A/N - I always forget how steep the drop-off in readership is after about a week of daily updates! :D
Sorry, everybody - I know that a nightly reading assignment can be a lot to keep up with. Anyway - Thanks for reading! 3
About two weeks after the incident in Emily's car, after evening practice, Emily drove home to find two police cars parked on the street by her house. One of the cars was clearly marked "Coroner." Emily almost crashed into the tree in her front yard, panicking as she pulled to a park and rushed closer to find out what was going on.
All of the neighbors were on their front porches, watching. Pam ran to meet Emily, hugging her close to shield her from the sight. It was obvious that Pam had been crying. She couldn't say much beyond, "Oh, Honey!"
Emily had no memory of getting into bed that night or of getting up the following morning. She remembered sitting at the breakfast table with a cup of coffee as the news reports trickled in. Maya had apparently gone for a late-night swim in Rosewood Creek. By the time a patrol car noticed her clothes, neatly folded under a tree not far from the water, it was too late. There was no sign of a struggle. Weeks later, after the autopsy, the coroner ruled out suicide, calling it an accidental drowning that was most likely caused by the drugs in Maya's system.
Emily was numb. She had been in swim practice while it happened. Swimming. Emily wasn't a rescue swimmer, to be sure, but she was strong enough in the water to have pulled Maya to safety. And she couldn't stop thinking that, if she had been there, she might even have stopped Maya from going swimming while she was buzzed in the first place.
Emily learned a hard lesson that night: Everyone leaves. The corollary was that it doesn't pay to invest yourself too deeply in a relationship. After Maya, Emily went from one girlfriend to another. It wasn't that nobody else could measure up to Maya. It was that Emily wasn't willing to fall as deeply with anyone else as she had with Maya. What was the point, she rationalized, when everyone leaves?
Paige was concerned about her teammate – her friend's – loss.. If she had had more experience with interpersonal relationships, she might have tried to talk things through with Emily, if for no other reason than the welfare of the team, which needed Emily to be at her best. But Paige didn't really know how to do talk through things like that with someone. And the confusion that she was wrestling with over what her feelings were for Emily made the odds of having that conversation even more remote. Paige didn't want to make it appear that she was trying to take advantage of Emily's loss and swoop in on Emily at her most vulnerable.
When Emily started serial-dating, it took a lot of pressure off of Paige. She no longer had to worry about whether or not Emily was okay or needed someone to talk to. And it became easier for her to ignore the feelings that she had for Emily. She no longer had to try to come to terms with what they were, and what that meant. It had become a moot point. There was no need to think about what might happen between her and Emily. Paige knew that had very little to offer, compared with the girls whom Emily dated. If none of them could measure up to Emily's standards, Paige knew that she didn't stand a chance.
That realization was liberating. Paige no longer had the distraction of her thoughts about Emily. She was fully able to concentrate on her swimming and the ten-year plan.
Emily, meanwhile, despite her many relationships, was never really able to get over that kiss from Paige. Perhaps that was why she never stayed in any relationship for very long; not that she was afraid that her girlfriends would leave, but that none lived up to the dreams she had built around the thought of dating Paige. Had she been older, she would have recognized that what Paige in that car did as a violation; that no one should kiss someone else without permission. But Emily, young and heady with the emotions of her newly discovered sexuality, instead saw an element of romance in the fact that someone who wouldn't give her the time of day in public would, when they were alone, be ballsy enough to swoop in and kiss her like that. It was a fantasy, where Paige was a swashbuckling pirate, swinging onto deck, making quick work of the ship's crew with her deft swordplay - and kissing the swooning princess who ends up fainting in her arms.
Emily brooded over the kiss for quite a while, frustrated over Paige's complete and total refusal to discuss or even acknowledge it. Deep down - call it wishful thinking or whatever - she was convinced that Paige had feelings for her, and that, with patience and time, those feelings would eventually come out. Talking about the kiss would expedite the process. But even though Emily knew that they would have to discuss the kiss if she were ever to get beyond it, she also knew that she would never be able to force that conversation. Emily was never the girl who would show up at someone's porch in the middle of a rainy night and bare her heart. She had always the one who was pursued in a relationship; hers was the porch that those other girls stormed. She was the one whom the other girls would bravely swoop in and kiss, not the other way around. She tried being brave once, with Alison. Experience is a cruel but effective teacher.
