It was a 7-11. Emma hadn't been in one of them in ages.

"Can I help you?" someone asked. A guy. She forced herself to relax, and turned around to face him.

It was a store employee; his badge said "James".

"Hi. Yes. Uh, I mean, no. I'm fine."

The man took in her appearance. "The mechanics let you in. You should stand by the hot dogs to warm up."

"What?" She turned to look around the store. The hot dog rack was next to the cashier's counter. "Oh. Thanks."

She peeled her new coat off in front of the hot dog rack. Her left arm was stiff from the cold, but it was more than that. She couldn't move it without pain shooting up to her shoulder.

Emma folded her shirt sleeve back to her upper arm. Sure enough, her arm past the elbow with swollen; she could barely flex her wrist.

She cursed silently. She was lucky that Amazons healed quickly, but fractures still hurt like hell. She'd need pain meds and possibly an x-ray.

Emma needed her father.

"Son of a bitch," she muttered. The employee James, who had returned to his station behind the desk, looked up.

"Are you hurt?" he asked.

"Uh, maybe. It's probably just a fracture, but I'll need to get an x-ray."

"There's a bus to the hospital that comes in a few minutes."

She smiled softly. "I've had enough of buses for today. But thank you." She took out her phone and found the contact she wanted.

"Here, let me take a look." James reached for Emma's arm. She didn't notice him; she was staring into the phone screen, debating whether to call him.

She did notice when the pain dulled.

On instinct Emma snatched her arm away, but not before she saw the blue light coming from James's hand fade.

Son. Of. A. Bitch.

He looked at her; she looked at him.

Emma smiled. "Thanks for your worry, but I'll be fine." She pulled a pack of gum from the candy racks and tossed it on the counter. "I'll have a hot dog, too."


After scarfing down the hot dog – boy was she hungry – Emma left the 7-11 and walked across the common area to the pizza place. It had chairs and tables and pizza, and at that point she wanted all three. It was also empty, which was a huge plus.

The only employee present sat behind the register, reading a book. She cleared her throat to get his attention.

"Hi. Two slices, sausage. And a large drink."

"Sure." He put down his book and moved to cut the pizza. She glanced at the book, then looked again: Chemistry: A Molecular Approach.

"You're in Chem 1 too?" she asked.

"Huh?" The employee returned with a pizza-shaped box and handed her a cup. "Yeah. Bachova?"

"Maxfield."

"Cool. Tuesday morning lab?" The guy punched the purchase into the register. "Seven sixty-two."

Emma took out her wallet and handed him a ten. "Wednesday afternoon. Maxfield loves to go on about the inventors of all the lab equipment."

He laughed. "Bachova doesn't care. Sometimes she even forgets to collect our write-ups. Two dollars and thirty-eight cents is your change. You want a receipt?"

"Sure." Emma collected her food and her empty cup. "Thanks."

"Have a nice night."

She dumped her things down on a chair and ate the pizza quickly. According to her phone it was almost eleven PM.


Emma finished her food at the same time the pizza place closed. She watched the lone employee closed the register and package up the leftover pizza.

He stopped at her table with the pizza box in his hand as Emma packed her bag and struggled with her coat. "Is your arm okay? Are you walking back to your dorm alone? I can walk you back."

"No – yeah, I'm fine," she replied curtly; she didn't appreciate boys "looking out for her".

"Oh, well, okay." He walked across the common area and handed the box off to James in the 7-11; then he walked back to the pizza place and disappeared into the back.

She refocused on getting her arm through the sleeve. James's little magic trick had dulled the pain a little, but it still hurt like a bitch.

Maybe it wouldn't be a bad idea to walk back with someone else.

She collected her bag and walked back to the 7-11. James looked up when she leaned against the counter.

"What d'you think?" she asked, and nodded her head at the pizza place. "Is he okay to walk back with?"

"Damon's a nice young man. I'm sure he won't do anything untrustworthy."

"That's not what I meant." Emma smiled knowingly.

James stared at her, comprehension dawning slowly on his face. "I don't know what you mean," he stammered. Yeah, right.

"Yeah, you do, James." She gave him a sharp look; You're lying, she thought as forcefully as she could. He winced: he heard her. She knew it.

He broke off eye contact and squinted at the pizza boy, newly emerged with his jacket and backpack. "He hasn't done anything unspeakable, if that's what you want to know. He's not thinking of doing anything, either."

Sam said I had to get used to boys, Emma supposed.

She smiled kindly back at the 7-11 employee. "Thank you, James." She walked to the doors facing the road, where Damon stood contemplating the snowfall outside. She supposed he was waiting for her to go ahead.

"I changed my mind," she announced. "The road's slippery and half of the streetlights are out."

"Cool," Damon replied. "Here," he added, and handed her his pocketknife. "In case anything happens, you should probably have it. I'm in Dalton."

"Southeast hall," she said. "Thanks."

He opened the doors and they stepped out into the snow.