Chapter 7 - Stick Shifts and Safety Belts

If I thought I was floating when I saw Emmett wearing my ribbon at the football game, it's nothing compared to how I feel after we kiss in the darkness of my driveway. I'm a Rosalie-shaped balloon, gliding happily and blissfully toward my house. My mind immediately rewinds and plays every conversation. I inwardly giggle at the silly things I said, but it's all erased when I remember his comment to his grandma (with her now) or the way our friends (they're mine too, now, right?) watched our interactions.

I slip in the front door, surprised to find my parents still in the living room, watching a movie in the dark. My dad's head is resting in my mom's lap and he's dozing as she finishes the movie she obviously picked out. He stirs when I walk into the room, raising his hand before closing his eyes. My mom runs her hand over his head.

"Did you have fun, Rosalie?" she asks.

I feel a flush rise to my cheeks while I press a hand over my racing heart. I let out a breathy "Oh, yes" and she looks surprised but smiles. She mentions that Heidi from the DAR called to let me know they don't need me to volunteer tomorrow. I nod before drifting up the stairs.

I shut the door to my room quietly behind me, leaning against it. Seconds later, my phone rings and it's Emmett, letting me know that he found his way back to his car without getting lured away by a stranger with candy. I change while talking to him and we whisper back and forth, early into the morning hours.

When we're finally passing out from exhaustion, my eyes closed more often than they're open, I mumble, "What are you thinking about?"

And he replies, "The next time I can kiss you. Sleep well, Rosalie."

xoxo

Little things keep me tethered to the ground, keep me from drifting away altogether. Things like homework. Things like my conversation with Lauren and Jess (once they've sobered up) about what exactly I meant when I told them that I'd broken up with Roy.

But there's always the counteraction.

In between homework, I call or text Emmett, changing his name in my phonebook from Weirdo Creep to simply Em.

The conversation with Lauren and Jess about Roy is a bit awkward. There's no easy way to say that I felt like he and I outgrew each other while they're still very much in their current relationships. I'm not sure they understand my logic or reasons. With a group of three, I guess there's always someone who feels a bit on the outs. Lately, it's been me, though I'm not sure how much either of them realizes it. But then we have quality bestie time, getting mani/pedis and there's that tip of the scales, when everything feels just so again.

I spend a lot of time dreaming about Emmett, the day and night kind. I dream about his voice and his smile, that kiss and his lips and his hands. A lot of time is spent on his hands.

All of that dreaming makes me sleep through my alarm clock Monday morning and I jolt up and out of bed. I'm shocked my parents didn't wake me; usually if I'm one minute past my alarm, they're yelling up from downstairs that I need to get going. God forbid I'm late to school. But when I race downstairs after throwing on some clothes - no time for curling my hair, minimal time for makeup - my mom and Eric are in the kitchen with the newspaper.

Damn,the newspaper. With all of my mooning and swooning and homework, I've completely forgotten that a new edition of the school paper will be out today. My photos will make their debut for Forks High School's population. I feel a little smile pull at my lips thinking of the credit: Rosalie Hale that will be below them.

"You're going to be late for school if you don't hurry," my mom says, like it's some kind of newsflash. She gazes down at the front page casually. I almost go smart ass on her, but her eyebrow is arched, a trait I inherited and therefore recognize. I know exactly what it means: you're pushing me.

"I'm going, I'm going," I grumble, grabbing a banana from the counter and an organic granola bar from the walk-in pantry. My ballet flats make a soft tap, tap, tap against the granite floors and I lean over, planting a swift kiss on my mom's cool cheek as I go. Eric growls. I nudge softly him with my toe. "Love you, too, monster."

"Have a good day, sweetie," she calls after me.

Yeah, I don't think that will be a problem.

The parking lot is packed when I pull in and I end up at the back of the lot, not too far from Roy's car. I dash past Emmett's Jeep and crane my neck, even though I'm sure he's already inside at his locker. It's crazy that even seeing his car makes my stomach flip. We won't be able to do anything or say anything within the walls of the school, but right now all I want to do is see him.

And see him I do, as soon as I turn the corner to my locker. He's taller than 99 percent of the school's population, so I easily spot the dark curls my fingers got acquainted with on Friday. Not that it matters; I would have seen him whether he blended in with the crowd or not. My body is just attuned to him now. I swear I feel like I'm being physically pulled toward him. And as if he feels it, too, he looks over his shoulder and our eyes meet in a quick and silent hello.