Few people, even among Emily's best friends, were able to see past her façade of the carefree serial-dater. But Hanna knew her better than most. She spent many nights on the phone with Emily, in conversations that always ended up coming around to Paige. Hanna tried everything in her power to get Emily to confront Paige. She even offered to confront Paige herself, but Emily pleaded with her to respect her privacy. Hanna knew that she couldn't fix things, but it was killing her to see Emily going through such turmoil. So, she did the only thing that she could do out of loyalty to her best friend: She started resenting Paige.
Eventually, Emily stopped talking about Paige around Hanna, not wanting to provoke a negative reaction. Hanna knew that Emily was still hurting, though, and she wanted to make her feel better. If she couldn't heal the wound, she could at least distract Emily from the pain.
"We're going out tonight."
"Hanna," Emily protested, "I'm not in the mood to go out."
"I'm not taking no for an answer!"
"Hanna, just… Please. I'm not in the mood to meet somebody."
"Who said anything about meeting anybody?" Hanna shot back, shaking her head with a scowl. "I'm your Ibuprofen tonight." Emily's face twisted up in confusion. "You've got a Paige-McCullers-sized headache," Hanna explained dryly, "and I'm here to take take the pain away." Hanna scoffed to herself. "Paige McCullers. More like Paine McCullers."
Which would make her Hanna Motrin.
Emily sighed. She was in a funk, and she didn't feel like being around people. But she knew that stewing in her sorrows wouldn't help. If anyone could distract her, it was Hanna.
Hanna, sensing Emily's resistance weakening, pulled her by her hands up onto her feet. "Come on," she urged. "I'm taking you to The Beats."
The Beats was a new, non-alcoholic club that had opened just outside Rosewood, targeting the older high school crowd - old enough to drive, and with some money to spend, but not old enough to drink. The place was kind of tacky; the sort of thing that a focus group of middle-aged business school grads would think that teens would find appealing. Still, it was a place where teenagers could go, and they flocked to it.
And it seemed to be doing the trick. Emily was having fun on their night out. She didn't have to be on her best dating behavior. She wasn't trying to impress anyone. She could let her hair down and just enjoy the evening.
When Emily got back from the bar with a couple of mocktails and a bowl of nibbles, she saw that Hanna wasn't alone. Hanna was trying her best to be, but some guy wasn't getting the message. Emily cleared her throat and interposed herself between the guy and the barstool that he was trying to talk Hanna into letting him sit on.
"Oh, I get it," the guy said spitefully, as he looked Emily up and down. "You're one of those girls who doesn't like guys." It was obvious from the smell of his breath that he had pre-gamed before he got to the club.
Hanna rolled her eyes, still not looking up at the guy. "Oh, I don't know," she said blithely. "I like my father." Finally looking up, she added, "He's about the same age as you!"
The guy did a doubletake and murmured something about "Fucking lesbians," trying to salvage what was left of his dignity before he slunk away.
"What the fuck?" Emily half-shouted. "What kind of creepy old man would even come to a place like this?"
"Ugh!" Hanna shook her head and her hands in disgust. As she reached for the drink, she squeezed Emily's hand. "Thank you," she said, sincerely. "You got back just in time."
Emily scoffed, shaking her head. "I mean, this is a high school club. Does he not know what the words 'underage club' mean?" She shook her head, running her fingers through her hair. "Creep."
Hanna took a sip of her drink and looked up. "Speaking of creeps," she said snidely, "look who just walked in." As Emily started to turn around, Hanna gave her the answer. "Paine McCullers."
Emily rolled her eyes, stopping herself from turning around. "Yeah, right!" She knew that Hanna was messing with her. "The only way that Paige would show up at a club on a weeknight was if it had a regulation pool for her to train in!"
"Yeah, well, I guess there's a regulation pool here," Hanna said snarkily, "because she's standing in the doorway."
"Ha ha, Hanna," Emily said dryly. "Okay," she continued sarcastically. "You got me. I'm going to turn around and look, because I know that…" Emily, seeing that Hanna wasn't pranking her and that Paige was, in fact, standing in the doorway, gasped. "Oh, shit!" Emily went quiet, hunching her shoulders and looking down.
Hanna reached for her hand. "Hey… Em," she said softly, leaning in, to find Emily's eyes. "Seriously, are you okay? Do you want to get out of here?" She tilted her head towards the back exit and a potential escape route.
"Yeah," Emily replied, softly at first, then repeating nonchalantly. "Yeah! Fuck her! Who cares?"
Hanna scoffed at the false bravado. "Well, you'd better start caring, because she's coming this way."
