Seven Years Ago

Seven Years Ago

“Aww, Brian, are you sure you won’t stay with us for dinner?” Mrs. Rivera asked. “Call your folks, if you need to.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Rivera, but no—I really can’t,” Brian said stiffly. “Thank you again so much for allowing me over, though.”

“Oh, stop,” Mrs. Rivera laughed, stepping over and opening her arms wide for a hug. “Come over any time, you’re always welcome.”

A slouching sixteen-year-old Emily rolled her eyes and sighed melodramatically, picking through her piled plate of spaghetti. Katie, now thirteen, sat on the other end of the table, minding her careful posture and graceful manners—while Brian was present, at least. That wretched little pit fiend had already sprouted up taller than Emily already, going from scrawny to tall and thin in just a few years.

“Thank you, but, I couldn’t impose,” Brian allowed himself to be awkwardly hugged, tensing up at the contact.

“You’re fine, you’re fine, stop that.” Mrs. Rivera scolded, tousling his hair affectionately as she sent him on his way. “Drive safely, young man. Have a good night.”

“Thank you. See you at school, Emmie,” he called.

“Yeah. Bye,” She said nonchalantly around her mouthful of food, waving.

The door closed, and Mrs. Rivera expectantly hurried back towards the kitchen table, looking from daughter to daughter in anticipation.

“Well?”

“No,” Emily insisted. “We’re not discussing this. You two are not a committee, and neither of you get to sit here and judge my life. Or my friends.”

Completely unfazed, her mother’s expectant smile didn’t falter, and she instead simply turned it towards Katie. “Well?”

“He’s definitely okay,” Katie appraised seriously. “Maybe even, like, a nine.”

“I thought so too,” Mrs. Rivera agreed with a cheerful voice, leaning over to scoop spaghetti onto her plate. “He wasn’t at all like I expected.”

“Both of you, I am so serious. Stop. He’s just a friend,” Emily growled. “And that’s it.”

“Just a friend?” Mrs. Rivera frowned, slipping into her seat. “Oh, c’mon, he’s cute.”

“No, Emily’s right this time,” Katie said sweetly, carefully twirling spaghetti strands around her fork. “Definitely just a friend—he’s way out of her league.”

“Aww, honey. He’s not out of her league,” Mrs. Rivera chided playfully. “Emily just needs a little more… fighting spirit.”

“I’m not playing those stupid little games with Brian,” Emily growled. “He deserves better than that.”

“Well, I do think he’s very nice,” Mrs. Rivera said, trying to be diplomatic. “It’s just…”

“…Yeah, just what?” Emily retorted. I warned you. Just try and criticize my choice of—

“Emmie, does Brian come from… a bad home?” Emily’s mother asked carefully.

“What.” Emily dropped her fork onto her plate loudly in surprise, failing to suppress a flash of anger. “…Why would you even say that.”

“I’m just worried, honey. Something was wrong, he seemed a little… off.”

She was right. This had been his first time hanging out over at her house, and it was… weird. He was polite, but in a well-mannered, stiff, and robotic sort of way. Nothing like the casual and laid-back buddy she thought she knew. Something about the whole visit, in fact, had somehow seemed… strained. Distant.

“Well… maybe he was. A little,” Emily conceded, “But like, how would you even know? This was the first time you even met him.”

“Because I’m your mother. I pay close attention to body language, and the way he acts—acting being my other speciality, you remember? For instance, as he was leaving, when I gave him that hug right then—he just kind of, well… He froze. Flinched back this tiniest bit? I don’t know, maybe it was just my imagination?”

“He’s a teenage boy, Mom,” Emily reminded her, gesturing at her mother in aggravation. “And you’re… you know. You’re you. Probably getting a crush on you or something… ugh, that’s so gross.”

“Hardly,” her mother said, smirking. “You’re the one he has a crush on. How does he react when you hug him?”

“As if,” Katie snorted.

“I don’t. We don’t hug,” Emily insisted, quickly trying to gloss over her mother’s casual remark. “We’re not a thing, mother. We’re just friends, and we don’t hug. That’s weird.”

“You can’t even get a hug?” Katie’s eyes went wide. “Wow, I knew you were an embarrassment, but… wow.”

