You guys! Thanks for all the reviews/follows/favorites! That kind of stuff gets me all intoxicated on happy feels.
If this took long, it is because it IS long. I like to do longer chapters so I have more time to change things before I post. #perfectionism
But I assure you this fic is always dancing around in my head.
Hope you enjoy the second addition this angst fest.
Chapter 2
Well, here it was: Emma's first F at Storybrooke High.
She'd thought for sure it was going to be geometry, but surprise surprise, she had an unexpected knack for that subject and was doing just fine. Her next guess would probably have been Spanish, but nope, she was pulling a C-.
It was, of course, English. Miss Blanchard's class.
The teacher placed the exam on Emma's desk with a seemingly genuine look of sadness. "See me after, Emma."
Emma sighed and put her head down. She couldn't help it that she had zero interest in reading a book like Red Badge of Courage. Two hundred pages of war drama? She just didn't see how that contributed to her becoming a productive human being.
And now she had to see Miss Blanchard after class. It'd been awkward enough between them since Emma's little outburst on the first day. Miss Blanchard had tried to talk to Emma again, but Emma had basically shut down, answering in monosyllables and staring at the floor. Eventually, the teacher had quit trying.
Across the room, Regina was giving Emma a smug look. She must've heard what Miss Blanchard said and knew Emma had failed the exam. Emma rolled her eyes. It'd been two weeks since she started at Storybrooke High, and Regina had been scowling at her since day one. Luckily, there hadn't been any more major incidents between them, but that was largely because Emma had decided to leave Graham alone.
Emma wasn't into drama for the sake of drama.
Graham himself hadn't made any moves toward Emma, either, not since the day they'd kissed outside the school. In fact, he seemed to have forgotten she existed, which was kind of weird, since he'd been all over her that day.
Sometimes, Emma thought of what Belle had said about Regina: She's dangerous. If Emma didn't know any better, Regina had a tight enough hold on Graham to keep him from even acknowledging her. How had she accomplished that? Graham hadn't seemed like anyone's bitch that afternoon.
Though Emma did wonder what Regina's deal was, she wasn't about to go asking around. Who would she ask, anyway? She didn't have any friends here. She'd gone on ignoring Ruby and Belle, and even they'd eventually left her alone.
When Emma approached Miss Blanchard's desk after class, the teacher had that same look of sadness she'd worn earlier, with a dash of disappointment thrown in.
Emma stared at her toes.
"Did you even read the book, Emma?"
It wasn't an angry tone, just a sad one. It seemed Miss Blanchard and David had this in common: They were nice and reasonable when they ought to be angry. Emma's mother got angry with Emma, no problem. She could yell with the best of them. Emma's other teachers had no problem getting angry with her, either. The social studies teacher had issued her not one, but two detentions when he'd caught her sleeping in the back of the room.
Miss Blanchard, David: They got sad, not angry. It was something Emma did not understand.
Emma raised her eyes. "No."
Miss Blanchard let out a long sigh. "Thank you for being honest, at least."
"It's not something I can really help."
Miss Blanchard smiled, though it didn't reach her eyes. She wore a dress the color of spinach, with white flowers around the collar. "Honesty is an admirable quality."
"If that were true, I'd have saved myself a lot of detentions over the years."
"Well," Miss Blanchard said, "you could work on your delivery."
Emma laughed, right before the weirdness hit her. This was twice, now, that she'd caught herself enjoying a conversation with Miss Blanchard. The woman taught Shakespeare, for goodness sake.
Emma made for the door. "I should go—
"Wait a minute," Miss Blanchard said. "We still need to talk about your exam."
"Oh."
"Generally, I have to alert a parent when a student is earning a failing grade."
"Please don't." Emma couldn't bear the thought of David finding out she was already flunking.
"I'd be willing to make an exception if you did some extra credit."
"Sure. Whatever it takes. You want a book report?"
"Oh, I don't want a book report."
