A gentle but chilling breeze blows through the air as Ms. Altizer hurries across the campus. The plain black dress she threw on at the last minute does nothing to protect her against the crisp cold of the night, and her (unnecessarily expensive) black satin slingback heels clack and wobble along the cobblestone paths. This is stupid. She's wearing slippers next time she has to chaperone.
The bonfire burning outside the auditorium grows closer, its flickering flames magically steadied so as not to whip around too much in the wind. Ms. Altizer pauses at the perimeter to adjust a strap on her heel, basking in that warmth and light for one last moment before she has to care for the wellbeing of dozens of children that don't even belong to her.
Then, she hears him.
"There you are." Alva Berzelius, a man who, much to everyone's dismay, still sends butterflies through her stomach. He emerges from behind the bonfire, casually handsome in his suit, tossing a small box up and down in his hand. "I had money on you finally wising up and taking off."
"I'd never figure out my Google calendar again," she mutters, standing back up and straightening out her dress. "And those kids can find me anywhere, I'll never escape—why do you have a box?"
Mr. Berzelius grins and twirls the tiny box on the tip of his finger for a brief moment. "Haaappy anniversary?"
Ms. Altizer is speechless for an entire second before the scene hits pause.
MEMORY: Happy Anniversary
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A gentle but chilling breeze blows through the air as Ms. Altizer hurries across the campus. The plain black dress she threw on at the last minute does nothing to protect her against the crisp cold of the night, and her (unnecessarily expensive) black satin slingback heels clack and wobble along the cobblestone paths. This is stupid. She's wearing slippers next time she has to chaperone.
The bonfire burning outside the auditorium grows closer, its flickering flames magically steadied so as not to whip around too much in the wind. Ms. Altizer pauses at the perimeter to adjust a strap on her heel, basking in that warmth and light for one last moment before she has to care for the wellbeing of dozens of children that don't even belong to her.
Then, she hears him.
"There you are." Alva Berzelius, a man who, much to everyone's dismay, still sends butterflies through her stomach. He emerges from behind the bonfire, casually handsome in his suit, tossing a small box up and down in his hand. "I had money on you finally wising up and taking off."
"I'd never figure out my Google calendar again," she mutters, standing back up and straightening out her dress. "And those kids can find me anywhere, I'll never escape—why do you have a box?"
Mr. Berzelius grins and twirls the tiny box on the tip of his finger for a brief moment. "Haaappy anniversary?"
Ms. Altizer is speechless for an entire second before the scene hits pause.