Snippet #2649132

Wendy had stayed quiet most of their walk back to her address. That wasn't because she was so much in shock anymore, it was simply because for the most part, her father had taught her to speak in turn. You don't speak unless you are first talked to. He was quite an old fashioned man. Quite old fashioned that she assumed if he even saw the boy with his tattered jeans he'd get angry with Wendy and assume she had just spent time with this boy instead of coming home to make him and the whole family something to eat.

As they continued on they got closer. Finally when it was in site he answered her question. She smiled slightly when he mentioned his name was Peter. It was a bit of an old name, but she quite liked it to be rather frank. Wendy, spoke out of turn for the first time in a long time, by asking what his name was, he was supposed to ask her first. The way Wendy saw it now was that it was the twenty first century and if she wanted to ask a boy his name she would ask it. Although this boy was different than her father, her father with a man filled with anger, and she didn't dare speak back to him.

"Wendy." She said after he had asked her what her own name was. Her name was a bit old now a days and not many parents named their children that, but Wendy was perfectly fine with that.

When they finally got to her road she looked over to him briefly and then back to the road. She got out of his jacket and handed it to him. "Here, I wont be needing it much longer, and I think you need it a lot more than I do." Wendy also knew if her father saw her out the window with it on, he'd assume the worst. It was the way he was. Likely no one would ask nor care what had happened to her tonight. She'd get in and they'd ask what kept her, and Wendy would probably lie and tell them she had to stay late. Her parents weren't people to confide in. They never have been.