By Wednesday afternoon, the school had settled into that strange pre-Christmas restlessness where no one could quite focus, but everyone was still pretending to.
The senior year, however, still had final projects looming and mock exams in almost every subject. My dangerously low concentration in economics had finally driven me to the library.
Because I could not focus in my room either.
My suit from the formal was still hanging at the back of it. A reminder of an evening that had exposed something I had been trying very hard not to look at directly- mainly out of fear.
Calix had enjoyed my exchange with Grey in photography on Monday, probably more than he should have.
But the photograph Ecclestone had laid in front of us was too perfect.
A choice.
An easier path, or a harder one.
