Five Nights at Freddy's The Silver Eyes

features had refined, and his hair was carefully tousled and held in place by some
alchemical hair product. He was almost pretty, for a boy, and wore a black workout
shirt, though she doubted he’d ever worked out a day in his life. He was slouched
forward on the table, resting his chin in his hands. Beside him was John, sitting closest
to the window. John had been the kind of child who got dirty before he even went
outside: there would be paint on his shirt before the teacher handed out the watercolors,
grass stains on his knees before they came near a playground, and dirt under his
fingernails just after he washed his hands. Charlie knew it was him, because it had to
be, but he looked completely different. The grubbiness of childhood had been replaced
by something crisp and clean. He was wearing a neatly pressed, light green button-down
shirt, the sleeves rolled up and the collar open, preventing him from looking too uptight,
and he was leaned back confidently in the booth, nodding enthusiastically, apparently
absorbed in whatever Jessica was saying. The only concession to his former self was
his hair, sticking up all over his head, and a 5 o’clock shadow, a smug, adult version of
the dirt he was always covered in as a kid.
Charlie smiled to herself. John had been something like her childhood crush,
before either of them really understood what that meant. He gave her cookies from his
Transformers’ lunchbox and once in kindergarten took the blame when she broke the
glass jar that held colored beads for arts-and-crafts. She remembered the moment, when
it slipped from her hands, and she watched it fall. She could not have moved fast enough
to catch it, but she would not have tried. She wanted to see it break. The glass hit the
wood floor and shattered into a thousand pieces, and the beads scattered, many-colored,
among the shards, and she thought it was beautiful, and then she started to cry. John had
******ebook converter DEMO Watermarks*******