Author's note: So what's going to happen from here on ...

Charlie's P.O.V

*

The ambulance comes shortly after, drawing everyone's attention to her being carried away on a stretcher, her eyes shut the entire time. I hope it is nothing serious.

I'm wiping dried blood off Sydney's phone when her car parks upfront. I make a beeline for my room and hide under the sheets, abandoning her phone on the kitchen sink.

I hear doors bang open and close. Her scent wafts into my room a minute later, but she does not enter.

An hour afterward, I find her preparing what feels like a commiserating dinner - spaghetti with sauce. Watching her drain excess boiling water in the sink, her forehead glistening with sweat, I cower by the kitchen's entrance. I should have come out and made dinner as usual.

Her phone rings. She picks it up and prances away from the stove, causing me to deduce that it is the school calling. Based on the 'this-is-ridiculous' look she starts giving our mauve carpet, I reckon they're telling her about the incident.

After she hangs up, I dish out our food in fearful anticipation, but she avoids my gaze. We sit among her planet of dying spider plants in the dining hall before she even spares me a small smile. Silence settles between us, letting our forks do the arguing for us. Hers smacks the plate, and mine impales a shrimp. She gnaws, and I swallow. I swallow until I can not bear it anymore.

"What did they say?"

"Nothing." She slurps her last fork full of spaghetti. Something gets clogged in my throat. I cough and sip her tepid water, then cough again. It's when I stop that her dead blue eyes target mine. She regards me with an irritating level of concentration.

"All that matters is that you are fine. They kept assuring me that they cared for their student's mental health and -"

"Mental health?" My eyes furrow.

"Don't interrupt. It's rude."

I apologise. She gets up to wash her empty plate. Mine, still filled with food, starts to feel cold on my tongue. I have lost my appetite.

"Do they think she...did it to herself?"

"Like I said." She sneers."It's none of our business."

*

On Monday, Sydney drives me to the school.

"If anything happens this time, call me!" She points to her phone, which she has loaned me. I am surprised she's still letting me use it - unless it's because it smells like detergent.

According to the call, the entrance exams have been postponed, so I have to take a new timetable. It's not a bother since I get to attend classes and see what teaching is like in this school. Dropping me off, Sydney comments on the short skirts of some girls.

"Be safe. Focus on your studies and on getting better," she says, sneering them.

I nod, amused that this advice has the exact blueprint as the one she gave Sil on her first audition.

"... Focus on your lines and on getting better..."
Leave it to Sydney to recycle her motivational speeches.

Heading to the admissions office first, I am met with the demure, regal, pin-straight brunette who spoke to Sydney the first time we came here.

"Mr Hunt, right?" She beams. " I'm so glad you came by again. I forgot to mention, but please, you did not fill in some aspects of your application." She flips open my forms to pinpoint what's missing - my medical report. I chew a nail.

"There is free medical screening at the community hospital around noon. I can alert you when I get the exact time," she adds as I grimace at the dashes for too long. It's not just about the cost, but I smile gratefully nonetheless.
My first class is with other potential students. It's pre-orientation orientation-whatever that means. Introductions are made, and then we are encouraged to join actual courses. I make sure to keep my head down as I enter a sophomore class, only for the teacher to quirk,
" Oh, hi. You're new here, aren't you?"

Not yet.

"Oh, I get it." She grins knowingly. "You were asked to sneak into any class you might like. I won't throw attention on you, then. "

Well, she's already doing that. Students trooping in have started giving me quizzical glances. I have on a suit almost the same colour as theirs, but the more this teacher talks and keeps me standing awkwardly by her table, the easier it is for anyone to realise I don't belong. St. John teachers don't have the time of day to entertain newcomers.

I'm not even a newcomer yet - let me be, please.

"Is there any free space for our fine gentleman?" She sings. When no one replies, she points to an African-American dreadlocked lad at the far right corner.

"Who is sitting beside you?!"

"Mia!"

"Who?! Never mind, sit there. "

I nod, glad to finally rest my trembling legs. The class is still not set - better seats are available- but I am ok with the back. It's not like this is my comfort zone - which literature class in St. John was.

I imagine someone also taking my seat in front of that class when, suddenly, an unmistakable face stares back at me.

Anna.

*

"Charlie!" She strides to me after the class.

"Oh my goodness, " she gasps. "it is the legend himself. As I live and breathe."

Her hair is darker and shorter than I remember, and it cups her plum cheeks perfectly as she wiggles her head excitedly. I smile. She looks well. I'm glad she's gained some weight. At least one of us had to get out of last year's mess a better person.

"How are you doing? You look good!"

I shake my head, giving her the 'be serious' look.

"Yes, you do!" She rolls her eyes, plopping goofily onto the seat before me. "But, like, how are you?"

When I shrug, her eyes roll again. "Dude, talk," she groans, " You won't get over your stuttering if you don't talk."

That catches me off guard. I grimace, and she sighs like I'm a little child stressing her out.

"I mean," she says, "when you talk more, you become less nervous, and when you become less nervous, words flow easier for you."

I nod stiffly. As much as I appreciate her effort, this is the forty-seventh time she has tried to diagnose and 'treat' me. I know she wants to become a psychologist, but I'm not her patient; I'm her friend's brother- I think.

"Also, how is Sil?" She perks as if she read my mind.

I sigh. I know what to say if Harry asks me, but meeting Anna here is a surprise I did not plan for. I don't want to tell her what happened, but I don't particularly appreciate lying either, so -

"Unfortunately for her, she's alive."

"Ya?" Anna cracks up suddenly. "You even sound like her saying that."

"How so?" I frown.

"Please tell me you're not going to razor your lush hair too?!" she squeals in oblivion to my question, making me tuck my beloved baby hair behind my ear, thundering.

"Never!"

"Good. I can't have two crazy besties!" Her laughter festers on this exclamation. She wants to say more, but her right arm eases back on the chair, with her wrist swinging lackadaisically.

"You know, I miss her," she says fondly.

There's a pause.

"She was the only one who understood me. No one here gets me."

"Really?" My brows crease.

She nods, shutting her eyes. Then, opening them, she stands and cradles her backpack before I can register her expressions.

"I'm sorry, but I must hurry to my next class. So, um, see you later."

"Ok," I say with sudden gloom.

I didn't know they were that close.

*