“Mom, I can hit her for that, right?”

“Yes, honey,” her mother sighed, rolling her eyes as a smack sounded out, followed by an aggrieved Ow, sheesh. “Has he ever said anything about his home life? Or his parents?”

Emily paused in uncertainty as she racked her memory. He… really hasn’t, has he?

“So… when’re we ever gonna hang out at your house?” Emily asked, absentmindedly plucking another dry leaf from the grass and picking it apart in her hands. It was several weeks after he’d visited her place, and they were at Aunt Mattie’s place, a big, somewhat rundown estate with a dash of rural charm on the outskirts of town. Their friend Mike had been raised here by his Aunt Matilda—who everyone called Aunt Mattie.

The social dynamic among the local group of geeks in their little city was interesting—at Truliet, the private school, all their pals seemed to naturally gravitate towards Brian, while at the public school, San Michaels, Mike seemed to be the guy everyone knew, the axis upon which geeky circles of friends spun. Emily didn’t dislike Mike—he was a funny loudmouth, but otherwise, in her eyes, he wasn’t worthy of comparison to Brian in the slightest.

“Hopefully never,” Brian responded without hesitation, not looking up from the scribbling he was doing in his notebook. He didn’t elaborate further.

Across the yard, seven or so teens were playing a rather heated game, ducking throughout the trees and shrubs in a constant crunch of dead leaves and occasional terrified yelps. Should they really be using basketballs to play dodgeball?

“Um. Well, why not? Got something to hide?”

“…Yep, pretty much,” he answered indifferently. She could see he was cross-hatching shading lines around his drawing, and she was surprised by how much it made the look pop out. And why bother? Draw me sometime, at least.

“You, uh… you wanna talk about it?” She asked, not sure if she was joking with him or not.

“Nope,” he replied curtly. Nothing else he could have said would have made her want answers more.

He’d stopped shading; his mechanical pencil frozen at the end of the line he’d been drawing. Although he was looking thoughtfully at the scribble, he didn’t continue. Emily awkwardly looked away, a sense of unease settling deep in the pit of her stomach, followed by anger.

Fuck. Mom was right, there really is something weird up with Brian and his parents. Something wrong. Why didn’t I… how the hell did I never notice anything ‘till now? She tore apart the next crumbling leaf in frustration, but it was another month before the topic was brought up again.

“Okay, well, if you ever did do a cosplay thing, who would you wanna be?” Emily asked. They were amidst a small stream of fellow students traversing the school corridors on their way to their respective classes.

“You know, I’d kinda want to be Lance, from Fantasy Wars,” Brian answered, looking thoughtful.

“Yeah? That’d be cool. So, why don’t you?”

“Hah, definitely not now,” Brian said. “Maybe sometime after I’m out on my own.”

“What, ‘fraid your dad’ll beat the shit out of you if he finds out?” Emily wise-cracked, a split second before realizing she shouldn’t have.

She was discovering that whenever his parents, his house, or even his childhood came up, it felt like she was talking to another person. The Brian she thought she knew, that she joked about anime with and bickered about music with for hours, became some Brian she barely knew at all. A Brian who clammed up and replied in brief, short sentences that left no room for further conversation. The Brian that kept shutting her out.

“Something like that,” he said casually, adjusting the straps of his backpack with his thumbs.

Uh… she shot him a glance and held it for a moment. The hell kind of response is that?

“I was joking, you know?” She teased, facing forward again.

“Yep,” he acknowledged.

“It’s not actually funny, though,” she said, getting annoyed. “Does your dad ever really… you know, hit you or anything?”

“It’s…” he began, before shaking his head evasively. “Ah, you wouldn’t understand.”

“What the fuck, dude?” Emily said, surprised at how quickly her temper was flaring up. “The fuck’s there to understand? Does he hit you or not? Yes, or no.”

When he didn’t answer her after a few long moments she stopped, planting her feet firmly in the hallway and glaring at him. The flow of teenagers who’d been walking behind her were stalled by her sudden stop and forced to slowly squeezed their way around her.

“C’mon, Emily,” Brian said in exasperation. “Let’s go.”

“Answer me,” she insisted, her eyes radiating seriousness.

“Talking doesn’t change anything,” he said, getting annoyed himself. “Can we just go? Walking with you always makes me late.”