I want nothing more than to march up to him, press my body against his, weave my hands through his hair and pull his mouth to mine. But I don't know if that would be okay, even if people did know about us; any kind of PDA gets the crackdown. So instead, I stand in the middle of the hall, my fingers pressed against my mouth. They're a poor substitute.

A soft thwack on my head shakes me from my Emmett coma and I look up, annoyed to see Mike, until I realize that a rolled school newspaper was his weapon of choice. I grab it from his hand and unfurl the paper. My pictures are on the front page. "Nice job moonlighting, Hale. You got my good side."

"Nah, you can still see your face," I quip back, borrowing one of my favorite Rizzo lines, the Pink Lady I aspired to be when I was younger (and maybe a bit now, minus the whole pregnancy scare thing). Of course, Mike doesn't know Grease so he totally doesn't pick up on that. "I'm surprised your liver is still functioning. Did you have fun after I left?"

"No, Posie. I sat there crying that you were gone. Oh wait, no. That was Stan and Mallo at random points in the night."

"That's no surprise. I am the missable type." I nod sagely. I push past the people standing between me and my locker, anxious to get there so I can make it to homeroom on time. I'm a bit thrown from my schedule, which always makes me feel off-kilter.

Mike trails me, seeing that Jess is waiting there. I glance over at Emmett; he's slamming the metal door shut and stuffing his cap into his back pocket.

"Morning, beautiful," Mike says gallantly, pulling Jess against him and placing a quick kiss on her nose. She giggles and goes straight for his mouth, which is awkward because they're mere inches from me. If I make a wrong move, it'll be a three-way. Apparently they're not concerned about PDA.

I clear my throat loudly, but they're intent on ignoring me, so I roll my eyes and busy myself with pulling the books I need for the morning.

The first warning bell rings just after I shut my door. Covertly, I look back to locker 346, although I don't really need to worry about Jess and Mike noticing since they're still wrapped up in each other, doing all the things I long to do with Emmett. He isn't there, but Alice is. She holds up the paper and gives me the thumbs up once she sees that my friends are otherwise occupied. Then she mouths, "Talk later?"

I'd much rather talk to her now. It's not like my friends are paying the slightest bit of attention to me. But she's already backing away, so I nod my head and watch as Jasper grabs her hand, twirling her once before they head in the opposite direction.

"...Posie! You ready to roll?" Jess asks this like I'm the one who's been holding them up.

"Oh, I was born ready." Awesome. I thought that I'd be able to float a little bit longer but I'm already dishing out the attitude. "Let's go."

Mike slings an arm around her shoulder and she puts her free one through mine, pulling me into them both as we walk toward our homerooms. "I looked at that scrapbook thing that you made for Mike's birthday. Those pictures were fucking classic."

Mike chimes in, "Yeah, that was really cool. Thanks, Rose."

I don't know why this bothers me as much as it does. I mean, they're thanking me, complimenting it in their own special way, but it's empty. Like they're saying the words but don't really get the gift. After seeing how appreciative Bella was of hers, it stings. I wonder if I can make them sting, too. If they'll even care.

"Yep, whatever." I pull Jess' arm off of me. I'm quickly being pulled back down to earth.

Jess flinches and looks at Mike, who shrugs, before turning back to me. Her eyebrow is cocked, her bottom lip puffed out a little. "Look at those claws, kitten. Rough night?"

On the contrary. It's the morning that's been rough, the harsh light chasing away what felt hazy and dreamlike Friday night and through the weekend. I'm well aware that my friends can be like this, wrapped up in their own shit, a little selfish. I'm guilty of the same behavior; I know that. But sometimes I wish they'd look beyond themselves and this little world we've never strayed from.

Everyone has the capacity to change, right?

I know I do. Furthermore, I am. It's weird, scary; it makes me feel like what's happening is pushing me further from them, but they can't even see it. They have no idea.

I feel like an asshole for snapping, but I can't control my irritation. "Tired," I say shortly. "I'll see you guys later."

"Where are you going?" Jess asks, reaching for my hand. I let her catch it, but just briefly before I gesture to my homeroom class.

"Uh, class? I think that's the whole point of this school thing."

Jess turns to Mike. He's obviously uncomfortable with the tension, his eyes roaming the emptying hallway like he's looking for someone to save him. "My best friends are smart asses, Michael. Isn't that cute?"

"At least they're nice asses." He grins and then, seeing Jess's dark expression, adds quickly, "Not that I'm looking. I've never looked. I've heard. From...people."

