The silly boy could've gone during daylight hours, unless the isolation calls out to him...

A desk between them makes a flimsy barrier yet an insurmountable distance both. It's no protection from the truly pathetic kicked-animal moroseness that wraps around her heart, squeezing. Her folder-bearing hands drift down until they hit hardwood.

"Henry," she greets him softly. Still Henry. The other boy wouldn't look at her like his. She doesn't think.