Once I was able to pry Emelia away from Jay, I showed her my room upstairs.
“Well, your family is—”
I held out my hand to stop her. “Please don’t say something like nice or wonderful.”
She chuckled with a hand over her mouth and shook her head. Caught, huh?
“Well, trust me, they would take you for me any day.” And I would switch places with you too.
“I was not trying to—” She paused to reassess her approach. “I can tell they are protective of you. They scrutinized everything I did. Maybe they were just happy to get to know your life more by meeting me?”
“Maybe.” I shrugged, too tired to voice my disagreement.
“Your room is cute,” she said.
It was the smallest of the three rooms in the house, room enough for my bed, dresser, desk, and small closet. But that’s because I insisted on taking the upstairs bedroom. I liked the comfort of the slanted ceiling leading to the little window that gets frosty around this time of year.
She moved around to inspect the posters I would’ve taken down if I had thought about it. The three I had over my bed were there since I was thirteen—diagrams of a submarine, an airplane, and a bicycle. She tilted her head and leaned in for each detail. I wonder if she so openly observes because she’s always alone. No one’s been there to observe her observing before. She needs to be disinterested if she wants to survive a normal teenage experience.
“Are you going to be a mechanic?” She asked.
I laughed and scratched my head. “My dad gave me these after he saw me tinkering with the brakes on my bike. I think he was desperately trying to encourage a future in mechanical engineering instead of at a greasy garage on the outskirts of town.”
Her mouth crooked up. “Then I won’t tell him where I live.”
“Honestly? Screw what he thinks. But it’s not like I have any alternative plans.”
“Sounds like you’re normal, then.”
The chuckle in her voice was soft, nonchalant, but I stared back at her while her eyes traveled around the room. I wasn’t expecting her to sympathize. She didn’t have any lecture planned about making the most of life’s opportunities?
She turned back to me when I stayed silent. “What?”
I shook my head to chase away the daze. “What would you know about regular teenagers?”
“Just something Mom would say.”
I grinned. “So you know nothing.”
She smiled back. “What assignments did you get today?”
I dumped my textbooks out on my bed and we talked about my latest literature essay. Emelia sat on the foot of the bed, back against the outside wall, while I had my legs crossed at the headboard.
I was complaining about how pretentious my English teacher was, talking about metaphors in “Great American Novels,” when I noticed Emelia shiver.
“Are you cold?” I asked.
She held up her hands. “I’m okay! I didn’t mean to shiver.”
Her absurd apologetic behavior never ceased to make me laugh. “Don’t apologize for being cold. You’re by the window. Here.”
I unearthed a blanket from the sea of textbooks and scooted closer to throw it over her. She looked up right as I was in front of her face. Her eyes met mine with an expression I couldn’t read. There was no discernable emotion, just watching. I realized I don’t look her directly in the eyes when we talk. We’re always focused on a game or my gaze follows an open window or Allison’s energetic gestures. I felt a thump in my chest and the horror of it made me freeze.
Apparently the noise my brain makes when it short-circuits is, “Uh—”
Finally, she tilted her head and the emotion of concern broke her inscrutable expression. “Is something wrong?”
“No, I—Just—” I dropped the blanket and scrambled backward to the safety of literary symbolism and pulled the book up to my face. “You were right, it is so cold!”
My God. What was that. I’m just scared of what she thinks. That’s all. I’m just not used to feeling anything but the drone of monotony.
Emelia tried to resume her reading, but I could see her movements become hesitant and stilted again. She thought she did something wrong. Which means I have a new goal of convincing her everything’s okay. I steeled myself and asked her what she thought about the use of trees in literature. I guess I chose the right inanimate object because it seems like there was a wealth of information and I was just happy she was distracted.
As the hour wore on, my tension dissipated into a slouch that deepened with every thirty minute interval. She, on the other hand, still looked wide awake and engrossed in her book. When I could no longer keep my notebook up to my face, it dropped with a thud against my chest.
She looked up then and giggled.
“What?” I slurred.
“I didn’t notice the migration you were taking. We can go to sleep.”
“You’re not used to going to bed this early. You don’t even have a phone. Are you just going to stare into the darkness?”
