Her father was angry.
He was more than angry.
But Cynthia didn't care.
Her mind was focused on Malcolm's face, or mainly his words, or was it mainly his eyes? "I know what I'm going to do." He was so clever sometimes, but mostly he was plain stupid. He panicked easily, and his eyes, his beautiful clear blue eyes that seemingly only she noticed were wide with worry.
What was he worried about? He should worry about nothing. He would do something amazing one day, Cynthia knew. Malcolm was clever, shallow, quirky and unbelievably brilliant.
Not just in numbers.
They had never done anything, never said anything, but Cynthia had found out that somehow she had fallen in love with him (silly girl, now why would you do that?).
And all Cynthia could think about was that stunned look on Malcolm's face as he was dragged out of the car by his mother, and she was sure her expression mirrored his as she was pulled into the car by her father.
She didn't know why she said it. But she wished it were true.
(Stupid Girl, why would you do that?)
Because I love him, Cynthia couldn't help replying to the voice in her head.