After I pick up Emily from school, I head to Bobby's shop. Dean comes out to meet us, the lanky kid from the diner trailing behind him. He and Emily eye each other for a moment before he waves.

"I'm Sam," he declares, "Wanna see my pet turtle?"

Emily nods enthusiastically and looks up at me, silently making sure it's alright. I nod, smiling as she and Sam take off across the gravel driveway. As the sound of their footsteps fade away, I look at Dean.

"Turtles, huh?" I ask, and Dean smiles at Sam's receding figure.

"I bought him one a few weeks ago. The little runt wouldn't stop askin' me."

"Yeah, Em does the same thing," I tell him. "So, what does Bobby want done?"

Dean leads me into the shop and sets me loose. Every once and awhile, Bobby looks checks up on me, smiling and nodding at my progress as I move from car to car. Dean works near me, his movements synchronizing with mine as we develop a rhythm. We don't speak, but we're still communicating. A glance here, a pointed finger there, a quiet chuckle as Dean drops a wrench on his foot. And that's it until five thirty, when Bobby informs me that I've done plenty and that I'm free to go home and he and Dean walk me outside. Sam and Emily come scampering back down the driveway, both sporting mad grins. I ruffle Emily's hair.

"Be back here after school tomorrow. You're doin' some fine work, kid." Bobby tells me with a twinkle in his eye. I smile slowly.

"Thanks, and I will, Sir."

"For Christ's sake, call me Bobby!" He chuckles. I nod happily. Dean looks at me and grins.

"You're the first one in a while to not get fired after one day, you know." He says earnestly.

"Well, thanks for not firing me," I laugh, looking back at my bike. "We should be heading home."

"See you at school tomorrow," Dean waves. Emily hugs Sam and then we're off.

When we get home, there's a note on the kitchen counter, hastily scrawled out in my dad's barely legible and slightly crooked handwriting.

Logan-

I'm on a hunt. Be back in a few weeks.

-Nathan Fraye

I raise my eyebrows at the wrinkled twenty that I find underneath the paper.

Thanks, that's really helpful.

The fact that he even bothered to leave a note (or money, for that matter) surprises me, but I don't question it. I just breathe out a relieved sigh and pull Emily into a hug.

"We've got the place to ourselves, kiddo."

"Can we play scrabble?" Emily asks me, and I grin.

"Finish your homework while I make dinner, and then you're on."

Three games of scrabble later, I tuck a tired out but very satisfied Emily into bed.

"I kicked your butt!" She tells me enthusiastically, and I laugh.

"You sure did. I must be getting rusty."

"You sure you didn't let me win?"

"Yep," I lie. "Going to school must be doing you a world of good."

She blinks up at me, and the adoration in her eyes makes warmth blossom deep within my chest.

"Goodnight, Em." I kiss her forehead.

"Goodnight, sleep tight, don't let the bedbugs bite!" She replies.

"Okay, love. You too."

And then I turn off the light and find my way into the kitchen to clean up and do my homework.

The mystery of the burnt popcorn and disinfectant scented hallways continues to stump me. I wrinkle my nose and look at Dean, who is walking beside me and tapping the beat of some song on his leg.

"Zeppelin?" I ask.

"Of course." He replies. We walk the rest of the way to the class in silence and seat ourselves in the back. I sweep my hair away from my face and take last night's homework out of my backpack, ignoring the mildly surprised look from Dean.

"I didn't take you as the the homework type," he comments.

"I'm usually not."

At lunch, I find myself facing the overcrowded cafeteria once more, but this time with Dean at my side. We don't really talk, he just stays with me and I stay with him and we move in tandem, walking towards a table in the corner and disregarding the glances that other students throw our way. As we sit down, Dean pulls a brown paper bag out of his backpack and plops it down in front of himself before taking a smushed but good-looking sandwich and a juice box out it.

"Nice juice box." I tell him as I pull an apple out of my backpack and take a bite.

"Thanks. I figured it would be appropriate since most of the students here act like they're in preschool."

"You included."

"Exactly," he mumbles through a mouthful of food, waving his sandwich at me.

We don't say much more until lunch is over, except for when I laugh at a joke that Dean cracks about the way the principal's bright pink underwear peek out over her pants whenever she bends over. And then we walk through the reeking hallways once again.

Halfway through the last period of the day, Dean leans over and hands me a note. In small, even letters, he asks if I want to go with him and some friends to see Killing Onions perform tonight and tells me that Bobby would be happy to watch Emily for a few hours. I hesitate for a moment, my eyes scanning over the paper, but ultimately decide that going to a concert for a little while would be alright.

'Sure,' I write, looking at the paper and thinking about how we really are acting like preschoolers. I pass the note back to Dean.

Don't forget to review! I got a whole bunch of really helpful messages on the last chapter, and hope to get more on this one :)

XOXO,

Emma