she won't tell you

She won't tell you that her brother has been diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes at the age of eighteen, and that's why she's been less cheery these days, though she's trying. You will find out later, when she's ready to tell. Or you won't.

He won't mention why the dark circles under his eyes are so pronounced. You will guess. You will be wrong.

She will normally say, "Hey everyone... happier now? 'Cause I'm here!" until the one day she breaks down and sobs because it's over and it's her fault for dumping him and can she go in the hall. At the end of class she will compose herself, return, apologize for the tears, and you will say it's okay, really, no, it's okay, no need to be sorry.

He will not tell you when lettuce migrates across your teeth, though you should have guessed it by the way he grinned throughout the lecture.

They will tell you what they will, and no more. At times their silence will baffle you.

You will pretend to know enough.