“Well, sorry for not having freakish long legs, Salty McStilt-Strider. So, he hits you,” Emily decided. “‘Till you’re eighteen, that’s child abuse. Hell, even after eighteen, that’s what, domestic violence? We can call the cops.”

“I didn’t say he did anything. And I’m not randomly getting cops involved.”

“So… you’re just cool with playin’ the victim, then, huh?”

“I’m not a victim. I’m just being realistic.”

“You’re a victim.”

“Fuck off,” Brian said defensively. They walked on together in silence, and Emily was struggling not to show how uncomfortable she’d become. Brian didn’t swear much, and never at her. Playfully arguing back and forth with Brian over the past few years had become so typical for her, so natural, she could forget that there were still times where she really couldn’t just thoughtlessly run her mouth.

“…Look, sorry,” he finally said, reluctance evident in his voice. He’d spoken up just as she was about to apologize herself, which irritated her even more. “I know you’re just—”

“Does he ever hit you?” Emily interrupted. “Yes, or fuckin’ no?” If you won’t do something about your problems, then I will.

“Just… back off, alright?” He grumbled, turning and walking on without her.

“Why don’t you make me back off, huh, punk?” She called, chasing after him. “Whose side are you on, anyways?”

“There aren’t any sides here.”

“Yeah? Good. I’m coming over this weekend.”

“And what’s that gonna accomplish?” Brian griped, shaking his head. “What, if my Dad doesn’t throw a punch at me while you’re there, then everything’s fine and in the clear? Just let it go. None of it actually matters, ‘cause this lease is up once I turn eighteen. Just two more years, and I’m outta there.”

“I just… fuck, I don’t know, man. Help me understand, alright? Tell me that you’re really okay, and I’ll drop it. I don’t want to go over there, anyways. It sounds boring and weird.”

“I’m fine, Emily.”

She searched his features carefully and then began to scowl. Fuck. You think I can’t tell when you’re lying? Fuck. What the fuck. Fuck.

“I’m coming over this weekend,” she insisted.

“C’mon in,” Brian sighed. “Shoes here.” He kicked off his shoes in the entryway, and Emily did the same, toeing the heel of her sneakers off and putting them next to the neat row of shoes there.

“Uh, okay… Brian, you never told me you were like, filthy rich?” Emily pointed out accusingly. For some reason, she’d always pictured him living in low-income housing, maybe something just a step up from a run-down mobile home, one in a bad area. She’d even felt guilty about it, figuring there was a distinct income gap between her family and his. Guess I just wasn’t on the side of the gap that I thought I was…

She’d known the name of the area he lived in—but she never connected it in her mind to this gated community of veritable mansions, each on their own sprawling lot of tidily manicured lawns, hedges, and flowerbeds. She was already uncomfortable, and she’d always thought of her own family as pretty well-off.

“I’m not rich,” he denied, beckoning her further inside. Past the coat room, he was standing the next room over in the laundry room, and past that room was possibly an enormous kitchen. And we came in through this side door, what’s the freakin’ main entrance like?

“Well, uh, you seem pretty rich to me,” she rebuked, following him further inside. “I mean, what the hell? Two washers and two dryers—you’re practically your own little laundromat.”

“I’m not rich… they are,” he muttered. “I’ve got five bucks to my name, since I’m not allowed to keep my paychecks—and I’m not even allowed to spend it. It’s only for emergencies, I’m told.”

“Do you have a butler and maids?” Emily teased.

“We have a cleaning lady that comes every Wednesday,” Brian said with a scowl, a dark look crossing his face.

“Gee, yeah, sure sounds rough,” Emily arched an eyebrow at him.

“No, it’s… we’re not on good terms. My stepmother told her that anything that I’ve left on the floor of my room while I’m at school gets thrown away; no exceptions.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No. Lost quite a few things that way before they told me about that rule. It’s annoying that I had to, like, double-check and clean my room before the cleaning lady came, every time,” Brian grumbled. “Not that it matters anymore.”

He led her through a kitchen, which she grimly realized was more spacious than the kitchen inside the fast-food joint where she was currently working. Off to one side, it even had the same familiar enormous stainless steel triple-compartment sink her workplace did, in addition to a more normal kitchen sink. There were two ovens, making her wonder if all of it was necessitated by the family throwing huge parties.

