"Maxxie will understand," Claire replies, even though she can feel her voice lowering in volume, can feel the quaver that threatens at her throat. "Like, of all the people on the island that I kind of know, I feel like he's the last person who'd hold it against me." The words feel a bit hollow. She doesn't doubt their veracity, of course— there are certain things that people don't get through without building a fair amount of trust in the process, and switching bodies is one of them. But it isn't really Maxxie's opinion that she's worried about right now.

It's the boy who, for all that she loves him, won't seem to listen. Doesn't seem to understand that his inaction is wearing her down and setting her nerves on edge. God, if only she could make people listen to her when she's looking out for them. When she knows that what she has to say might only help. (This is probably, she notes to herself, a belated realization, how her father felt.)

She watches as Mr. Muggles leaps off the bed and taps his way over to Eden's empty room. "It's just not really my kind of thing, you know?"