"Please shut up while you're a little bit ahead. See you at lunch, Posie." She barely looks at me as she tows Mike away, now irritated with both me and her doofus boyfriend. I roll my eyes, turning on my heel to go into class.

Between my semi-fight with Jess and the fact that I don't even get a glimpse of Emmett after homeroom or before second period, I'm sure I'm sporting a perma-bitch face. I duck out of Chem for a quick bathroom break, needing to stretch my legs and release some of this pent-up tension. I'm pretty sure I was making my lab partner Ben Cheney nervous with all of my petulant sighing.

I'm stomping down the hallway toward the girls' restroom when I hear a hushed "psst!" I ignore it at first, but it gets more insistent and then I hear tiny little footsteps. I swear to god they sound almost elvish. When I turn around, Alice is making her way quickly toward me, grinning. Her hair is tucked underneath a knit cap similar to Bella's and she's wearing an old Beatles shirt with a cardigan thrown over it. On anyone else (read: me), it would look ridiculous and sloppy, but she pulls it off with style.

"Hey! I saw you walk past my classroom so I grabbed the bathroom pass. Got a few?"

I roll my eyes toward my classroom. "Probably not, but I don't care. I'm absorbing next to nothing today. What's up?"

"Come with me to the art wing." She starts off in that direction, walking faster than humanly possible. I follow her as she speaks over her shoulder. "Mr. B has a prep period and he lets students hang out in there whenever we want."

"That's very generous of him."

Actually, this information doesn't surprise me in the least. I know more about the art wing than people probably realize. When I was a freshman, Mr. B saw me with my camera and offered the use of the photo lab, teaching me how to mix the chemicals and how to time different phases I needed to let each picture develop. Even though I couldn't take his class, he supported my love of photography, answering questions and asking how things were going.

"Yeah, he looks at us as a little family. You know, the misfits. Rather than having us getting into trouble out behind the school, he'd rather have us in here creating something." She holds the door open and waves her arm dramatically. "Step into my office."

A few students mill around, drawing in sketchbooks or sitting on the floor and talking quietly. No one even looks up when we walk in. Alice grabs my hand and leads me to the back corner before plopping down and pulling out the paper from today. Her finger presses into the print under the pictures, the one that carries my name. "You're good, Rosalie."

"Well, thank y-"

"No, like, you're really talented. You captured something in these pictures that makes me want to grab some pompoms and cheer for our school. That's talent, Ro, considering that, other than helping with the Homecoming banner, I'm not exactly known for my school spirit. And that picture you gave Bella and Edward? It nailed their connection. Other people take pictures but you…you capture." She pauses to take a breath, a smile spreading across her face. "So, I have a favor to ask, if you're interested."

She cuts straight to the chase, probably knowing that I have to get back to Chem. I wish I could stay here. No one has raved about my work, and it pulls me back up from my low. I want to hear more.

"What sort of favor?"

She leans forward, her eyes sparking with excitement. "So, I just started my own Etsy shop, selling things that I knit. Like my hat and the one I gave Bella for her birthday. I don't know a lot about starting my own business, but I do know that it's super important to present your products in the best light. And for my business, that means the best pictures." She tilts her head at that, purposely looking down again at my picture spread across the front page.

"You want me to take pictures for your site?" I ask. I can't hide the surprise in my voice.

She nods, quick and eager. "Yeah, I do. I mean, I don't have money to pay you or anything -"

The expression on her face is almost contrite, but I won't have it, holding my hand up to stop her. "Pay me? Don't be ridiculous. I want to do this, Alice." I wiggle my fingers at her, palm up. "Give me your phone. I'll add my number so we can discuss details."

Just like that, I'm floating again. It's amazing how my close friends can bring me so low and people that I'm just beginning to know are taking me so high. Alice has keyed in on something that makes me happy in the purest sense and given reason to it. I don't even know if she realizes it. And the more I think about it, the more I understand she's doing me a favor. These pictures could potentially go into a portfolio, could start me on a path to actually doing something with what I'm starting to realize is a legitimate talent.

Digging into her sweater pocket, she hands over a phone that looks like it's on its last legs. "Fantastic! Plus, I'm making something for you right now so you'll be getting an Alice Brandon original out of the deal."

"I can say I knew you when," I say dryly, punching in my phone number before passing the phone back to her.

She smiles brightly, pockets her phone and then sticks out her hand. "Great doing business with you, Miss Hale."