“This must be the girlfriend,” Brian’s dad called from where he sat in the living room recliner. “Well come here, let’s have a look at you.”

There were two couches positioned around an enormous, expensive-looking television, as well as a large recliner that Brian’s dad sat in. The end-tables had doilies beneath expensive-looking lamps, antique knick-knacks were carefully positioned on shelves. Overall, it looked more like the cover of an interior design magazine rather than a place people actually occupied and lived in.

“This is Emily, she’s a friend. Just a friend,” Brian explained.

“I said, let’s have a look at you,” Brian’s father repeated, a little less politely.

She stepped closer into the living room, pausing awkwardly beside Brian. Her discomfort seemed to intensify under the man’s scrutiny and she found the situation eerily familiar. Why does it feel like I’m being brought before the dias of a gangster space slug?

…Ah, that’s why. Brian’s father was big. Huge. A head taller than Brian at the least, and perhaps another three hundred pounds heavier, his massive bulk intimidating even while sitting in the recliner. The actual resemblance to her friend Brian started at hair color… and stopped there as well, with no other similar features she could discern. He wore a mustache and large, aviator-style eyeglasses, which she haplessly categorized as rapist glasses, from which he regarded her with narrowed, beady eyes.

Emily disliked him immediately. In her head she’d simply been visualizing something like an older, gruffer version of Brian—maybe looking like Brian but also having a beard or something, but reality fell far from her expectations.

“Hello,” she attempted weakly, trying not to stare at the bulging, stubbled fat making up his chins, to show revulsion, to show this thing anything at all.

“Nice to meet… you?” Emily tried, but she saw he’d already turned his attention back to the television.

“She looks a little young,” Brian’s dad admonished, glancing in disapproval at Brian as though Emily wasn’t present. “Go watch TV in the other room, and stay where I can see you.”

“Thank you,” Brian replied, nodding, and gestured for Emily to follow him.

Thank you? What part of… any of that fucking warranted a thank you? Emily wondered, disoriented but relieved to at least be shuffling away from that thing in the recliner. This… isn’t right. This isn’t Brian. He’s acting the same weird… mechanical way he was back when he was over at my place.

She followed Brian into what looked like another whole living room, adjacent to the one where his father was reclining, appointed with similar decor. Living room number two? Family room? Or, maybe this is the den? Like the previous room, it was large and well-furnished, but in the same sterile, superficial sort of way that gave off the vibe of a realtor’s real estate showroom, rather than a real room.

Brian turned on the TV set and immediately muted it with the remote, the MUTE dialogue appearing on-screen before the channel first even swam into view.

“And keep the volume down,” his dad called in from the adjacent room.

Is this a fucking staged joke? Emily thought to herself with a strained smile, but Brian seemed to be pretending everything was normal. Closed captioning text was already appearing on the screen from the get-go, as if it was always set that way. …Is his dad watching the other TV, or is he watching me? With the reflected glow of the other screen shining off of those glasses, it was impossible for her to tell. She stifled her urge to shiver, and gave Brian a look.

Brian mustered a nervous smile for her.

A long half-hour later, Brian’s dad heaved the bulk of his body out of his recliner to receive a phone call, shooting the teens a stern look before he shuffled over to the home office. Taking the opportunity, they scurried away to Brian’s room. Seeing it, however, didn’t help her feel any better. There was nothing in his bedroom but a neatly-made bed, a dresser, and a desk, even more austere than the previous rooms. Even a hotel room would have a painting or SOMETHING for decoration.

“Uh… where’s all your stuff? Like, where do you actually live?” She was still waiting for the punchline—for him to tell her just kidding, that this was actually just a vacant guest room or something.

“Well, you have my console and my games, right?” he explained. “I have stuff in my locker at school, I have some things my backpack… I think Mark has a couple of my books… probably. That’s where my stuff is, if that’s what you mean. I don’t really, like, live here, this is just where I have to come home and sleep every day.”

