Clare knew she was a terrible person. It was something she tried to not think too much about.

Still, it made her wince that, when her only friend was so deeply hurt that he was hiding from her, her first reaction was relief.

Not that she disliked Kepler. In fact, she liked him more than anyone since Emma.

She hadn’t liked anyone much since Emma’s death (because she was a terrible person).

But it had been months since she’d been alone. The constant presence of another person—any person-- had gnawed at her. Worn parts of façade thin.

Now, Clare lay in the center of the mind-space. The floor was soft like a bed, cradling her.

Outside the core, their respawned monsters were all afuss. Astrid was cuddling with Duchess, of all people, clearly upset. The snake-worms were snapping at each other and the slimes with unusual brutality. Van Gogh was sitting on the floor with Puck, talking to the newest faeries quietly. The jungle gym was being introduced to the specters by Omnom and Luna. It was quiet, but not in a peaceful way.

The floor was soft.

The diplurans began playing ‘By the Beautiful Blue Danube.’

Clare was alone.

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That meant Clare was safe.

Safe.

She drifted off to sleep.

--

Pink petals were flying in the wind. Their soft scent floated above the body odor and indistinct grime of Clare’s high school. Her backpack clung to her shoulders, rooting her to the concrete with the weight of far too much paper. The petals, bright against a half-clouded sky, tumbled over the rooftops and, in a burst of playful air, up over the wall and out of sight.

“Clare.” Devon, her first and last boyfriend, stood beside her. “Earth to Clare. Hello?” He waved a hand in front of her face. “Anybody hoooome?”

Clare shook herself out of it, giving Devon an exasperated smile. “Very mature.”

“Hey, we can’t all be old souls.” He took her hand, the braided bracelet she’d made him grazing her skin. “Come on, the bell rang ages ago. Let’s get outta here.”

“Hm.” She let him tow her along, out into the parking lot where his beat-up Corolla waited.

“I love this car.” He rambled, “Just look at it.”

“Yes, the peeling paint is very inspiring.”

“It’s beautiful.” She wasn’t sure if he was ignoring her, or just didn’t care about her sarcasm. He was the happy-go-lucky type. “The silver sheen—” It was really a concrete grey. “—The artistic shape, and it’s a stick shift!”

He grinned at her. She smiled back.

It wasn’t fair to him, that she didn’t (in her heart of hearts) love him. He deserved to be loved.

They piled into the car, and he had to let go of her hand to drive.

“I love you.” He said randomly. That was his personality—just like his hair that never lay down flat, or his T-shirts with logos and band names he’d never heard of. Just a bit random, in a charming way.

She leaned against the car door, feigning sleepiness. Well, not entirely feigning. “Mm.”

Devon glanced over at her.

He knew she didn’t love him. It glinted in his pale blue eyes. Eyes like the sky just after dawn.

“I love you.” Grinning carelessly, he drove them away from the school.

Clare stared out the window.

A storm was gathering. Clouds crowded next to the sun.

And there were pink petals dancing in the wind.