When you were in my class, I thought you no more sullen than the average teenager; I certainly had no idea you were a war criminal with a larger body count than my own. Then again, we didn't speak much.

Now? From what I've heard on radio, your intentions seem to mostly involve running from your trauma and drinking. Hopefully for your own sake healing. The thing about you that worries me the most is your friendship with the dean. He threw you under the metaphoric bus once; I don't trust he won't do it again. I don't know you well enough to care about you one way or the other, but Sparkle cares for you, and I care for him.