Miss Blanchard's expression turned mischievous, and Emma wondered what was in store for her.
"You want, like, a diorama?"
"I'd like your help. Before school. Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays."
"Before school?" Emma said. "School starts at eight!"
"I'll need you at 6:30, at the Storybrooke Public Library. I recently took charge of the library's book drive, and the donations are, well, a little more than I can handle on my own. You'll be helping me to sort through it all."
"But. 6:30."
"I'll make it an assignment, and if you show up for two weeks, you get an A. That should pull your grade up enough so you won't be failing."
"Miss Blanchard, there's got to be another—
"Unless you'd like me to inform the sheriff that you're failing my class."
Emma frowned. "Fine."
"Excellent." Miss Blanchard smiled wide. "I'll see you tomorrow, bright and early."
"This has got to be some kind of blackmail," Emma mumbled as she left the room.
"You should really complete my reading assignments!" Miss Blanchard called after her.
Emma emerged into the beautiful September afternoon still muttering to herself. If only she'd swallowed her pride and read Red Badge of Courage, she wouldn't be facing two weeks of early-morning slave labor.
She plodded down Main Street, which was quaint, both sides lined with shops with names like "Bobby's Barbershop" and "Mr. Gold Antiquities." A car passed every once in a while, but for the most part, the wide street was silent and pristine. (Except, of course, for the many clocks that chimed each hour. Storybrooke had this weird obsession with chiming clocks.) Emma longed for the bustle and noise of the city, where even if you were lonely, you were never really alone.
And Emma was lonely. She couldn't deny that. She'd hardly spoken to anyone since coming to David's house, and didn't want to admit that if she kept going like this, pretty soon she'd be batshit crazy.
Maybe that was why the diner up ahead was catching her eye. It looked like a neat place, old fashioned, with metallic trimmings and neon lights. "Granny's" was the name of it. Emma had been going straight home from school every day, but today, she thought she could use a milkshake or something.
A bell jingled when she opened the door.
"Emma!" said Ruby, who wore an apron over her short red skirt. The girl's chestnut hair, usually sleek down her back, was tied into a ponytail that swished enthusiastically.
"Oh, hey," Emma said, trying to sound happy. "You work here."
"Well, that's my Granny." She pointed to a gray-haired woman behind the counter, who was barking orders at the cook. "Can I get you a booth?"
"Uh, sure."
Ruby led her to one by the window. The place really was cool, with plush booths made of mint-green leather. Plus, the smell of hamburgers was awakening some intense hunger pangs.
Emma should really stop spending her lunch money on cigarettes.
"I'll take a hamburger," Emma said before she'd even sat down. "No, a cheeseburger."
"Woah there, tiger. Don't you want to see a menu?"
"That's okay."
"All right, then," Ruby whipped out her notepad. "You want that well done?"
"Medium well. Can you put bacon on it?"
"Hungry much?"
"I just realized I've been living on David's cooking for like a month."
Ruby smirked. "Do you mean to suggest the sheriff is a rotten cook?"
"You didn't hear it from me."
Ruby grinned, before whisking away to another booth.
Emma put her elbows on the table and her head in her hands. The diner was fairly empty, with just a few other booths occupied by elderly early birds. From a scratchy radio, old-timey music was floating through the air. Emma shut her eyes. Diners always reminded her of her mother. Emma wondered what her mother was doing right now. Sitting in a cell? Scrubbing a floor with a toothbrush?
Did she miss Emma as much as Emma missed her?
They had talked on the phone every day at first, but when Emma found out about David, she'd stopped accepting her mother's calls. How could her mother have kept David from her? He'd never been a "nobody," as her mother had insisted, coldly, every time Emma had asked.
Was her mother scared Emma would like David better—and leave her?
Emma would never have done that. At least, she was pretty sure she would never had done that.
Imagine if she'd grown up in this nice town with kind, stable David. Maybe she wouldn't have started stealing things to fill up an emptiness she couldn't explain. Maybe she wouldn't be graduating high school by the skin of her teeth.
