Finals were done, and Christmas was quickly approaching, but Beverly wasn't feeling particularly cheerful. She hadn't been to the coffeeshop since the incident with Cynthia a week ago. Griffin had sent her a text later that same night with the words,

It stung, of course, but Beverly supposed she shouldn't be surprised. What else had she expected, sticking her nose where it didn't belong?

Alicia and Beverly's other friends had all left for break, meaning Beverly was feeling lonelier than ever. In the past she'd gone home as well, but this time was different, as her parents had been invited on a cruise, and the twins would be staying with friends. The circumstances left her with Deb and the few other students who were considered "special cases," and allowed to remain in the dorms during the break.

The days were long and dull, and the grey clouds and freezing weather weren't helping Beverly's somber mood.

Her Friday would have been just another depressing day, if not for the email she received from her mother:

Sitting back against the stiff library chair, she stared down at her laptop sadly, blinking back the tears forming in her eyes. It had never been so hard to be away from home as it was in that moment, feeling lonelier than ever.

Closing up her laptop and standing quickly from her chair, Beverly decided she would go back to her dorm and cry herself out. Hopefully once she got it out of her system she wouldn't burst into tears at the sight of a family celebrating the holidays together.

Packing everything up and slipping out of the empty library with a wave to the bored librarian, Beverly started the trek back to her dorm. It was only five in the evening, but the campus was almost entirely empty; the students who had stayed were probably in the city partying, but that wasn't Beverly's idea of fun.

I'd rather be with Griffin. Doing anything. The thought only brought more sadness, though, and she started walking faster, keeping her head towards the ground as she bustled along.

"Beverly!" she halted immediately, searching out the voice and finding Francis Knott, holding a briefcase and a closed umbrella as he strode towards her. "Once again, I'm a bit surprised to see you—shouldn't you have left for break yet?"

If Beverly were a vindictive person, she would have blamed Mr. Knott for the mess she was in, but she didn't blame him at all. It was her decision to give Cynthia the letter, not his, and that was okay.

Seeing him, however, only served to remind her of her current lack of friends, and the dam holding her tears finally broke. Mr. Knott's eyes widened comically at the sight of a crying girl, and he cursed under his breath before stepping closer and placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. "I'm so sorry—I didn't mean to make you cry. What can I do? What is it?"

Beverly shook her head, wiping at the tears trailing down her cheeks and trying to keep the small shred that remained of her dignity intact. "It's not," she took a shaky breath, "your fault. I just . . . I haven't been having a good week."

Mr. Knott's expression conveyed genuine regret and sorrow. "I have a feeling it is my fault. Come on, Beverly, let me treat you to dinner."

***

They dined at a cozy Italian restaurant that was so casual it made Mr. Knott look out of place in his tailored business suit.

Over a large cheese pizza, Beverly poured out the story of what had occurred with Cynthia and Griffin, taking a long swig of her iced tea when she had finished. Mr. Knott sighed sadly. "Beverly, this is absolutely my fault. I never should have given you that note; it put you in an unfair position, and Cynthia took her anger out on you when you didn't deserve it. I sincerely apologize."

Wiping her greasy hands off on a napkin, Beverly shrugged noncommittally. "It's really not, Mr. Knott. You gave me the letter, yes, but it was my choice to give it to Cynthia. I could've easily dumped it in the trash, but I didn't. This isn't on you. Not all of it, anyway."

He shook his head in disagreement but didn't speak for several beats. After taking another bite of pizza and chewing it thoughtfully, he said, "Nonetheless, I should make it up to you; what can I do?"

An immediate thought popped into Beverly's head, but she did her best to push it away. It was stupid and silly and totally farfetched, and they didn't know one another that well, although she really did like Mr. Knot.

So, maybe, perhaps . . .?

No, it's dumb.

"How are you spending Christmas?" was out before she could stop it, and she switched her gaze to her stained napkin, trying to hide her embarrassment from him.

Mr. Knott just laughed. "I always spend it by myself, eating food my housekeeper leaves me. Why?"

Twiddling her fingers in her lap, Beverly mumbled, "Could I maybe spend it with you?"

There was a silence, and Beverly was sure that Mr. Knott was disgruntled and unsure of how to process the request. A glance up at him, however, showed him looking a bit emotional. "Really?" he whispered, bending forward and resting his elbows on either side of his plate. "You would want to do that?"

"Well, um," she scratched the side of her neck, "my family is out of town, and I just figured that we're sort of friends, right? And friends can spend Christmas together. We don't have to, of course, but if you want to—"

"I'd love to." His smile was soft. "It's been a while since I've had company. Besides, I see you as family more than a friend; you remind me of my sister."

Beverly grinned toothily. "Well, I've always wanted an older brother, but I'd say you're too old for that. How about you be my honorary uncle?"

He laughed at her teasing. "Sure, Beverly. 'Uncle Francis' has a nice ring to it, actually." He shot her a playful wink, and she wrinkled her nose in response.

"I am not calling you that."

"No? How about 'Uncle Fran'? Or just 'Fran'?"

"No."

"'Franny'?"

"No!"