Lucy opens her mouth to snipe, but the admission weakens her. She's distantly thankful for the veil, which censors a pathetic bloom of color in her face. Maybe she should wear this all the time. It's not like it's difficult to find things to mourn for lately, or ever.

One thing the fall of black lace doesn't hide, however, is the way her eyes follow Dustin's fleeting glance to the back of the car. Lucy stands tall enough in platforms that she can glare over his shoulder at their animated audience, transmitting an iciness at complete odds with the way it really feels to stand here, witnessed, wandering secret touches along the palm of his hand. None of the freshmen are cowed by this display, which is boring. Another sign that it's past time to leave.

"I'm the one that got you, so now you can take me away," Lucy suggests, as if it's a privilege to rescue her from these trite torments. She steps in closer, pressing herself into Dustin's side like a gentleman escort. "Somewhere quiet. I want to talk to you."