"Burger up," Ruby said.
Emma was pulled from her thoughts by the biggest cheeseburger she'd ever seen. "Glory."
"Can I get you anything else?"
Mouth full, Emma said, "Chocolate milkshake?"
"On it."
Emma ate in silence for several minutes, thinking about nothing but how good the food tasted. She really hadn't had anything decent since she'd moved to Storybrooke. David, for all his charms, liked his food bland as notebook paper.
Emma would've suggested she make them dinner each night, but he seemed so set in his rhythms, she'd have felt weird asking him to change for her.
"Everything good?" Ruby said when she brought the milkshake.
"It's like I died," Emma said, swallowing, "and went to heaven."
"That's what I like to hear." The girl sighed and leaned against the booth, seeming bored. She was tall and willowy, her dark eye makeup stark against her pale skin. "You know, your dad used to eat here every night."
Emma put her burger down. "Really?"
"Yeah. Till you came."
No wonder David's cooking sucked. He'd never done it before.
Emma never knew what to do with these moments: the ones that proved she didn't just have a dad, but a good one who cared about her deeply.
"You okay?" Ruby said.
Emma's eyes had filled with tears she struggled to swallow. "Fine."
"I'm so sorry!" Ruby sat down across from her, looking helpless. "What did I say?"
"It wasn't you. Really."
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah." Emma's voice grew steadier. "It's just…a weird time for me."
"Sure, sure." Ruby looked relieved that Emma wasn't going to cry. "Moving to a new town."
"Yeah. That."
"Where are you from, again?"
"Philly."
Ruby nodded slowly, looking Emma over. Emma had still been going for an "I don't give a shit" vibe, and so was wearing a ratty T-shirt and jean shorts, her hair somewhere between messy and plain scary.
"Is that a…laid back kind of city?" Ruby said.
Emma snorted with laughter. "I know, I'm a mess."
"I would disagree, but…yeah."
They both laughed. Emma couldn't help realizing it'd been a while since she had.
"You know," Emma said, "I was really rude to you on the first day of school. I'm sorry."
Ruby shrugged, lowering her voice. "After the way you talked to the class president, you could have spit in my face and I'd still have worshipped the ground you walked on."
"Ruby, can I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"What's up with Regina?"
Ruby's eyes widened. "Don'tsay her name!"
"What is she, Voldemort?"
"Kind of!"
"What the hell does that mean?"
Ruby looked around, then lowered her voice even more. "Listen, it's not necessarily Regina who's terrifying. It's her mother. She's the mayor, and—
"Ruby!" Granny's voice rang through the diner.
Ruby jumped up. "I have to get back to work." She leaned in close to Emma. "My advice is keep doing what you're doing. Pissing Regina off was cool and everything, but do it again, and…"
"And what?"
Ruby made a squeamish expression before loping off.
Why wouldn't anyone tell Emma what was going on?
That night, Emma felt slightly sentimental about the burnt grilled cheese sandwich David set in front of her.
She'd told him she'd already eaten, but he'd insisted she could still use a snack, and she hadn't argued.
He sat down across from her with a groan, in front of an identically burnt grilled cheese. "So, how was your day?"
It was one of the few things he seemed comfortable asking her. After two more weeks together, they were still beyond awkward with each other: him too nervous to really talk to her, her too angry and terrified to let him in.
There were lots of things Emma would've liked to ask him, if things weren't so weird between them. How did he and her mother meet? What was her mother like back then?
Why had he gone on living alone after all this time?
Now there was a good question. David was so good, and stable, and, well, handsome, with a tan, square face and blond hair he kept short. If he wanted to be with someone, Emma was sure there would be takers.
Unable to ask any of these questions, Emma just said, "Okay."—which was her standard reply.
They chewed in silence. Like always, Emma noticed that he seemed like he wanted to say more, but kept swallowing it down.
