It had been two weeks since Poire had spoken to the lemur. Sometimes, she thought of him, and whether or not he had managed to make it through the storm. But most times she was busy—busy talking to Ivan.

Her other classmates, especially the girls, would attempt speaking to him during recess. Yet he would always look the other way, and twirl a strand of his dark locks around his index finger, as he rushed to find Poire instead.

Poire was in heaven. Not only had a boy, one she had grown quite fond of, taken interest in her; but in the process of all this, he had eliminated Poire’s bullies. It was hard for them to come for her now, considering she was never alone; although, quite ironically so, she was still giving away her pies—willingly—to the object of her affections this time.

It was this afternoon when she felt a little braver, as they spoke of last week’s homework, that Poire took a deep breath and shut her eyes. If she tried hard enough she could see fresh soil by her shoes, and hear the hooting of owls, but she quickly pushed such imageries away. “W-would you like to come to my house?” she blurted.

Ivan paused. A bit of salad lingered by his chin as he lowered the tomato sandwich he’d been eating and looked to Poire. He smirked. “Your parents won’t mind?” he asked her with a curt flip of his bangs. “You are bringing a boy home, after all.”

“W-what are you talking about?” Poire’s voice broke. “We’re j-just friends,” she said, twiddling her thumbs, “n-nothing more.”

Ivan raised a brow. He hummed. “Okay, then,” he said. “When?”