Once she sees Regan start to write again, Rosie walks back to her old table, picking up her bag and scooping her notebooks and French textbook under one arm. She tries to ignore the feeling she's done something thoughtless, essentially walking away in the middle of their conversation. No matter that Regan had given her permission, of a sort, or that the circumstances of their communication meant that it was less strange to get up and do something while the other girl wrote, instead of sitting there just watching her put pencil to paper.

Still, Regan doesn't look unhappy, once Rosie's returned to their table, which is an encouraging sign. Hesitant, maybe; reading over whatever she'd written, letting out a sigh before turning the paper back, but not angry or upset by any accidental rudeness Rosie might have shown. She reads over the short paragraph, a bright, pleased smile crossing her face when she gets to the question at the end.

Yes! I go to Petros High, so if you enroll there we should definitely start a language club, she writes. And if Regan decides on Darrow High instead, she just might look to see if Petros already has a sign language group anyway. Wherever you go, it's good you'll have an interpreter. Were all the schools where you're from schools for the deaf? I never saw any in Oxford, where I'm from--it was all just

Rosie pauses just before she finishes that sentence with normal schools, realizing just in time how that might sound to the other girl. School, she writes instead--not much better, maybe, but an improvement on simply leaving the sentence unfinished.