And both were young

by Madeleine L'Engle

"Yes."

"Well, I don't blame you. It must be very unpleasant living in an institution."

"I don't think it's the school," Flip told him with unwilling honesty. "I think it's just me. Lots of the girls love it."

Paul shook his head. "I don't think I'd ever like a place where I couldn't leave when I chose."

"I'd like it better," Flip said with difficulty, "if anybody liked me. But nobody does." She leaned her elbows on one of the ledges and stared out over the valley towards the Dents du Midi so that she would not have to look at Paul.

"Why don't they like you?" Paul asked.

"I don't know."

"But I like you."

Flip did not insult him by saying "do you really?" Instead she asked, "Why do you like me, Paul?"

Paul considered. "I knew right away that I liked you so I never bothered to think why. I just—well, I like the way you look. Your eyes are nice. I like the way you see things. And I like the way you move your hands. You could be a surgeon if you wanted to. But you want to be an artist."