"I have, um, something to ask you," she said.
David almost dropped his grilled cheese. "Sure. What is it?"
She swallowed. "Where's the public library?"
"Right across from Town Hall," he said, seemingly disappointed. "You haven't seen it?"
"What's it look like?"
"The building with the bell."
"David, all the buildings have bells."
He tilted his head. "You know, I've never noticed that."
"Well, it's true. I keep expecting to see a hunchback whose job it is to go around ringing them."
He laughed, hard. Emma couldn't keep from smiling. One thing about David: When he laughed, he really laughed, long and loud.
"Planning on getting some books?" he said.
"No." Emma lowered her gaze. "I'm, uh, doing some volunteer work."
"Oh. Well. That's great."
"It's sort of required. For my English class."
"Isn't that a new teacher? Miss…?"
"Blanchard," Emma muttered. "The class is a serious pain in the ass."
She slapped her hand over her mouth.
"Emma, it's okay," David said. "You can say ass. I can say ass. Let's all say ass."
It was Emma's turn to laugh. "David. Please."
"Okay, I'll stop."
They both laughed again, and Emma was amazed. It was almost like they were the real thing.
Things turned awkward again almost immediately, but there it was: one good moment.
Maybe it was a start.
Emma was pretty sure her brain wasn't functioning when she set out the next morning at 6:15.
The sun hadn't even risen. That was all Emma could think about as she trudged down David's street, shoulders slumped beneath her backpack straps. I'm walking to the library before the crack of friggin' dawn.
Miss Blanchard was insane. No, not insane. Cruel. Behind the kindness and grandmotherly cardigans was a woman who took pleasure in torturing students.
The library was a tan building with two stories and a wraparound porch, right across from Town Hall, like David had said. (There was also a bell tower, like David had said.) Despite her grogginess, Emma couldn't help paying special attention to Town Hall, an official-looking building with four white pillars. Ruby had said Regina's mother was the mayor, and that she was the scary one. What had she meant by that?
"Oh, good. You're here." Miss Blanchard smiled pleasantly as Emma came through the door. Cheerful as ever, the teacher was standing behind the front desk, jotting on a notepad.
The library was like everything in Storybrooke: tiny, not more than a few aisles of books and some couches. It was also empty, presumably because everyone else in town was asleep.
"M'mm," Emma said.
"You want coffee? There's some brewing in the office just here."
Emma found it and poured some into a Styrofoam cup. With the bitter taste in her mouth, she felt her brain start to turn on.
"So, uh, what am I doing here?" Emma said.
Miss Blanchard finished jotting and looked up, smiling again. She wore a blue print dress and a headband with a red flower on it, or in other words was ready for a tea party.
"Follow me, follow me," Miss Blanchard said, shuffling out from behind the desk.
Bereft of other choices, Emma followed her to a door in the back, which opened to a flight of creaky wooden steps. When they reached the top, Emma gasped.
"What…is this?"
There were books everywhere: in crates, in piles, teetering in stacks against the walls. The room was large and dusty, with large windows illuminating…the massive quantity of books.
"This," Miss Blanchard said, raising her hands, "is everything we've received so far for the book drive. The books have been coming in faster than I can process them, so I've just been dumping them here."
"But." Emma took a step forward, then stopped, then swallowed. "Storybrooke is tiny."
"That may be, but the town's book drive is famous. Every year, this library ships out books to schools in need all across the country. And it receives donations to do so from all across the country." Miss Blanchard walked further into the chaos, heaving a sigh. "The librarian is pushing seventy. He doesn't want to manage it all anymore. So I volunteered."
Emma just stared, dumbstruck. "But you just moved here," she mumbled.
"Well, I have a bit of experience with this kind of thing, from back in New York. I can handle it. I just need a little…help."
Emma gulped the last of her coffee. "You might need to start flunking some more students."
Miss Blanchard laughed. "I don't want to flunk any of my students. That's why you're here, remember?"
