A/N: This chapter is a lot of filler, but I felt the need to let everyone know where Sean is at once he returns.
Sean sat in his last class of the day; English; the morning encounter still fresh in his mind. He struggled to keep his attention on what Mrs. Allan was saying; he knew his future depended on it. It helped that Emma wasn't in this class. Sean knew that was a blessing in disguise, as she would only serve as a "friendly" distraction. Just as he reigned his runaway imagination back in, it was derailed again, this time through no fault of his own.
"Methinks Billy Shakespeare was a head case! Surely, thee cannot assume thine lecture doth makes these sonnets anymore interesting!" the lame joke came from the back corner of the class.
Who the fuck is this joker? Sean thought as he turned around to study the source of the interruption. The preppy blond guys' buddies were snickering and giving invisible high fives in approval.
"Peter! If you have a problem with the curriculum, I suggest you take it up with the principal." That shut the kid up immediately. "Sorry Mrs. Allan" Ha. I knew he was all talk Sean thought.
He shook his head and focused his attention back on the front of the class, listening intently. The arrangement he'd made with Student Aid required he keep at least a 60 percent average or they'd take away his funding. It took Sean an hour-long meeting's worth of charm just to get them to reinstate his funding in the first place. They were none too happy he'd left Degrassi before the school year was over after the shooting. Luckily, they were fairly easy to convince once he'd proved he'd finished out that year and the next in Wasaga.
Class let out 20 minutes later. Sean headed for his locker, glad the day was finally over, and a little sad that he hadn't seen Emma again all day. As if his mind conjured her up, she appeared in front of him. She began walking towards him, smiling, which automatically caused Sean to reciprocate.
Out of nowhere came the preppy blond kid from English. Sean thought nothing of it at first, until he noticed Emma's attention refocus on Preppy, the smile fading from her face. Sean's pulse began to race as he watched – What the hell was his name? Paul? Pavel? Peter – reach Emma and intertwine his hand with hers. Her face looked pale and drawn. As they walked towards him, he tried to meet her eyes, a thousand questions in his mind, which he knew Emma would pick up on immediately. To his disappointment, she met his eyes only for a brief second before she looked away at the ground, her beautiful blonde hair falling in her face.
Sean stood in disbelief as he turned to watch the couple's retreat. He saw Emma turn around, still clutching Peter's hand. Her eyes were full of emotions Sean couldn't read. To be truthful, at that moment he was too busy trying to get a handle on his own emotions and what they meant. You just want the best for your friend, that's all. And that guy certainly is not it. Sean willed himself to believe that, but couldn't shake his foul mood as he made his way home.
He let himself into the tiny bachelor apartment and tossed his keys onto the two-person kitchen table, which was actually a set of used plastic patio furniture. He sighed as he looked around his 'apartment'. Apparently, being a 'bachelor' meant you didn't need walls around your bed. His bed; which doubled as the couch; was actually a futon his parents had given him, from a time he was sure came before they'd even invented futons. It sat in the middle of the room, covered in his one set of sheets and the old comforter he'd brought with him from his old room. An old TV he'd been able to get for $25 bucks from a pawnshop sat in the corner on an old TV tray. If he was really lucky he could get two channels on the TV. And that was the extent of his furniture. He'd hung a Three Days Grace poster on the wall, mostly to cover the large yellowed stain on the wall from the previous tenant. Home Sweet Home.
Sean knew he should be grateful he had this place. He was footing the bill on his own this time, with help from Student Aid of course. He had electricity; water – which only ran brown for the first five seconds or so – and a phone. It was small and cheap, but it was clean, and more importantly, it was his.
He thought of the agreement with Student Aid, which he'd agreed to and signed. It stated that in order to keep receiving aid, he had to meet three conditions. The first was obviously that he remain in school, with an average of at least 60 percent. The second was that he had to hold down a part time job. Sean had had surprisingly little trouble meeting that requirement. His father knew a guy who owned a garage in Toronto, and once he'd seen what Sean could do with an engine, gladly offered him a job. The third and final requirement was that of any money he made, 50 percent had to go towards bills and rent, and the other 50 percent had to be deposited into a savings account for post-secondary education – with receipts required for proof. It was a stringent agreement, but Sean was determined to make it work. At this, Sean thought of Emma, as it sounded exactly like the sort of the arrangement she would come up with. He laughed softly at that, but couldn't ignore the tightness in his chest when he thought of her and that Peter kid.
Sean shot a quick glance at his watch. Shit! I'm late for work. He grabbed his keys, and locked to door to his humble abode as he darted out to the parking lot. He unlocked the door to his pride and joy, his 1991 Acura Integra. Jet black, and built from the ground up by his own two hands. He'd worked out a lot of his inner demons by working on this car in his spare time in Wasaga. Just hearing the purr of her engine had an immediate calming effect on his nerves. Just like Emma. He pounded the wheel in frustration, willing her out of his mind Dammit! I don't have time for this! He slammed the car into gear and took off, tires squealing.