Wirt was gone longer than before. He heated the water in the microwave, which should have meant he would be done quickly, but his mother heard him and came to see how he was doing. She asked how the party had been, and when he got home, why he looked so flushed (had he run all the way home?) and why he had three cups out instead of one. He lied each time, and felt a little bad about it. But it was out of necessity. He couldn't let on that there as a girl up in his room, one that might end up staying a long while.

He told her to send Greg upstairs whenever he got home, for his cup of hot chocolate, and then slipped back upstairs with two warm cups of coco and one filled with just cold water from the tap. He set the three of them down carefully in front of his door, so he could go grab a hairbrush from the bathroom.

With a deep breath, Wirt knocked softly on the door. He was glad he had talked to his mom for a while. He wasn't as flushed or flustered as he had been. It was almost like he hadn't just gotten worked up over nothing. And it was nothing, right?