" Hugo insisted. "But, at least this one won't be as bad, I suppose."
"And thank Merlin for that fact," I murmured, "I don't think I could handle a detention like your first one." Another silence descended over us--but it wasn't an uncomfortable one. "I wonder if James'll proud or horrified to find out?" I suddenly mused out loud. "I mean, he likes to encourage wrong-doings of any kind, but he always tells me that I should avoid trouble."
"I know Rose'll be horrified. She'll be all--" he made his voice sound high-pitched and girly in a bad imitation of his sister's--"'Hugo! I can't believe you! How could you disrespect a teacher? You deserve detention!'"
"Ah, she's not that much of a prat," I assured him. "Only Priscilla is. Can't imagine what it'd be like to have her for a sister; Perseus must be miserable! But, who cares what she'd say, right? Or what anyone else would say, either, for that matter? We're proud to be troublemakers! Or, at least, I am." I looked expectantly at Hugo.
"I am, too! Only," he asked sheepishly, "we're not really going to make a habit of this, are we?"
"Er, no, I don't think so," I said, suddenly just as uncertain. "Once is enough for now, just to establish our reputation and all."
Hugo looked relieved. "Yeah, once is enough," he agreed.
We must've, I now realize, been the worst troublemakers in the history of the world, for we were both essentially "good" students. Neither of us ever passed in our homework, however poorly done, late; neither of us skipped class and we only rarely arrived after the bell had rung; neither of us was habitually disrespectful to our teachers or disruptive to our classes (James' fireworks and the previous Transfiguration class being the only exceptions to this); and neither of us was failing any class (except, perhaps, for History of Magic).
Still, it was nice to call ourselves troublemakers for a time. We had the tendency to brag about our detention--in which we spent less than an hour helping a calmed down Professor Burroughs organize his office (he even asked our opinion, at the end, on whether or not he had "overreacted" because we were usually such well-behaved students). Or, we did until Fred told us to knock it off--our bragging, I mean--before we "besmirched the name of troublemakers everywhere" even more than we already had. Harsh words, but I couldn't really expect anything nicer from Fred.
When Hugo's birthday came and went without any interaction between Céline and us, I finally gave up the attempt to regain our old friendship. I had reached the limit that I was willing to bend for her; even if she had at that point come to me, apologized, and begged on her knees for my forgiveness, I wasn't sure I'd be able to give it. An admission of guilt seemed unlikely, though; she had clearly moved on from her friendship with me and Hugo when she became an Angelique-like clone. She now flirted with boys and angered girls everywhere she went. I was vindictively happy, therefore, when a girl "accidentally" spilled some boiling-hot, half-finished potion on Céline during a Potions class, for she had to spend three days in the Hospital Wing recovering. I might've been upset had life-threatening or permanent damage been inflicted on her, but, since she'd be fine so quickly, I could muster very little sympathy.
Still, when she hadn't returned to her classes in time for History of Magic, I felt obligated to make her a copy of my notes. She had, after all, allowed me to borrow her notes often during the first half of the school year; I owed her the same consideration, even if we were no longer friends. I even made sure that my notes were especially detailed, though it took all of my self-control to force myself to listen to Binns. Usually I zoned in and out, jotting a few scattered facts down every once in a while, but I knew Céline would never accept such incomplete work.
"You shouldn't be so nice to her," Hugo told me, but my conscience wouldn't leave me alone. I was sure none of her fellow Ravenclaws would lend her their notes; they'd love to see beautiful, clever Céline lose her top grades. Hugo and I weren't, after all, the only first years who disliked her now; we were, however, the only ones who had familial ties to her. We had to love her, no matter how much she annoyed us. I mean, I hated Priscilla, for example, but I stilled loved her underneath it all.
Céline had the curtains drawn around her bed in the Hospital Wing, but, although Hugo whispered that we should probably leave her alone, I pushed the shades fearlessly aside. Gone were the days when I'd cower at the thought of making her even angrier with me. Céline lay pouting in the bed with fading burn marks marring her otherwise flawless skin. Her eyes, narrowing, snapped towards me and Hugo. "Come to gloat?" she asked coldly.
"No, actually," I answered, struggling not to snap right back at her. "I came to bring you the notes from our History of Magic class." I pulled out the bundle of parchment on which I'd copied everything down for her and handed it over to her.
She seemed baffled as she took them. "Why?"
"Because I don't want you to fail," I told her shortly, shrugging. "I'm not that cruel, you know?"
"I know," she said softly, and I suspected she hadn't meant for me to hear that. She cast her blue eyes downward, and started to read. Her expression became progressively more shocked as she scanned farther down the page. "I don't understand. These are good."
"And?" I asked, frowning. What was she trying to imply?
"Usually you don't take detailed notes. Did you, er…" She cleared her throat. "Did you do that for me?" My only response was a shrug. "Thank you," she said sincerely. "It really means a lot to me."
Oh, no, I thought to myself. I saw where she was going with this, and I refused to let it happen. She had had plenty of time to restore our friendship before this point, but it was now too late for her to apologize and expect everything to go back to normal. Things couldn't got back to normal anymore.
"Well, we should go," I announced as she opened her mouth, cutting off what I knew she was about to say. Hugo nodded his agreement.
"No, wait!" Céline called out, and my feet stopped of their own accord. "I'm sorry, Lily, Hugo," she whispered, clearly expecting us to welcome her back with open arms. Knowing her, she probably thought my notes were meant as an apology, as if I had done something wrong.
"Sorry's not enough. Not anymore." Surprisingly, it was Hugo that said this. I understood exactly what he meant.
"It's like I have this tornado of emotion in my head, spinning around and messing everything up," she continued as if Hugo hadn't spoken. I knew that she thought she could somehow avoid the truth by ignoring his words, and I felt her pain--really, I did--but that couldn't change anything or absolve her of her guilt. "I can't control it. I'll know I'm overreacting, but I can't stop myself." Her voice broke. "It's so hard, so confusing, and I don't know what to do. I've asked Angelique for help, but she just tells me to follow where it leads. Well, I don't want to 'follow where it leads' anymore."
"Then talk to your other sisters, Céline," I told her, "They can help better than Angelique can. And maybe," I added, seeing her face fall, "then, when neither of us has to walk on eggshells around you, we can be friends again."
"I want things to go back to the way they were," she moaned, tears spilling from her eyes. I could feel the tears starting to trail down my own face, as well, leaving salty tracks in their wake.
"Things can never be the same again. It's too late for that."
"Isn't there anything I can do?" she asked.
"I don't know," I confessed. "Maybe? But," I said, my resolve never weakening with my sorrow, "you'll have to do whatever it is on your own." I turned to Hugo. "I've got nothing else to say. How about you?"
"I'm done, too," he answered resolutely, refusing to look back at the bed. Even he seemed close to tears, though he often liked to claim that he never cried.
Again, Céline called out to us as we attempted to leave, saying, "I wanted to be with you in Burroughs class, you know? When you laughed so hard that he kicked you both out? I wanted to be with you two so much that it hurt!" but neither of us stopped for her a second time.