"Right. Grade resuscitation."
"Grade resuscitation," Miss Blanchard said slowly. "That's a fancy phrase, for someone who won't read my books."
"I've got a brain."
"Well," Miss Blanchard said, "let's put it to use, then."
Miss Blanchard explained that Emma was to take stacks of books downstairs to the computers, plug the titles into a database, and find out each book's reading level. Then, she had to mark each book with a colorful sticker based on her findings. The books had to be sorted according to reading level, so that Miss Blanchard would know which grade should receive which books.
Once Emma was done putting on stickers, she would carry the books to another room, where she would begin to sort them into boxes coded by sticker color.
"There's gotta be an app for this," Emma said as she hauled another pile down the rickety wooden stairs.
Miss Blanchard followed her with a stack of her own, breathing hard. "One would think."
"Some kind of book-scanny app. That's not a thing yet?"
"Not that I know of."
They dropped their stacks onto the table with simultaneous thuds.
"It just seems like this system could be more efficient," Emma said.
Miss Blanchard settled in front of her computer with a sigh. "If you can come up with a more efficient system, Emma, be my guest! But if there's anything I know, it's that things worth doing take work. Usually lots of it."
"But…why do you want to do this?" the girl blurted.
It didn't make sense to her. Here they were, sitting in front of ancient computers, putting pointless little stickers onto kids' books. And they were going to do it for hours this week. And next week. Miss Blanchard would keep doing it for who knows how many weeks after that.
Why would anyone volunteer for this stuff?
"Books are important, Emma," Miss Blanchard said, eyebrows crushing downwards. "Especially for children. They can take you to another world. Surely there's been a time in your life when you needed to be…transported elsewhere?"
Emma felt her face redden. Of course there'd been. "No book ever did that for me," she mumbled.
Miss Blanchard held up a finger. "Yet."
"You're holding out hope I'll become a reader?"
"Of course. Why wouldn't I?"
Because I'm more likely to become a ninja turtle, Emma thought, but decided not to say.
The two continued working together in silence, hauling books down the steps and punching the titles into the computers. Emma was amazed to see the room where Miss Blanchard was keeping the sorted boxes. There were already dozens of piles, each box the size of a miniature fridge. Miss Blanchard must have set to work on all this immediately after moving to Storybrooke.
The woman had conviction. This Emma had to admire.
She wondered what Miss Blanchard needed to be "transported elsewhere" from. She seemed so…prim and happy, the kind of person who made pies with the help of birds. Emma couldn't even imagine her in a state of angst.
"There a bathroom around here?" Emma said when 8 a.m. was nearing. She'd actually worked up a sweat, and wanted to rinse off before school. She was trying this new thing called "caring about her appearance," in the spirit of "increasing her contact with other humans."
Miss Blanchard pointed the way, and Emma went inside and splashed her face with cold water at one of the sinks. In the mirror, she looked…like David: blond and blue-eyed, with a well-defined jawline. People had always said Emma was a dead ringer for her mother—who was also blond, with the same wiry figure—but these days, Emma saw only her father staring back at her.
Miss Blanchard came into the bathroom and started straightening her headband. "Thanks for your help today."
Emma turned around and leaned back against the sink. "Thank Red Badge of Courage."
"Ah, yes. I forced you here."
"Craftily."
The woman sighed, smoothing her dress. "Desperate times call for desperate measures."
There was a pause.
"Thanks," Emma said. "You know, for not telling David—I mean, my dad—about the F."
Miss Blanchard turned to Emma and smiled. "You're welcome."
They left the library together, while Emma silently congratulated herself for several successful human interactions in a row.
When they got outside, Miss Blanchard asked Emma if she wanted a ride to school.
"That's okay," Emma told her. "It's only a couple blocks. And, well…"
The woman nodded firmly. "Showing up with a teacher."
"Weirdness."
"I understand."
