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Lunch will continue to pass in companionable silence unless he chooses to say something.

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Companionable silence it is.

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Bella is out sick the next day, too, but Angie is still well, in spite of having been to visit Bella the previous afternoon.

In bio, she tells "John": "My parents say it will be all right for you to stay with us at least to see if it will work out, and you don't have to come up with rent either, if you'll do a few things around the house and maybe look after my brothers occasionally. They're eight."
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"That seems more than fair. Thank you."

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"You're welcome!" says Angie, smiling.

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'John' smiles tentatively back.

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Biology ensues. This is a lecture class. Angie does her level best to take Bella-quality notes so that she can bring them to Bella later. She has a copy of Bella's notes from the day she herself missed on hand.

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Lacking a notebook, John just pays attention.

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"Do you have stuff you'll need to move in?" Angie asks Sherlock, between bio and lunch.

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"Not much of it," he says. "What I'm wearing, and a backpack."

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Angela nods. "You can just walk home with me after school, then, and I can show you the room and introduce you to everyone."

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"All right. Thank you again."

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"You're welcome!" They sit down to lunch. "Do you want some of my sandwich?"

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"Oh, I couldn't," he says. "You've been so kind to me already. If I'm going to eat your food at least let me be the one to cook it."

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"If you're sure," says Angie. She is apparently a unique soul who can say those words without implying that she is being less than perfectly literal with them.

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"Yes. Thank you."

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"It's no trouble," she assures him, and she sets about eating her lunch.

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And her companion drinks today's symbolic beverage.

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After school, Angela locates "John" to show him to her house. "Are you ready to go?"

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"Yes," he says, swinging the aforementioned backpack onto his shoulders.

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Angie's house is only a half-mile away. When they get there, her mother is pulling into the driveway with the eight-year-old boys in tow, who pop out of the car and peer at "John" like a pair of owls.

"Hi, guys," Angie calls. "This is John. John, this is my mom, Mrs. Webber, and my brothers Isaac, and Joshua." She points; the boys are fraternal and easily distinguished.
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"Hello, Mrs. Webber. Hello, Isaac. Hello, Joshua."

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"Hello, John," says Mrs. Webber. "You can come have a look at our spare room right now if you like." She shuts the door to the family minivan behind her and shoos the boys towards the house.

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"Thank you so much," he says, following hesitantly. "I can't express how much this means to me."

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"It's no trouble. We moved to the bigger house when we had the twins, but it turns out they won't stand for separate rooms," says Mrs. Webber lightly. The twins in question have already gone inside.

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