I laugh and roll my eyes a little, but we shake on it, both of us giving a nod. Everything about her is infectious, almost magnetic, and I realize as I'm walking back to Chem that it's not just Emmett I want to get to know better and spend time with. This group of people is special; I know it even after hanging out with them a couple of times. I get why Edward defected in seventh grade, even beyond his huge and instant crush on Bella.

Despite Alice's proposal, the rest of the morning drags. I nearly cry with happiness when the bell rings for lunch. I'm out of my seat before anyone else even realizes they're free, flying down the hallway. With my books dumped off at my locker, I hightail it toward the lunchroom.

I push past the people who have decided they'd rather stand in the middle of the hall like annoying human roadblocks than actually, you know, walk. That would be much too practical.

Apparently the cluster of girls standing in the doorway of the lunchroom got the same memo everyone else did. I wait approximately two seconds for them to move before I sidestep them impatiently, muttering, "Excuse me."

They scuttle out of the way, but I'm already past them, my eyes shifting to the table where Emmett and Co. always sit. The other four are there, leaning in on a conspiratorial huddle, but his seat is empty.

I swear to god, it's like the universe is laughing at me. Or Emmett is. If he's trying to drive me crazy by being the living embodiment of Where's Waldo?, it's working.

And annoying.

What I see next does nothing to improve my quickly darkening mood.

The usual suspects are at my table, which, of course, is at the epicenter of the lunchroom. Jess is sitting next to Mike, leaning against him as she waves her hands at Lauren. Tyler is next to Mallo, staring down at his phone in concentration. Sitting next to him is Roy. And next to him, tucked into his side? Vera.

I stop in my tracks, my hand flying to my hip. "Oh, Hale. No."

Jess and Lauren are actively shutting Vera out, their bodies turned away from her. But the rest of the table is acting like it's no big deal. I know exactly what Roy's doing - he wants to rub Vera in my face. He thinks he can make me realize what a horrible mistake I made breaking up with him and beg him to take me back. And what a mature way to go about it. Surely I'll come a'runnin', right?

Right. No. I wouldn't have patience for this on a normal day, but today I turn and walk away. I sail out of the lunchroom, even when I hear Jess (or maybe Lauren) call after me. I cruise right on down the hallway and out the front doors. I have no idea where I'm going, just that I'm going away from that. From them.

At first I think it's a mirage, the tall boy loping across the parking lot. A hood covers his head, but I'd recognize that sweatshirt, his back and those shoulders anywhere.

"Emmett!" I call. He doesn't hear me, so I yell it this time and start speed-walking toward him.

Oh, fuck it. He's getting in his car, so I run. I know I look like an idiot, but I don't care. I want to go wherever he's going.

I get to his car just as he's gunning his engine and rap on the window urgently. The sun reflects off the glass, obscuring his face, but I can still see him jump. I wait as he rolls the window down, my arms crossed, and my heart skips when I finally get to see him up close.

"Rose?"

"Are you deaf?" I'm trying to hide how breathless I am. If he didn't see me running after him, I don't want to advertise the fact. "I was screaming your name."

"You were screaming my name, huh?" he repeats, grinning. I love that smile; it's all man and sin and deep, deep dimples.

I need to either concentrate or jump him right here. But because I want to get the hell out of here for a minute, concentration wins. "Where are you going?"

He hesitates, a cloud of doubt passing across his eyes. "Uh...home."

"Can I come?"

His eyebrows flicker up and I can tell he's trying to decide whether to be perverted or not. Not wins. "Aren't you going to eat lunch with your crew?"

"If I wanted to eat lunch with them, I'd be in there. I'm here with you."

One corner of his mouth pulls up and his eyes search mine. I'm quiet, hopeful. He doesn't make me wait for long. "All right. Get your fine ass in here, Hale."

I jog to the other side of his Jeep, pull open the door and hoist myself into the cab. Once I'm settled and belted, he peels out of the parking lot. I'm done watching him from the corner of my eye, so I turn in my seat, blatantly staring. "Beautiful to fine ass in less than two weeks, huh?"

He smirks then and swear to god, I hear angels. I don't even fully understand what he does to me or how, but I like it. "Hey, I'm not the one talking about cocks. Licking the fork and talking about how the cake was so moist and delicious? Yeah, don't think I wouldn't bring that up." He furrows his brow and gives me a mock serious look as I laugh, my cheeks flushing. "Secret's out - you're a dirty girl, Rosalie Hale. You brought this on yourself."

