Emma's never stayed in one place too long. She's not even sure if she knows how to stand still. It's all running and running and running and she can't seem to stop.
Her new family stares at her with wary eyes, their eyes tracking each of her movements as if there is something wrong with her. This is her eighth family in seventeen years. Maybe they're right.
Her new school is like all of the others before it. The kids are all trying to prove something, the lockers are too small and the teachers never say anything new. She walks through the halls by herself, ducks her head and keeps walking through the jeers of boys and the whispers of the girls.
"I heard she's been in like seven foster homes before this one."
"I don't even know why the Spears agreed to take her in."
"She's kinda hot."
"Oh. Shut it, Paul."
"Aren't they worried about Aaron? I wouldn't want my son to be around her. "
"You should hear about some of the stuff she did at her last school. I can't believe they let her in here."
One more year, she repeats to herself, her own personal mantra, one more year and then I'm out of here.
There's a boy staring at her in her World History class, his gaze curious and a bit too personal for her taste. There's something entirely relaxed about him, as if he's completely comfortable in his own skin. She stares back and she likes the flicker of surprise in his eyes as she holds his gaze. He's the one who breaks away, turning to talk to the boy next to him, but his eyes flick back to her several moments later.
She learns later that the boy is Killian Jones, captain of the swim team and the object of endless bathroom giggles. She tells herself that she's going to stay away from him. A boy that pretty is nothing but trouble.
"Swan," she hears called from behind her.
She turns to find Killian Jones jogging towards her. She keeps walking.
"Hey," he says, "wait up."
When he reaches her, he places a hand on her shoulder to stop her, turning her to face him with a smile. She cocks an eyebrow and looks pointedly at his hand until he removes it from her shoulder, placing both hands in his pockets. There's something strangely young at the position, as if he were a little boy about to ask for a new toy.
"Something you want, Jones?"
"Just the pleasure of your company, Swan" he says, "Tonight. My place. I can pick you up at 7?"
There's a confidence in his voice that suggests that he's used to people saying yes to him, but also an earnestness that is annoyingly appealing. Emma doesn't reply, just turns and continues walking down the hallway. She has no interest in being Killian's latest conquest and the brunt of everyone's jokes.
"Is that a yes?" he calls to her back.
"In you dreams," she shoots back, not even bothering to turn around.
"You will be."
She flips him off over her shoulder and hears his responding laughter echo throughout the hallway. There's something strangely free and uninhibited about it. As if she actually surprised him. Dick.
It becomes almost habitual, him asking her out and her rejecting him. It shouldn't make her comfortable, but it does. And it's not like she likes him or anything, but he's charming. And she likes being the one to wipe the smirk from his face and replace it with an actual smile. Likes watching that smile spread across his face and infect the color of his eyes. Likes how his attempts to ask her out become more and more ludicrous until it's almost a joke between them. And they're not friends or anything, but it almost feels like it sometimes.
That doesn't mean she forgets who he is. Or the fact that he's just a rich boy trying to break her or get in the pants or whatever. Guys like him don't actually like girls like her. She knows that. But sometimes she wants to forget.
He stops coming to school for awhile. One day, he just doesn't show up for World History. She doesn't think much of it, but then he doesn't show up for the rest of the week and she's not concerned or anything, she just wonders.
"I heard his brother died."
"No way," the other girl whispers. "How?"
Emma turns off the facet, but she doesn't move from her spot at the sink. Something keeps her rooted in place.
"He's been stationed over in Afghanistan for the past two years," the first girl says and there's something completely wrong with the way she says it, as if it's scandalous and exciting and not death. "He was killed in battle. The family just found out on Monday."
"Poor Killian. He's probably devastated."
But her inflection is all off, her smile betraying her.
"He's probably going to need a shoulder to cry on, don't you think?"
The two girls leave the bathroom giggling, but Emma doesn't move. She just stares at her reflection in the mirror, trying to understand the expression on her face: her brow furrowed, her eyes wide. His brother fucking died. But she doesn't care, does she? Why would she care?
