He turned back.
The window opened. Gorya looked out, her hair tied back in a messy bun, wearing oversized pajamas. She squinted into the rain, looking down at the street. Her eyes found him instantly.
"I'm not going to the gala," Thyme muttered, turning his back to his friend. "Tell my mother I’m sick. Tell her I died. I don't care."
"Not happening," she said firmly, pushing him back toward the door. "But... tomorrow. After school. You can come fix the display."
He turned back.
The window opened. Gorya looked out, her hair tied back in a messy bun, wearing oversized pajamas. She squinted into the rain, looking down at the street. Her eyes found him instantly.
"I'm not going to the gala," Thyme muttered, turning his back to his friend. "Tell my mother I’m sick. Tell her I died. I don't care."
"Not happening," she said firmly, pushing him back toward the door. "But... tomorrow. After school. You can come fix the display."
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