Easter picnic. Cold river, warm hands.

Be wary of the gossip mill, Alice. And of your mother.

The plot thickens. The back is saved. The heart is broken.

They should’ve stayed doing spreadsheets…

“At least, it wasn’t a letter, this time.”

Something is brewing in the air. And it’s not Excel spreadsheets.

What made Alice cry.

Make it awkward, Alice. A mixtape plays.

It’s painting time, and eating time. Clara is very happy. Alice not so much.

Alice thinks it’s going to be fun to dress up like an old lady for Carnival. Of course, it backfires in uninteded ways.