He doesn't come back.
She throws herself into her work with a passion. She goes to school and her job and when she finally gets home she does homework until she can't keep her eyes open. Then she wakes up and does it again. And again. And again. And if sometimes she feels like she's going to scream or explode or something, she ignores it. She keeps moving. She has to keep moving.
When he comes back to school, he looks different. He's lost the shiny golden boy persona. His posture is slumped and his hair is rumpled and his eyes darker and his smiles fewer and he just seems different. He comes to class smelling like alcohol and pot and he seems blurred, as if he's not really there. And he doesn't look at her anymore. That shouldn't bother her, but it does.
She leaves later than she normally would because she stayed after to talk to Mr. Gold about her history project. The halls are deserted, strange and out of proportion without students crowding them. There's something eerie to the empty halls, the lights still on with no one around. She is passing by Coach Lucas' classroom when she hears shouting. She plans to just keep walking, but then she recognizes the voice emanating from behind the door.
"So you're just going to kick me out."
"Listen, Jones. I know you've been going through stuff at home-"
"Going through stuff at home? Is that what you call my brother dying? Then yeah, I guess I've been going through some stuff at home."
"I'm only asking you to submit to a drug test, Killian. If you come up clean, you can stay on the team."
"And if not, you'll kick me out. I got the memo. Thanks Coach."
The door swings open and hits the wall with a bang that makes Emma flinch. She sees the surprise on Killian's face as he sees her standing in the doorway. He frowns and then averts his eyes, brushing past her and then storming down the hallway without saying a word.
She can't stop herself from mulling over the way Killian had looked right through her. She's used to other people treating her that way, but she's grown too used to feeling like he could actually see her. She pushes herself up off the couch and grabs her sneakers from the floor, pulling them on and tightening the laces. She just needs a good run to clear her head.
She feels better once she hits the street, her feet sounding a comfortable beat as they hit the pavement. She runs harder, enjoying the stretch and pull of her muscles as she speeds up. Her breath comes in harsh gasps, and her legs start to burn, but she feels better than she has in a long while.
The neighborhood the Spears live in is big and circuitous and all the houses look the same and it doesn't take long for her to realize that she is hopelessly lost. She slows down to a walk, feeling her heart thump loudly in her chest.
It's getting dark outside and Emma is starting to think that maybe going for a run was not her smartest idea. She has just resolved to go up to the next house and ask for directions back to the Spears' when she sees a familiar silhouette sitting on the porch steps of a large house to her left.
He looks a mess. The light from his cigarette illuminates his face and she can see the dark shadows beneath his eyes and the start of stubble on his cheeks. Emma is about to head over and talk to him, to say what she doesn't know, to apologize maybe, when the door swings open, and a woman steps out. She takes in the sight of Killian collapsed on her front porch steps, glances up at the house briefly and then takes the seat next to him, plucking the cigarette from his grasp and bringing it to her lips.
Emma can see their mouths moving, but she's not close enough to hear what they are saying. Something about the women looks very familiar, as if she knows her from somewhere, but she has no clue where.
Emma wonders if she should go, she feels strangely like she's intruding on something, though she doesn't know why. The woman is old enough to be Killian's mother. It probably is his mother, she thinks, but even in her head it sounds like she's in denial. Emma watches as Killian takes the cigarette back from the woman, but he doesn't place it in his mouth. He just holds it and looks at her for a long moment and then they're falling into each other and Emma is running.
He starts hitting on her again, but there's an edge to it now. He leers instead of smiles, and she can't meet his eyes anymore. It's like he's seeing how far he can push her. She's starting to want to push back.
She's having a really shitty day. She woke up late and forgot her economics homework, and her hair is a fucking mess, and if Killian makes one more innuendo she swears to god she will kill him. She leaves World History in a rush, out the door before most of the class has even packed their stuff up. She's practically running, and she's not watching where she's going, she just knows she wants to get as far away from that class and Killian's smirking as physically possible, and so it's not really a surprise when she slams into the pole separating the hallway doors.