She shrugged. “That’s what I did when my parents made me go to bed.”
This explains so much! She’s done way too much thinking in her life!
“No, no, I got this.” I tried to sit back up and settled for keeping my shoulders on the headboard. “You can quiz me in chemistry. I have flashcards on my phone.”
I opened my phone to them and handed it to her. Then I crossed my arms to show my resolve. She giggled again and started the first question.
I was foolish to think it wouldn’t matter if I closed my eyes a little while she quizzed me. Within minutes, I was back to sliding down the bed. At one point, my foot made contact with Emelia’s leg and I felt her muscles startle and then settle back down against my cold foot, lending some warmth.
This comfort felt right. This was safe.
#
I woke up before my alarm the next morning. The light was still on, but Emelia wasn’t in the room. Uh oh. I pulled myself out of bed and wandered around looking for her. I finally found her in the kitchen, drinking orange juice.
She waved. “Oh, sorry, your mom said I could have this.”
I blinked at her, confused. She was up in time to talk to my parents before they left? I thought I would have to drag her out of bed. “Did you sleep at all?”
“Ah… Not really.”
Not at all? How bad is this sleeping problem? “Do you feel threatened or something?”
“No, no. Not that. Your mom asked me the same thing—I hope she wasn’t offended—No, I am just like that, especially in unfamiliar places.”
Okay. Should I be concerned about the psychology of that or should I just accept that things are weird with that family? “You gonna to be okay?”
“I think I will make it through the important to-do list I have. You’re the one who has to go to school.” She smirked. “Oh, that reminds me. Your mom said she brewed extra in case you wanted some.”
She pulled a mug off the counter and held it out. It was coffee—that my mom would scold me for drinking. I laughed when I took it. I think I had enough. “Of course they would be like this if their reputation is in question. You know what they're doing, right? Trying to make me look like an idiot while pretending to be perfect, loving parents.”
“No, I get that. I do,” she rushed to assure me. “You do not have to convince me. It is pretty normal to act your best when meeting new people. People want to be liked. Even if they are doing it on purpose, maybe that is proof they are trying—without having one of those long agonizing talks.” She grinned. Was she actually making a jab at me?
They did let me have someone over, before knowing what kind of person that would be. I deflated and sat down, resting my head on the counter. “You're awfully talkative for someone who hasn't slept.”
“Sorry. I have been told that I talk too much when I am tired.”
That’s really hard to imagine, but then, Emelia isn’t really quiet. She has a lot to say. She’s just always waiting to be heard.
“Anyway, thanks. It was not what I expected. I had fun.” She held up her fists. “I will have to get a hold of the newer games and practice so I won't lose next time.”
“Sure, you can try.” What had she been expecting, though? She said she has had a friend stay over at her house—twice, in fact. Wait... That’s how many times I crashed at her place. She meant me. That must be why she was hesitant when I asked. She didn’t know if it was okay to count me. Please tell me I am not the only friend she has had (other than Allison, but that is not much better). That is too much responsibility.
—That means she considers us friends, though. “But no problem. What friends do. Ya know,” I said.
I wanted to crawl under the table when she smiled, open and unafraid. Please do not act so obviously happy about that.
Maybe she is so trusting because she has nothing to hide or lie about. Maybe the reason she thinks the best of everyone is because she projects her own vision of benevolence onto others. Who knows what is going on in her head.
We left the house early and met with Allison on the way. Emelia commented on how close our houses are. “Makes it easier for her to stalk me,” I told her. She laughed and Allison fussed about me corrupting her Emelia.
Emelia kept pedaling by while Allison and I walked up to the bike rack. From our right, Dara and Kylie called to Emelia.
She looked around in confusion, shocked that someone was saying her name.
“Hello! Over here.” They laughed as she walked her bike over to them.
“What's up? You gonna join us again? We need more players,” Kylie said.
“Yeah, and Kylie needs someone she can beat in order to feel better about herself,” Dara joked.
Emelia mumbled something that I did not hear as I walked up to where the two were leaning against the brick wall. She seemed happy, though. I felt relieved to see other people talk to her, too.
Maybe I should just warn her not to talk about her mom so much if she wants to make it by.
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