Emily's back stiffened. She surreptitiously reached for her phone and put it in her lap, pretending that she was looking at her texts.
"Ugh," Hanna droned, irritated at what Paige was making Emily become. "It's fine," she assured her. Emily looked up at her, one eyebrow raised in confusion. "Your makeup is fine," Hanna clarified. "You're going to knock her socks off."
Emily smiled slightly, still pretending that she hadn't just been checking her makeup as she closed the selfie-cam on her phone.
Hanna rolled her eyes again and called out, "Hi, Paine." Emily gave her a sharp kick under the table. Paige was so nervous that she didn't even notice what Hanna had called her.
Without thinking, Emily stood from her stool, smoothing out her dress. She didn't usually wear dresses, but she was glad that she had chosen to do so that night. It was tastefully short, hitting at mid-thigh, and Emily knew that it made her legs look good. She cleared her throat. "Hi, Paige," she said, almost able to look Paige in the eyes.
"Oh. Umm. Hi, Emily." Paige did her best to smile.
It became apparent, by the silence that followed, that Paige hadn't planned anything beyond her hello. She might have just kept walking, straight past their table, had Hanna not said hello.
Emily knew that she had to come up with something to say, to keep Paige from moving on. "I'm… um… I'm surprised to see you here, on a school night."
"Yeah, well, I…"
Paige hadn't taken the time to come up with an alibi. Coming to The Beat had been a spur-of-the-moment decision, with no plan for what to do if she saw Emily. She knew that Emily was there, because she happened to notice Emily's car in the parking lot as she drove past The Beat on her way home from training. She knew that she was being foolish, but she really wanted to see what Emily was like in a club; to see what went on behind the scenes of those pictures that Emily always posted to social media. She hadn't planned to have a conversation with her. She just pushed her luck a little bit too far and got burned. When she saw that Emily was distracted by her phone, she thought that she could slide past quickly and get a closer look. But she hadn't counted on Hanna.
Instead of making an excuse for why she was there, Paige gave an excuse for why she had to leave. "I, uh, can't stay long. You know," she explained, "we've got that Stanford scout coming by tomorrow."
Emily chuckled and raised her eyes in awe. "Stanford," she said wistfully. Everybody knew that the scout was only there to see Paige.
"Yeah, so you'd be wise not to stay out too late, either."
Emily rolled her eyes, pushing Paige's shoulder. "Stanford? Why bother? That scout's not coming to see me! I'd be lucky if I can get into Danby!"
"Well, yeah, but you're leading off the 4x200 relay," Paige pointed out. "I need you to make me look good."
Paige meant it as a joke, but she saw the way that Emily deflated when she heard the words. Paige dipped her head. "You're every bit as good as me," she assured her. "Of course, he's going to be interested in you!" Paige clumsily put her hand on Emily's shoulder. It wasn't inappropriate, she convinced herself, since Emily had touched her shoulder first. Still, she didn't let her hand linger there. And she didn't linger, either. Clearing her throat, she said, "Anyway, I'd better get going."
Emily nodded, managing to throw Paige a smile that made stopping at the club worth the risk Paige had taken. "Good luck tomorrow!"
"Thanks!" Paige waved as she walked away. "You, too."
Emily lowered her head as she climbed back onto her barstool. " 'That's a lovely dress, Emily,' " she said dejectedly, in a deep, monotone voice. " 'What, this old thing?' " she replied to herself, with fake enthusiasm.
Hanna stared at her, hating what Paige had done to Emily's self-esteem, and hating Paige for hurting Emily like that. "Why do you care what she thinks?"
"I don't," Emily insisted unconvincingly.
"Yeah, only you clearly do."
"She couldn't even say one encouraging thing?" Emily complained. "I mean, I know I'm not Stanford material, but would it have killed her to lie?"
"Emily, you're so much smarter than her. And you're a way better swimmer! No way you wouldn't get into Stanford."
"See?" Emily said sadly. "That didn't kill you."
"Huh?" Hanna was confused. Emily waved her off. She just wanted to go home and crawl into a corner. "Hey!" Hanna bounced off of her barstool and took Emily's hands. "We're dancing!"
Emily perked up. All of a sudden, dancing seemed like a great idea. Hanna led the way, doing exaggerated, Ellen DeGeneres dance moves out to the dance floor, and, soon, she and Emily were tearing it up, cutting loose, and feeling free. The Ibuprofen had kicked in, taking away the Paine, if only for a few hours.
