Maureen's letter did not surprise me. During lunch I had watched Maureen stare at Annie. She watched as Annie pushed her hair back and slipped, with nimble fingers, a few loose strands beneath her hair clip. I saw Maureen's eye's slide dangerously across Annie's soft face, and down her neck, and I wanted desperately to brush them off. To stamp on those ugly thoughts like insects. I watched Maureen look at Annie's hand, which she had the rather annoying habit of sometimes resting on the table, lifeless, beside her plate as she ate. As I watched I knew that Maureen was busy making ugly calculations.