"Fuck," she says too loud to be socially acceptable.
"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck that hurts."
"Are you alright?" someone asks.
She turns to find a boy peering anxiously down at her. She ducks her head to hide the fact that tears are welling up in her eyes. She doesn't want to cry in front of a stranger. Especially a really attractive stranger who's just trying to be nice.
"Hey, come one," he says taking her arm, "I'll walk you to the nurses office."
"No. It's okay. I'm fine," she says, shrugging his hand from her arm and trying to subtly wipe her eyes without him noticing. From the look on his face, he doesn't buy it.
"Uh huh. Sure you are," he says, "Come on."
She lets him lead her to the nurse's office, and she lets him scrawl his name and number on her hand in crazy illegible scrawl after he's dropped her off. When she gets home she stares at the sprawled Graham on her hand and the number beneath it for a long time. Then she picks up the phone to call him.
"Where are we going?" she asks him, her fingers tapping out a nervous beat against the side door.
"It's a surprise," he says, turning to smile at her and she feels her stomach tighten. He's not allowed to look at her like that when the wind is ruffling his hair and the sun is causing his eyes to sparkle.
"Eyes on the road, buddy," she says, gesturing towards the windshield
He laughs at that, but dutifully turns his head. Emma looks out the window too, but she doesn't know this area well enough to recognize anything rushing past her.
"Really, Graham. Where are we going?"
"Okay," he says with the air of someone admitting something awful, "This is really dorky, but we're going to the zoo."
There's a long beat.
"The zoo? Really?"
"Yeah," he says in a rush, "I know it's probably not your ideal first date, but I like going there when I'm stressed. It's calming somehow. I don't know. It's hard to explain. I think you'll like it though."
"Okay," she says, "Why not?"
"Really?" he asks and the smile he gives her is so dazzling she wants to look away, but she doesn't. She lets herself smile along with him.
She has fun at the zoo. It's kind of lame and awkward, but Graham is adorably excited about it, pointing out all of his favorite spots and tugging on her hand to lead her to the next exhibit with all of the enthusiasm of a little kid.
They make out against the wall of the snake house, her back pressing into the rough stone. She likes the way he kisses, slow and unhurried. Likes how he lets her take the lead. Likes the way he falls towards her all clumsy hands and smiles. She likes how she feels in control.
She likes dating Graham because he's nice and he comes over when she's sick and lets her pick the movie and he opens her car door and picks her up when he says he will and asks her what's wrong when she's feeling down and does everything he's supposed to do.
As she's turning her test into Mr. Gold her elbow hits the picture frame that always rests on his desk, and it clatters to floor with a loud thud.
"Sorry," she says automatically, bending down to pick it up off the floor.
She turns the frame over in her hands, intending to set it back on the table but something about the women in the photo catches her eye. And then it clicks and oh god, oh god, this isn't happening.
She can't quite breathe because she's realized why the women looked so familiar.
She sets the picture down with a clang on the desk and is out of the door before she can do something stupid like scream or cry or something.
She feels better once she's out in the hallway inhaling deep breaths of fresh air. So what if he's fucking the history teacher's wife? It's not like he's her boyfriend or anything. She lets out a shaky breath and runs her hand through her hair and then pushes herself off the wall, wiping her hands on her jeans. Pull it together, Emma.
She pulls out her phone to text Graham and see if he wants to skip lunch to get fast food, but he doesn't reply. She stares at her phone screen for a minute and then flips it shut, stuffs it in her pocket, and starts down the hall to the parking lot. She figures he'll probably get the text soon and meet her out there.