“You don’t have like, uh… I dunno…” She glanced around the empty room in confusion, trying to pinpoint what was wrong. Despite the room’s size, it was so stark and bare that the only thing it brought to mind was her mental image of what the bunk at a boot camp might look like. “Posters, action figures? Toys and shit? Thought you were all into collecting anime, like I am. Stuff from growing up? Anything… sentimental, anything you? Where’s all the Brian?”

“No… that’s, uh. Complicated. They buy me things, like normal parents do, I guess, just… they decide what things I own, what’s appropriate for me, and they choose when to get rid of them. I don’t think I was ever really able to treat that stuff like it was mine, like it belonged to me. So, after those cleaning lady incidents, it eventually just kinda dwindled down into this, what you see here. Kinda boring, huh?”

“So where’s, like… your personal space? This is… creepy. Where do you go to just be you? Where do you actually live, Brian?” She asked, feeling even more weirded out. She’d always been interested in what his room might look like, what his unique, personal space might say about him. But, what the hell is this?

“Well, not here, obviously. I, uh, I guess for now I live when I’m with you guys at school,” Brian admitted, giving her an uncomfortable shrug. “When I’m with my friends, you know. People I can trust. Like, when I’m around you, Emily—I don’t ever have to worry about appearances, or what I’m supposed to be; I can just be myself. Or at least, free to figure out what that is, you know? That’s where I live.”

“…Aww, thanks, Brian,” she said with sarcasm, only having paused for one horrifyingly long moment, frantic to cover up the surge of emotion she’d felt. “I uh, I live you, too? It’s just, uh, Brian. Brian. This all… whatever it is that’s going on here, this is a problem.”

“Emily…”

“Does he hit you, too?”

“Sure, sometimes, yeah. But hitting me is just… discipline. Y’know, corporal punishment, their right to enact as parents, whenever they think I’m not being respectful enough—or not meeting their expectations. It’s whatever, I can deal with it. That’s like, the least of my problems.”

“So… they’re abusive. Controlling and abusive,” Emily prompted, watching Brian warily.

“It’s… hard to explain,” he struggled.

“You… uh, you wanna give it a shot anyways? ‘Cause I’m like, freaking out here a bit?”

“Well, I’ve seen you with your Mom. You both argue and like, even playfully kind of insult each other? I feel like you can do that, because there’s this line between you, that neither of you’ll cross, neither of you want to cross, ‘cause you don’t actually ever intend to hurt each other. You’re family. Like you see in sitcoms and TV shows. I was fucked up for like a whole week after first visiting your place that one time.”

“What do you mean?” Emily asked.

“I was—you know. Angry. Jealous,” Brian admitted, looking embarrassed. “Really jealous. I hate to say that. Really jealous, and just kinda pissed off. At my luck in life, I guess. My parents don’t have a line they’re afraid to cross with me, they’ll go right for the throat at the first inkling of disobedience. Whereas you guys, you were just being, well, a family. I don’t have that—people who care about each other like that. So, my normal, the stuff I was used to up ‘till that point, felt… less and less normal. And more like, I don’t know, like I’m just forced to cohabitate with some unreasonably strict people in charge of me. Who don’t seem to particularly like me.”

“So, what, your parents don’t… love you?” Emily said, a little aghast after actually saying it out loud.

“I’m sure they do… in their own way. They’re just, you know, different. Not like ‘normal’ parents, I guess,” he replied.

“Brian. I’m not okay with any of this,” Emily said with difficulty, feeling anger trembling within her fists. It’s not funny. And I can’t just fucking go along with it being like that. Of all the people who really deserve…

“Well, you’ve had it worse than me,” Brian countered. “You had a great dad, and you lost him. I wouldn’t have been able to deal with that. I mean, all I have to do is live with some difficult people for a while longer.”

“Shut up, Brian. Please, just… shut up,” Emily breathed.

“I just—”

“Shut up. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

Fuck, fuck-fuck-fuck, fuuuuuck! Emily swore at herself, hunching over and awkwardly clutching her backpack in a bear-hug in front of her. The bell signalling the conclusion of lunch had sounded, and Truliet’s hallways were a densely packed shuffle of students making their way back to class. Fuuuuuuck!

Just a minute ago, Emily’d been taking a swig from her sports drink when one of the dickwads at the table behind her got in a playful shoving match and bumped her. The bright cherry-red drink had spilled down her cheek and all the way down the cute white nyan-cat T-shirt she was wearing.

