Fifth Entry, April 24

Roy froze in the doorway to the kitchen, surprised. He'd already become so used to her elusiveness, that stumbling across Miss Hawkeye like this, in an unguarded moment, came as something of a shock. She hadn't noticed him yet, so he took the opportunity to study her with the eye of a young man who'd been raised to prize female beauty as a valuable asset to be used to one's advantage.

He had, of course, seen far more beautiful girls. But Miss Riza was still rather cute—boyish haircut aside, the soft blonde hair and fair complexion made an interesting contrast to her dark brown eyes. He still couldn't trace any of her father's features in her face, which made him feel a very little less foolish about not being able to guess their relationship immediately.

She hadn't stirred since his approach, but remained sitting quietly at the kitchen table, cradling a mug in her hands and seemingly lost in thought. Roy was starting to feel a bit of a pig just staring at the poor girl, so he cleared his throat, to alert her to his presence. He didn't want to scare her.

He failed miserably in that aim.

She jerked violently at the small sound, slopping tea all down her front with a loud gasp. He saw a flicker of what might have been fear cross her face in that split second before she regained control of herself. Glancing hastily around the room, Roy spotted a towel on a counter and jumped forward to offer it to her. She watched him with a perturbed expression, and didn't say a word.

"I'm so sorry Miss Hawkeye, I didn't mean to startle you," he cried, flustered. "Are you all right? Did the tea burn you?" Oddly enough, his nervousness had a calming effect on her. She relaxed her tense frame very slightly and smiled ruefully up at him as she accepted the towel from his eager hands. He couldn't help but notice that she had a really pretty smile.

"No, I'll be fine," she said softly, mopping at the rapidly cooling liquid staining her dress. "Please don't blame yourself. I thought—I didn't realize you'd be awake at this hour. Usually the students sleep in much later. I...I wasn't expecting anyone else to be downstairs yet." Her large dark eyes flicked rapidly between his face, the floor, the dishes in the sink behind him, and back to his face again. Then she dropped her gaze to the damp towel in her hands again, brow furrowed in consternation.

Raised by a woman of Chris's ilk, Roy had become quite good at picking up on the subtleties of body language and tone of voice. Miss Hawkeye's discomfort was clear, as was a vague sort of anxiety. Perhaps she was embarrassed by the state of the kitchen (which was untidier than he'd yet seen it). She probably hadn't bothered to clean up yet because she was so used to being left alone downstairs for another couple of hours.

Of course, he couldn't really know what was running through her head, without any other insight into her personality. But he thought his guess was a good one. All he could do was apologize again and try his best to make her understand that he wasn't usually as big an ass as he appeared at present. She did respond to a few of his questions, and allowed him to brew some fresh tea for her. But after a few minutes, she brushed him off and made her escape.

Dismayed, Roy made his way back upstairs without even eating breakfast, forgetting hunger in this new problem he'd found to wrestle with. How could he make friends with Miss Hawkeye if she wanted nothing to do with him? Hard to blame her for that, he supposed. Especially when all he'd managed to do to recommend himself was to scare her half to death: bursting in on her when she'd thought that she was alone and peppering her with questions. Maybe he could ask the girls for advice on how to win her over.

With that thought in mind, he settled at his desk again to begin the first of this week's letters.

"Dear Auntie Chris, Ada, Juliet, Sophie, Elinor, Veronica, Claire, Lucy and Violet,

I'm off to a bad start with my attempt to befriend Miss Hawkeye. I didn't sleep well last night, so I ended up getting up much earlier this morning than I have been doing since my arrival. I went down to the kitchen for breakfast, and I found the mysterious Miss Hawkeye sitting there with a cup of tea.

I've just realized that I haven't described her properly for you yet, so let me tell you what she looks like while I'm thinking of it: she's slender, and shorter than me, with light blonde hair (which she keeps cut very short) and big brown eyes. They're an unusual shade of brown, almost like the color of honey…although they seem darker in certain lights. When I first met her, I would've described them as a sort of chocolate brown, but this morning they looked almost amber, because of the light coming in from the kitchen window.

I was so surprised to find her actually sitting down and at rest for once, I stopped right in the doorway and just stared. After a few seconds passed and she still hadn't noticed me, I made a little noise in my throat so I wouldn't scare her when I walked in. But the sound startled her, and she ended up spilling tea all down her dress when she jumped.

Now, I don't know about you girls, but I don't think I'd be feeling very friendly to someone who snuck up on me in the middle of my breakfast and made me spill scalding liquid all down my front. I did apologize, and she said it was all right, and we even talked for a few minutes before she left to change her dress. But I still felt like I'd intruded on her personal space, which isn't likely to endear me to her.

I found something out from our brief conversation, at least—Miss Hawkeye did make me breakfast those first few days. She'd assumed I would sleep in like her father (and his previous students, it seems), so she was leaving food out for me after I'd already come and gone in the mornings. We must have just missed each other, she said, because she's an early riser herself. She assumed, when she found the un-eaten food later, that I either didn't usually eat breakfast, or that she was making food I didn't like. She knew I'd help myself if I was hungry, so she gave up on leaving warm food out.

Of course I apologized for inconveniencing her and praised her cooking, but this served only to embarrass her. I'm starting to think that she's distressed by overt compliments of any kind, really. She left me right after that, explaining that she needed to change out of her wet clothes. Perfectly sensible, and yet I had the feeling that she'd have thought of some other excuse to get away if that one hadn't happened to be true. It's almost as though she's afraid of me.

Even if we don't up end as friends, I don't want her to dislike me…do any of you girls have good suggestions for convincing her that I'm not such a bad person?

Suddenly embarrassed, Roy nearly scratched out that last line. He didn't want the girls to think he might be pining over his teacher's daughter, for pity's sake. How cliché was that? And he wasn't pining! It's just that she was the only person near his age that he'd even seen so far in town (although he was certain there were others).

He re-read his letter again…he didn't sound like some lovelorn teenager, right?

Thinking about the sorts of things he'd found in the silly romances his sisters often read, Roy snickered. The girls couldn't possibly construct a romance out of the fact that he and Miss Hawkeye were roughly the same age and living under the same roof. They'd hardly had any contact with each other, after all. It's not like Miss Riza was fainting and blushing at every turn. And he certainly hadn't swooped in to rescue her from any unsavory characters lately. There hadn't been any "our eyes met across the room" moments, nor had anyone said anything about confessing their undying devotion. She was cute, he'd admit. But he certainly hadn't been captivated by her beauty, nor she with his charm. She didn't seem all that impressed by him, period. So in the end there wasn't much to work with.

After a moment, he just shrugged—he'd written too much to start the letter over, and a scratched out line would only fuel his sisters' curiosity. They could tease him about it all they wanted; he wouldn't be there to hear it. Not liking the idea of someone disliking you without a reason was perfectly normal and in no way indicative of romantic attachment. With a decisive little nod, he closed his notebook and reached for his latest alchemy lesson.

If only he knew the things a feminine imagination was capable of, Roy might have re-written the letter after all.

A.N. Thanks again for all the reviews and follows and favorites, everyone! I really do appreciate your words of encouragement-and even just your general thoughts on what I've written. And if you notice any errors, please feel free to point them out; I just found two little typos in my last chapter (which I've since corrected) :D

xoxo Janie