"I wish I could walk to school in the morning," Miss Blanchard said as they headed for the curb, where the teacher's red Jeep was parked, "but my house is a few miles out of town. Near the toll bridge."
"Ah." Emma was ready to stop fraternizing with her English teacher.
The woman told her goodbye before getting in her car and pulling away.
Emma sighed. Almost two months in Storybrooke and the only person she'd hung out with was her English teacher. For extra credit.
And who's fault is that? she reminded herself.
She started toward the school, eyes burning from lack of sleep. But when she glanced up at Town Hall, she stopped.
"Graham?"
He was standing on the sidewalk in front of the pillared building, arms stiff at his sides. He looked…odd: eyes glassy, expression blank.
She trotted across the street. "Graham?"
"Huh?" He jolted when she grabbed his shoulder, almost knocking her over.
"Woah!" she said.
"Emma." He looked at her with a confused expression. "What…where have you been?"
"Excuse me?"
"I haven't…seen you in a while."
"Cause those eight hours we spend in the same room every day don't count."
He squinted at her. "It's so weird. I don't remember seeing you."
"Are you okay? You're acting weird." She stiffened. "Are you high?"
"Not recently." He seemed to be coming around, the fuzzy look going out of his eyes. He stared hard at Emma's face. "You've really been in school these last few weeks?"
"Yeah. Guess my Spanish presentation was shittier than I thought."
"I don't…remember." He scratched his head with both hands and started walking away.
"Hey, where are you going?" Emma trotted after him, scared he was too unstable to be left alone.
"I was supposed to meet Regina here."
Emma loped alongside him. "So walking away from here is the right thing to do?"
He whirled to face her, grabbing her shoulders. "I don't know what's happening right now, okay?"
She punched him, hard, in the face.
It was more of a reflex than anything else. A guy having some kind of "episode" had put his hands on her, and she'd felt threatened. And when she felt threatened, she fought.
He was lying on the ground, hand clutched to his eye. Emma was leaning over him.
"You gonna live?" she said.
He sat up, blades of grass falling away from his wavy brown hair. A shiner was already forming above his right eye. "Yeah." He touched the shiner tenderly. "Your right hook seems suspiciously practiced."
"I admit it wasn't my first."
"Remind me never to piss you off."
She smiled, relieved he was talking normal again. "Good luck with that."
She held out her hands and pulled him up. He wore a green button-up shirt and jeans, along with his usual hiking boots, which Emma noticed were caked with mud.
He studied her face. "It's the strangest thing, but since we…met, I don't remember seeing you in class. Like, at all."
"Well, I've been there."
"Weird."
In Emma's mind, two words rang out: She's dangerous.
Why did she suspect Regina's hand in this?
Oh God, the loneliness really had driven Emma to Loonyville. How could Regina have caused Graham not to notice Emma for two weeks?
But Emma had to admit, it would work very much in Regina's favor for Emma to be invisible to Graham. You couldn't kiss someone you couldn't see, right?
"This is nutty," Emma said. "Let's go to class."
Graham gave a quick nod, and they set out.
"I wonder why Regina never came and met me," Graham said. "She always does."
"Maybe she got held up pulling the stick out of her ass."
"That would take time."
They walked in silence, until the school bell started ringing. On the lawn in front, students were picking up their bags and heading inside.
"If you don't like her," Emma said, "why are you with her?"
Graham stopped, puckering his forehead. Emma noticed that the green of his shirt matched his eyes exactly.
"I don't know," he said. "I just feel like I have to be."
"So when you kissed me two weeks ago?"
"Regina and I had been arguing."
Emma nodded, and they started walking again.
"You want some advice?" she said.
"Sure."
"Figure out if you want to be with her or not. And if you don't, grow some balls and break up with her." She faced him. "Because doing stuff with girls you don't want to be with, that's about as low as you can get."
She stalked off, wishing she could punch him again.
Guys using her. That's what Emma was thinking about for the rest of the school day, instead of, say, the various subjects being taught her.
