Wammy House
H and Linda’s Room
Winchester, England
October 31, 2004
Linda St. John straightened her wig before looking
back at the bed, seeing the lump underneath the covers. “You’ve been there
since forever,” the blonde thirteen-year-old whined, “Get up, H. They’re giving
out candy per classroom and then there’s going to be an activity later.”
The form didn’t reply and she huffed angrily,
stomping towards the green bed and ripping the covers off. The girl underneath
protested, Linda dumping the covers on the floor and scowling. “Get your tired
butt up, H. Do you want me to drag you out in those pajamas?”
H buried her head under the pillow. “Please don’t.”
“Then move! Goodness,” she sighed. “It’s like I’m
the only one who’s legitimately excited for these kinds of things.”
Because
you *are* the only one, H thought glumly. The blonde
sighed, sitting by her feet.
“You know, A wouldn’t like it if you just moped like
this.” She saw H’s body tense up and she put a hand on her back, rubbing it
gently. “It’s been months, Heather.
Months. I know you’re still upset. I am, too.”
“It’s not about him…”
“Sure it isn’t. But keep this in mind: he doesn’t
want you to cry over him. Okay?” when Heather didn’t bother moving, Linda
merely sighed and stood up, her witch costume still perfectly pieced. “I did
your costume just in case. Just look at my bed. At least come for dinner.”
“…I’ll consider it.”
With those words spoken, Linda sighed yet again and
stood up, leaving the room and the door closing with a soft click.
