You're in the middle of what looks like a resteraunt way out of your budget, it's quiet besides the hum of classical music playing but it seems raging loud when you're this nervous. Charlie is next to you, his parents glaring you down from across the table. He squeezes your knee gently under the table, a small comfort in the chaos of your own mind Mrs. Dayson: So what do your parents do for a living? Janitors maybe? His father snickers but Charlie just squeezes your knee tighter
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