It'd happened before. When she was fifteen, she'd started seeing this guy from homeroom, Ethan. She hangs out with Ethan. She smokes on the fire escape with Ethan. Ethan even saves up money from waiting tables to take her out to a fancy Italian restaurant. Six months, this goes on. Then, she goes all the way with him and poof, he's gone.
Guys using her. It was on the somewhat lengthy list of things Emma absolutely, positively could not stand.
Ethan had spread rumors about her, too. Called her the kinds of names girls get slapped with.
She'd tried to talk to her mother about it, but that was one of her mother's bad times, when the woman was either working or drinking. Emma had gone to Macy's and stolen a coffee maker—a goddam coffee maker—taken it home, and thrown it off the roof of their apartment building.
Angst is mysterious, sometimes.
"Emma."
It was Miss Blanchard, standing in front of Emma's desk, where Emma had apparently dazed off. The classroom was empty. It seemed she'd been so absorbed in her thoughts, she hadn't even noticed the day had ended.
"Customarily, students leave after the last bell." The teacher studied her. "You okay?"
"Yeah. Sorry." Emma scrambled to gather her belongings. "Tired."
"I suppose I'm responsible for that."
Emma shook her head. "Boys."
Miss Blanchard lifted an eyebrow. "Make you tired?"
"Shit on you if you're not careful." She slapped her hand over her mouth. "Jeez, I'm an idiot."
Miss Blanchard held up a palm. "It's okay. Class is technically over."
Emma smiled pathetically, heading toward the door. "Thanks."
"Plus," Miss Blanchard said, "you're totally right."
Vaguely scandalized, Emma laughed and kept walking.
Ruby was waiting outside the building, arms clutched tightly around her chest.
"There you are!" Ruby said. "Stay in there any longer and you'd have made me late for work."
"You're waiting for me because…?"
"This."
She thrust a small piece of paper at Emma.
"So last night, I'm doing the waitress thing when Regina comes in," Ruby said quickly. "The whole time she's sitting there—alone, mind you—she's staring at this, looking like she's gonna blow. I couldn't see what it was, and frankly I wasn't about to try—
"I don't understand."
It was a picture of Regina and Emma. Except it wasn't them. It was a woman who looked like Regina—dark hair, olive skin, big bleachy smile—with her arm aroundEmma's mother, who was grinning like the world was only rainbows and always would be.
"Regina dropped it on her way out," Ruby said. "I thought you'd want to see it. She looked like she was in some kind of rage over it—
"Regina's mother and my mother."
"Were friends. Apparently."
Emma shook her head. "Too weird."
She thought about the first day of school, when Regina had marched right up to her. You must be Emma.
"What's…what's that?" Emma pointed to a small X that looked like it'd been scratched into the photo with a knife. Right over her mother's chest.
"That's why I needed to show you this," Ruby said. "Listen. Emma. You need to make sure your mother's okay."
"What are you talking about?"
"The mayor is dangerous."
"You're killing me with this."
Ruby shook her head. "I need to talk to you."
"Isn't that what we're doing right now?"
Ruby grabbed Emma's phone out of the pocket of her jeans.
"Hey!" Emma said.
"I'm giving you my number. I'll text you this weekend, and we'll talk about all this somewhere private."
"And the problem with here and now is…?"
"We can't."
"The weirdness of this town. I can't even."
Ruby handed her back her phone, a worried look on her face. "Call your mother. Make sure she…stays put for a while."
Emma couldn't stop from snorting. "This is insane."
"Just…trust me."
With one last look of anxiety, Ruby scurried off, pulling her hair into a ponytail as she went. She turned around and called, "We'll order pizza!"
Emma shook her head, sighed, lit a cigarette, and wondered what her life was coming to.
In her palm, the photo seemed heavier than it ought to. What bothered her most about it was not the X over her mother, but that Emma had never seen her so happy.
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