She was falling, grasping for something she couldn't name; something not entirely tangible. She could see it though- it looked warm, and comforting. It smelled like a rainy Tuesday afternoon, and it sounded like rustling silk. She was aware of its every aspect, of its every curve and intricacy. But there was one, small detail missing- she couldn't be certain, and oh, how she wanted to know, how it would taste.
With that, onyx eyes shot open, grasping in the darkness for something they couldn't see, and the memory of the dream was fading already, unable to be sustained.
...
"Emma."
A mass of blonde curls emitted an antipathetic groan in response.
"Emma!"
" 'm up!" Emma Swan's back protested to her sudden movement, and she sympathized with a grumble. She stretched, careful not to bonk her head against the various "one side-up" boxes that were piled around her mattress. She drew a deep breath, than grimaced as she ripped the quilts and blankets off, letting the frigid morning air engulf her.
"Just gotta do it like a band-aid," she muttered, now scrambling to locate her pants, then tugged them over her fit, yet cramping frame with minor duress. She glanced at her black and navy Batman watch and swore. Breakfast was going to be fun today.
...
"Emma, you're going to be late! I don't know why you won't just share Rory's room. I'm sure she'd get you up on time."
Emma shot a glare to her foster sister, Aurora, who was too busy simpering at her foster mother to notice. She rolled her eyes, pushing herself out from the table, and grabbed her worn, blue backpack and black pleather jacket, storming out the door. She wasn't deaf to her foster mother's cries, and Rory's complaints that she hadn't even bothered with breakfast, but she snorted. She'd rather go hungry, and walk the half mile to her high school than endure another torturous morning with the pair.
Her annoyance pounded relentlessly in her ears, a steady beat, and she let her legs stride to its rhythm. If this was the only constant in her life, she'd take it, and willingly. Its metronomic thumping was merely another countdown; less than a year, and she'd be out of the system altogether. Less than a year, and she'd be free. She could almost taste her liberty- almost. Unfortunately, all she was tasting at the moment was the dry keratin of her hair, as it simultaneously blinded and strangled her.
Damn wind. I should've just hotwired the station wagon. 'Cause that worked out so well last time. Emma merely scowled at that unfortunate memory, and forced it to the back of her mind as she headed into the unusually chilly Philadelphia, Maine air. A storm was brewing, and she was barreling straight into it.
...
"Swan! Shouldn't you be in class?" Emma spun in surprise, then broke into a wide grin at the familiar, lilting accent.
"I could say the same of you, Graham."
The tall, lean, broody-eyed teen embraced his friend, before attempting to give her a noogie. He was in a chokehold faster than he could think.
"Hands off the hair," tickled against his ear, before he was shoved to the hard linoleum floor of the school hallway. Emma laughed heartily a Graham blew her a sloppy kiss from his pathetic position.
"One day, Swan, mark my words."
She laughed again, sparing a "you wish" look, before simply flouncing past his disheveled jacket and maddening grin to room 2301. She noted the deserted hallways, then sighed.
Shit. It must be way later than I thought. She winced. She knew Mr. Haumer wouldn't give her much flak for it, but the fact that he knew...well, that just made her want to try all the more. To prove to someone else, if not herself, that she was more than capable, even if she wasn't going to stick around long enough to prove her decidedly fallible point.
Pushing open the door, she plastered a scowl on her face- no one would bother the chick with the undeniably sullen aura. Maybe she wouldn't manage to create any sort of disturbance; the fewer eyes trained on her, the better.
Emma inwardly sighed in relief, as the classroom hadn't settled down yet, and she trudged to her seat near the rear of the room. Plopping into the Hades-designed desk with a vocalized sigh (she chastised herself- too many sighs in one morning did not bode well), she turned to the front of the class, curious as to what had altered the normally subdued atmosphere.
"We've got ourselves a sub!" A mischievous smile was flashed Emma's way by her peer editing partner and closest thing to a gal pal (Emma rolled her eyes at that) that she had, Ruby.
"What'd you do this time, Rubes- screw Haumer mentally and physically? Could he not walk to his desk today?" A midget-timbre voice piped up in front of Emma and Ruby.
"Shut your Neanderthunk face, Sterling," Emma growled. "That, what- insult? It was frankly insulting to you, since it was said so stupidly."
"Em, it's all right. Everybody knows I'm the resident whore," Ruby said in false self-chastisement. "That being said, I draw a line. And it starts with kindergardeners like Sterling."
Emma simply shook her head- it was true, the willowy, model-esque Ruby insisted upon wearing skirts that would have sent one of Emma's more conservative homes into a state of anaphylactic shock, but she was a loyal peer-editor, and her projected image didn't hold water with the girl Emma had come to know. That being said, Emma would be lying if she hadn't chanced a guilty perusal of Ruby's lower half- actually, pretty much all of her- on more than one occasion.
"Earth to Em. So..." Ruby purred, "have you checked out the sub yet? Or have you not had time? I saw Rory get here without you."
Emma was about to relay some excuse as to why her temper got the best of her, but she was interrupted, as was the entire class, by the tapping of a ruler against the desk.
"Class. As you may or may not have noted, Mr. Haumer is absent today-"
"No shit, M&M." A voice interrupted the mild tones of their teacher's assistant, Mary Margaret, who merely offered a wavering smile at the outburst.
"As I was saying, we have a substitute and-"
"Get on with it, Mary Magdalene."
A nervous titter arose from a few students, who watched Mary Margaret's crestfallen, open face with a cross between sympathy and cowardice. Emma snorted. Typical- won't even let her get to the point she was so desperately trying to make..
"That's all right, Miss Blanchard. I can introduce myself."
Emma's eyes shot to the source of the decidedly more commanding voice. And stayed glued. This was definitely the antithesis to the greying, grandfatherly Mr. Haumer.
"My name is Ms. Mills," continued the young, professionally attired woman beside the whiteboard. "I'll be taking Mr. Haumer's place for the duration of this semester. I know we'll all get along, and I look forward to working with you." She brushed back a strand of her short, raven hair and smiled just short of beatifically, her dark eyes skimming the jittery, confused seniors before her, drinking in her challenge.
"Without further ado, I know you received homework on a Faulkner piece over this weekend, so let's begin with that. I'd like to get a gauge of where this class is."
As a collective groan arose from the students, Ruby prodded Emma's side with a manicured, crimson nail.
"So? Whaddya think?"
Emma merely shrugged, and Ruby scoffed, turning to her messenger bag to fish out their homework. Truthfully, Emma felt something heavy coil in the pit of her stomach, though she had no reason to. She just felt an odd sense of... lonesomeness at the fact that the only teacher who had known was now MIA. She frowned, wondering what could possibly have come up over the weekend, and focused her gaze on the substitute. Emma gulped. Something was brewing, and she was not looking forward to the maelstrom.