AN: It's a shame you killed her. We could have had a nice chat first. Chat. You know, girly things. Painting nails. I don't want to know, do I. How squeamish are you, really? Not very… You don't want to know.

scribblescribblescribble-Oh, I like that. Were there screams? Because the silent panickers are boring. You've no heart. Do you have any idea how horrible it is to have...things...in your hair? You can't get them out! Oh, no? Jonathan, if you even THINK about it, I will strangle you, so help me god. You'd be guilt-stricken in a week. Might even go Norman Bates.

Sketch1997-They're not hard to get into, you know, if you're patient. Or if someone leaves the combination lying around, as often happens. You never broke into mine, did you? Just once, when you were sick and we had homework. I remember. That was not fair, I'd been planning on using my absence as an excuse to get an extension. Mrs. Burns would have flunked you. Bitch.

Johanna Crane-It loses the escalation factor. Writers...no matter. I don't remember any of this, where was I? Where you belonged: out of mind. So ungrateful...who was with you when she locked you in the closet? Who made you up? Aw, c'mon, Jonny. You didn't make me up, I graced you with my presence. Some grace. Damn right! I'm a fucking angel. A fallen one, perhaps.

"Jon?"

He looks up from his book, his heart pounding and his mouth suddenly dry. Sherry Squires is standing across from him, her books in her arms and her lower lip between her teeth.

What does she want?

"Hi." she says. "Can I sit here?"

Why? The library's empty (it's why he's here). There's plenty of other places to sit that won't damage her reputation.

"S-sure."

"Thanks." She drops her books on the table and adjusts her skirt before sitting down. "What are you reading?"

Aannd now she's trying to make conversation. Did she get hit on the head? And is it permanent?

"Carrie."

"Any good?"

He doesn't like it. It hits too close to home. But he's loathe to start reading a book and not finish it, and it's short. He'll manage.

"It's all right." He should ask her something. That's how it's done. Isn't it? "What are you doing here?"

Dammit. Wrong question. Too impersonal. And too late now to take it back.

To his surprise, she smiles at him and reaches for her English book.

"I have a test next period and I need to study."

"Oh."

Now what?

He goes back to his book, trying to ignore the fact that she's sitting two feet away from him, by choice, and not trying to make his life miserable.

Maybe he's dreaming.

"Jon?"

He really doesn't like the nickname, but he likes it better than Scarecrow, or Ichabod, or any of the others.

"Yes?"

"Why do you stay in here at lunch all the time?"

Is she so oblivious? She must be.

"Safer." he says shortly. He doesn't feel like talking now. Besides, they might get thrown out if they make too much noise.

She doesn't say anything now. Maybe he should have come up with a better reason.

The bell rings and he marks his place and gets up.

"Jon?" He pauses, looks at her. "Will you be here tomorrow?"

Why would she want to know that?

"Yes."

"Can I sit with you again tomorrow?"

She shouldn't have to ask. Doesn't she know?

"Yes."

THE END