Grover Cleveland; B4, Tuesday afternoon
She wasn't sulking. At least not much. She was perfectly content to stay in her alcove and dismiss any dispairing chance of running into that boy. Knowing sooner or later that she'd get made fun of, didn't quell the deep, nervous knot in her belly that made her want to hide. She wasn't use to bold sarcasm and didn't know how to defend herself against it.
Perhaps her mother was right all along. Perhaps Penelope should just go home.
[Mostly establishy, but can be open to other cabinmates.]
Perhaps her mother was right all along. Perhaps Penelope should just go home.
[Mostly establishy, but can be open to other cabinmates.]