She’d cussed loudly, thrown the sports drink aside, and was prepared to sink her fists deep into the comically scattering jackasses behind her, when Brian had crossed around their patio table in a flash and restrained her, grabbing her wrists. She knew he’d likely saved her from a suspension, or at the very least a written warning and a stern talking-to—but at this moment she was still just too furious. The dean who kept an eye on the dozens of clustered patio tables in the back quad had followed the commotion over and had a word with the two rough-housers, letting Emily off with just a deep frown.

Brian, you… you jerkface. After holding her back from committing what would have been unspeakably satisfying acts of violence, Brian had promptly passed her off to Becky to fuss over and then he disappeared, right before the bell. Emily was cold, she was wet, and the spill had soaked through in an enormous pink blot down her entire front. She swore she could still feel a sticky syrupy feeling on her neck, no matter how much she’d dabbed and wiped with the shitty school bathroom paper towels. Could’ve at least stuck around.

While over the years at Truliet their cabal of geeky friends had grown, lunch-times congregating together at a pair of tables, the fact remained that the majority of the school consisted of stuck-up snobs who looked down on them. Worst of all, this year her class after lunch was Chemistry, and not a one of those friends was in it with her. Just some of those tittering upper-class wannabe-sorority girls who seemed to have a vendetta against her… including Lauren.

Just fucking great, Emily glowered. They already call me the little kiddie, and now I have a big ol’ pink stain to match.

She slowed as she neared the Chemistry lab, letting some of the other high schoolers bump into her as they hurried through the halls. Her anger was fading, steadily being replaced with a sense of dread. There were a few costume blouses in the stage wardrobe her mom could let her borrow, but at the same time… Emily didn’t have any patience for her mother’s inevitable teasing either, right now. If I hug my backpack the whole class, will that just make those bitches more curious as to what it is I’m hiding…? Should I just head for the theater department after all?

“Ohmigawd, look at l’il Miss Daddy Issues today,” Lauren whispered loudly to her friends. The bell hadn’t rung yet, but lunch was basically over, and Lauren—Stuck-Uppest, had been idling near the door with a few other girls and chatting. “Should we congratulate her?”

Emily froze, clenching her teeth as she stepped past them to sit in her usual seat. She knew they were referring to her, but she could manage.

“Congratulate her?”

“Yeah, she’s finally starting to grow up. Can’t you see? She obviously just got her first period. Ew, and she got it all over her little shirt?”

Lauren’s other blond friend guffawed loudly, repeating the words all over her little shirt, and the brunette friend beside them broke into that obnoxious tittering she always did.

They’re just being retarded, Emily grimaced, desperately trying to shore up something—anything against her temper that was still about to explode out. Being humiliated with a stain down her shirt was bad enough, and Brian vanishing on her had really put her in a bad mood. I can endure.

A tampon sailed across the classroom, nailing Emily in the back of the head before bouncing onto the floor between desks. There was a handful of snickering around the classroom, Lauren’s friend broke back into her guffaws—and something inside Emily snapped. Before she even realized what she was doing, she’d shoved off from her desk and crossed the room.

“Hey, whoa, whoa, easy—here,” One of the douchebag guys who orbited Lauren and her friends intercepted Emily by pelting her with another tampon. She’d been ready to tackle Lauren to the ground, but now this grinning dickhead was imposing himself between them, warding off the much shorter girl with one arm. Of course. Of course. She’s never had to lift a finger herself to do anything here.

“Emily Rivera,” the teacher across the room called over, standing up from his desk. “What’s going on?”

“Jesus Christ,” Lauren’s brunette friend spat. “What a psycho.”

“What the hell is your problem?! God!” Lauren cried out in an aggrieved voice, as she shrunk back behind her friends, acting the part of the victim.

That was almost enough to have Emily damn the consequences and fight her way through so she could tackle that bitch to the ground. She was tired of the casual bullying, tired of being looked down on and mocked. Tired of taking her backpack off after a trip between classes to discover that someone walking behind it had spit on it.

