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Chapter Six Rule Number One
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After Davina left James standing at the bottom of the staircase, she went to her dormitory where everyone else, including Roman, was now fast asleep. She hoped that by the time her head connected to her pillow that she would be just like them lost in a dream that was entirely her own. However, that was not the case.
He's crazy, Davina thought as the question James Potter asked her raced through her mind. For a moment she saw the face of Peter Kavinsky and how distressed he looked when he was walking towards the girl — was he upset? Was he so upset with Davina that he no longer wanted to be her friend? Or maybe he felt so embarrassed he wouldn't be able to even look her in the eye when he told her he no longer wanted anything to do with her?
Davina seemed sure that Peter Kavinsky was in distress. Her friend became florid knowing that her best friend now knew what she had said about him in first year (and a few sentences she had added in third year — and she could not forget the paragraph she added only the previous year. No she could not forget that.).
Shifting to the other side of her bed, turning her body within the bed covers, she hoped she would be able to close her eyes and drift to sleep. But every time she closed her eyes all she saw was Peter Kavinsky throwing the letter at her feet and saying he could no longer be friends with Davina Jeanne Covey out of the sheer embarrassment of the letter's contents.
Dear Peter, it read, you are possibly the tallest human being I have ever seen. Which quite frankly astounds me since you were the last boy in our year to get tall. I hope you know that I hate you. I hate you so much for making it impossible to hate you. Doesn't make sense? I suppose neither does love when you come to think of it. See I don't hate you hate you, I actually love you so much that I may as very well dig my grave now.
When Davina thought of it, she did love Peter, yet she had never been in love with him. It was a platonic love. She knew she strictly loved him platonically, that much was clear now.
If this letter ever fell into your hands I would probably cry myself to sleep and then consider myself a resident of someplace six feet underground (maybe on the shores of France?). It is now third year and I still love you. I still love you and that is a really huge problem for me. It doesn't hurt, but I feel like bursting knowing I can't tell you something like this. It would ruin everything — don't say it wouldn't either because we both know it would, Peter Kavinsky. I really do hate to love you.
I'm now immune to you, Peter Kavinsky (although it is fifth year and I am currently rereading your letter on Valentine's day...).
