( if clarisse notices the way annabeth steps forward, she does her best to pretend like she hadn't. that doesn't stop her cheeks from warming, though, because even after all this time, she doesn't really know how to do ... physical affection. children of war aren't supposed to do mushy shit like that. they're supposed to get in fights and beat each other up. the last thing clarisse should want from annabeth is a hug, and yet — she finds that she yearns for it in the yawning absence of where it should have been. silena had broken down some of those barriers, had taught her that her masterfully fortified wall doesn't have to be impenetrable — but then silena had gone and gotten herself killed (no, clarisse had let her die, hadn't she? or was it luke's fault? the blame passes hands like a hot potato) and clarisse isn't sure she's recovered, even now, over a year later. )
Uh, ( she says, helpfully, fighting the urge to take the stack of books from annabeth and dump them on the ground. she almost says, looking for you, but the words die somewhere in her throat. she'd never actually admit that, especially not to annabeth's face. then, mustering up her usual level of indignation, she waves the book in her hand as if the answer was obvious: ) I read.
( nailed it. they both know this is a bold-faced lie, but that isn't the point. )
wails about them
Uh, ( she says, helpfully, fighting the urge to take the stack of books from annabeth and dump them on the ground. she almost says, looking for you, but the words die somewhere in her throat. she'd never actually admit that, especially not to annabeth's face. then, mustering up her usual level of indignation, she waves the book in her hand as if the answer was obvious: ) I read.
( nailed it. they both know this is a bold-faced lie, but that isn't the point. )