Glaring hatefully at Lauren through a blur of tears, Emily angrily pushed past everyone, ignoring the yells of her teacher, and stalked back outside the chemistry lab. Her breath choked up in her throat and she paced aimlessly on down the empty hallway a ways before stopping and slouching against the wall. The bell for the start of class finally rang, and the long hallway of the sciences building had emptied out but for a few last stragglers.

“—mily!” A distant voice sounded, almost like someone was calling her name, and she paused. That sounded almost like—

“Emily!” Brian called out, running towards her at a jog.

“Brian?” What’s he doing over here in the science building?

She was still giving him a perplexed look when he tossed a balled-up bundle of dark red fabric towards her. She caught it, and then carefully unfolded it to reveal a collared polo shirt.

“Sorry,” he panted, finally plodding the rest of the way towards her. “Locker’s all the way over on the other side of campus.”

“Your… gym shirt?” Emily held up the shirt—it looked familiar. Wait, wasn’t he just wearing this during lunch? She wanted to be angry at Brian for arriving too late to salvage her situation, but as she watched him attempting to catch his breath after sprinting across the entire school, there just wasn’t any anger for him in her.

“Nah, this is my gym shirt,” Brian panted, tugging the plain white tee he now wore. “Couldn’t give you somethin’ all musty and sweaty-smelling. Changed while I ran, already in trouble with Mr. Stevens. Gotta run, backpack’s still in the quad. Go change!”

She squeezed the garment in her hands. It was still warm.

“Emily?” Brian asked, but she refused to look up at him. “…You okay?”

Emily didn’t respond.

“Emily?”

“What?”

“You alright? You’re gonna be late for class,” he pointed out.

“No, you are,” Emily retorted, a bit more harshly than she’d intended. “Why’d… why’d you even bother?”

“I dunno,” Brian shrugged, misunderstanding her question. “Shouldn’t have stopped you in the first place, really. Selfish of me.”

“…Selfish?”

“Well—yeah,” Brian admitted, ruffling her hair. “If you get suspended, then I’m stuck in there all alone with those jackasses. Who am I going to talk to, then?”

A moment ago, anyone trying to ruffle her hair, or touch her at all, would’ve been viciously slapped. It would’ve broken the frail mask of composure she was affecting and sent her right back into a furious rage. For some reason, right now she just felt… surprised.

“You’re such a jerk,” she said, abruptly latching onto him in a fierce hug. He stiffened up for a moment, but didn’t push her away. That… wasn’t what I meant to say.

“I guess,” he said, wrapping his arms around her. “I won’t stop you next time—next time I’ll throw the first punch for you, how’s that?”

Why did I hug him all the sudden? Emily wondered, bewildered by her own actions. The impulsive things she did when her temper got the better of her were usually very straightforward and easy to understand. But this…?

Emily didn’t know what to say. She was still angry at him, and also grateful, she wanted to apologize, and thank him, and swear at him all at the same time.

“Sorry, Chief. I really kinda lost it back there,” she finally said in a distant voice. Chief was one of dozens of nicknames she’d started assigning Brian, although this time for once she wasn’t mimicking the spunky AI companion from Grail, that shooter game he’d lent her.

“Lost it? At those guys back there at lunch?”

“…For starters,” Emily admitted, finally letting go of him. They were alone in the hallway now, but for some reason that was making her even more self-conscious. “I’m gonna… I’m gonna go change. Get to your class, before you get written up or something.”

“Yeah, alright. You’re okay?”

“I’m—yeah. Fine,” she nodded, wiping her face awkwardly with the edge of her hand. “Thanks.”

She watched him disappear down the corridor of the science building and out of sight, and then immediately peeled off her stained shirt. She changed into the dark red polo right there in the empty hall, rubbed her eyes, and walked over to pull open the door to the chemistry lab.

“Oh good, she didn’t try to kill herself,” Lauren’s brunette friend remarked, eliciting a handful of chuckles around the room.

“Emily… I’ll have to write you up,” the Chemistry teacher sighed. “Tardy slip.”

“Pfft, nice shirt,” Lauren muttered under her breath as Emily passed, giving a smirk at the oversized polo she was wearing.

“Thanks,” Emily replied sweetly, pausing on her way to her seat so that she could give the taller girl a small but wicked smile.

“It’s Brian’s.”

FortySixtyFour

Thank you for your patience thus far!