"Yeah," Celeste countered dryly. "I'm going to murder someone because all of the cool kids are doing it.
She was silent for a moment, the sound of the music filling the empty space between words. One hand idly touched her stomach. Telling him the truth about what had happened, it made her feel strangely empty inside and untethered. The more she thought about it, the more uncomfortable the sensation became, until she felt like doing something impulsive to take it away. This happened sometimes to her. It got too much, and she would smash a glass or break something or anything that would get her out of her head.
"I don't care what everyone thinks."
Celeste crossed the room, inches from him, and closed the gap by pressing her lips against his.