She spies his car in the far corner of the lot and heads over. She plans to lay out on the hood of Graham's ratty car and do homework until he finishes class. She's trying to decide whether to do last night's math homework or get a head start on her economics project, when something stops her in her tracks. Graham's already in his car, she would recognize that mop of curly hair anywhere, but that's not the thing that shocks her.
She should look away, should turn around and walk back the way she came, but she can't seem to stop herself from staring at the couple in the car. She watches Graham's hand make his way into the girl's dark hair to tug her mouth closer to his and fuck, he's done the exact same thing with her and she knows exactly how good his lips feel and what is she watching? Holy shit. What is she watching?
She notices the exact moment that Graham sees her standing there. Sees the recognition flare in his eyes and then he's breaking away and opening the car door. and she finally remembers how to move.
"Emma. Wait," he calls, running after her, "I can explain."
She turns, catches sight of his earnest face, somehow seeming innocent and so fucking nice even though she just caught him sucking face with another girl.
"Don't, Graham. Just don't. Don't even fucking come near me, alright?'
"Emma," he says, grabbing her arm to stop her.
"Don't touch me," she says and it comes out quiet and far more in control than Emma feels.
He drops his hand, but he looks wounded, like she's the one that hurt him and not the other way around and she doesn't care. She doesn't care. She doesn't care.
It's not like she loved him or anything, she just thought that he was nice and that he liked her or something. But of course not. Of course not.
She hates crying. Hates the tightness in her eyes and the snot building in her nose and the pressure in her brain that makes her feel like her head is going to explode. She never cries. She gets mad. And she is mad, she's so mad she can hardly breathe. But she's also almost unbearably lonely
She really really can't handle going to the lunchroom and sitting by herself right now, just a reminder of what Graham's done, so she hides behind the gym, sinking to the ground and resting her head on her knees. Keep it together, Emma, she thinks. But she can't. She can't.
She hears the click of the door to her left opening and she looks up through bleary eyes to see the last person she would like to ever see her cry peering down at her.
"Swan?" he asks and he almost looks genuinely concerned, before a sneer overtakes his face, "Get in a fight with lover boy?"
"Fuck you, Killian," she says, standing up to face him.
"Is that an invitation, love?" he asks, stepping closer and there's something almost menacing in the way he invades her personal space.
She pushes him, taking pleasure in the look of surprise that comes across his face. He stumbles back, but she keeps coming after him, beating her fists against his chest.
"Swan," he says his voice softening, "Emma. Calm down."
His arms come around her waist, trying to draw her to him, but she fights, struggling out of his grasp. She hits him hard, and she can hear from his resounding groan that it hurts. He's too close, and all she wants to do is melt into his arms and cry, but she can't. Because that would mean he would win. And she's not going to give him the satisfaction. So she runs away. That seems to be the only thing she's good at anyway.
She goes to a party because she just really needs to get drunk. Graham never really approved of the whole party scene and it gives her a sick sort of pleasure to do something that he would hate. The party is hosted by a girl named Ruby who answers the door wearing little more than her underwear and looks at Emma through hazy eyes.
Emma shoulder by her into the house. It is packed with people standing almost shoulder to shoulder and laughing and drinking out of red cups. Emma doesn't know most of them, though she recognizes some of them from the hallways, but at least this is a familiar environment. She feels better once she has a cup in her hand and some alcohol in her body. It's like she can breathe without everything weighing her down.
She ends up talking to a boy with shaggy brown hair and intense eyes named Neal. He stands too close in the small room, but there's nothing threatening about it, so she lets him stay. He whispers stories in her ear about all of her classmates as his thumb traces circles on her hip. Some of them are too ludicrous to be true, but they make her laugh and she needs to laugh right now.
When they move into the living room, she sees him sitting on the coach. Of course Killian would be here; she can't believe she hadn't thought of that. He has two girls on his lap, both of them in various states of undress and clinging to him in a ridiculous sort of way. He has a cup in his hand and a smile on his mouth, but his eyes look empty. And she realizes that maybe underneath it all he's just as lonely as she is.