Annabelle's eyes fall, and she picks some linty little pills off one sleeve of her sweater as she thinks. It's confusing for her too. Such that she doesn't know how to behave, or what she wants. She feels herself flush when she remembers how it felt to kiss him, and how it felt when he put his mouth on her, underneath her skirt.

"I guess—" she tilts her head, pensively knitting her eyebrows together. "I mean—it means...a lot. It does mean something," she says and rolls her eyes up to look at him. "—to me, that is. You are my friend, and I feel priviledged to have that sort of experience with someone I care for and trust. But...even if that kind of thing happens, I don't want to change what we already have?"

Annabelle looks confused at her own words. She decides she hates this type of conversation.

"I don't even fully know what I'm saying."