"Yeah, well... don't spread it around. We've all got secrets to keep," I say, thinking about the conversation we had that first night.

"Yeah, I guess we do," he says quietly, flicking his gaze at me before focusing on the road. His fingers drum on the steering wheel, but other than that, it's quiet. No music, no talking. I'm still turned in my seat, my head against the headrest, so I can watch him. After a minute, the silence starts to make me nervous. I've obviously hit some kind of a nerve with a comment that was supposed to be off-hand. I'm not sure how to bring the comfortable ease between us back. I wrack my brain, trying to think of something, anything to talk about.

"Alice asked me to take pictures," I blurt out. Well, that's something, Rosalie.

"For her knitting thing, right? She mentioned she wanted to ask you. Glad to hear she tracked you down." We sit quietly for a moment before he clears his throat. "The pictures in the paper were good. Thanks for getting that one of me in there."

The one of Mike was prominent, front and center. But the paper did a collage of pictures on the inside page, and one of the highlights was the one I'd taken of Em, hamming it up for the camera. Hamming it up for me.

I wave my hand dismissively. "Oh, that was all Angela. And well, you."

"Don't sell yourself short." He reaches over and grabs my hand mid-wave, giving it a squeeze before releasing me. His hand goes back to the gear shift and I let my gaze drift over his fingers wrapped around it, the peaks and valleys of his knuckles, the map of veins underneath his skin. I hesitate for a moment before reaching down to trace where my eyes just were. He shifts in his seat, and I can feel him looking at me. I let my fingers fall in between his. They belong there.

"So, why are we ditching lunch?" I ask after a quiet moment, glancing at him out of the corner of my eye. I'm pushing, but it's gentle. I know what my motivation for running was, but I want to know what he's running from, or to. "Surely there are other more important things to be missing. Like maybe English or science?"

He hesitates again, glancing at me quickly. I run my thumb along the side of his hand, which seems to do something to him, or maybe for him. "My gram has been having trouble. Uh, with her meds. So, you know, I worry about her. This past weekend was really...I don't know. Not good." His words are coming out reluctantly, like he's testing me, waiting for me to say something. But when I don't, he keeps going, keeping his eyes fixed on the road. "I just want to swing by and check in on her, make sure she's doing okay. Cool?"

I'm still watching his face and his expression tells so much more than his words do. It's almost like he's nervous that for some reason I, of all people, would be opposed to visiting his gram. "Emmett, I'm fine with that. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Some people get weird around elderly people. And she's really all I've got. She's the one who raised me the majority of my life. I just..." He stops talking and shrugs.

"Hey, I'm the one who crashed your party here, okay? It's cool, really." I tighten my fingers around his, hoping to show him that I'm in. I'm here for him, want to be whatever he needs right now.

We turn into an older neighborhood and he pulls into the small, narrow gravel driveway of an unassuming ranch house.

"You could probably fit at least three or four of my house in yours," Emmett says. It's meant as a joke, but it's hollow. I don't know what to say to that, so I don't say anything, just climb out of the car as Emmett's making his way around the front of it. "You're supposed to wait and let me get the door for you, Rosalie."

"Oh! Sorry, I didn't realize this was 1935. Do you want me to get back in?" I tease, hitching a thumb over my shoulder.

He shakes his head. "Gram's from the old school. This is what we do here."

"Hmmm." I exaggeratedly tap my finger on my lip as he grabs my hand and pulls me toward the door. "I guess I shouldn't mention the screaming my name and fine ass comments when I meet her then."

He leans in, his face right in front of mine, and I can see myself reflected in his eyes. "Yeah, probably better leave that out of the conversation." I move my finger just in time, just as his lips meet my own for a brief kiss. "I've wanted to do that since this morning when I saw you in the hall. All that lip tapping. You were sending me signals."

I bring my body closer to his and kiss him again, once. It's not enough. Honestly, I'll never get enough of him. But it's all we can have for now. He shakes his head, as if coming out of a daze before jiggling the key into the bottom lock and opening the door.

"Glad to see you picked up on them," I murmur as I follow him into the house.

He unzips his sweatshirt in the small foyer and hangs it on a hook directly inside the door. "Can I - " He turns, his eyes raking over my body as he realizes I'm not wearing a jacket. I forgot to grab it in my haste to flee. He points to his hoodie. "You're wearing that back."

Normally I would put up a fight. Go all women's rights on his ass, just because I can. It would give him a hard time and get him talking more.

But he's wearing this tight grey shirt that stops me. It's thermal material and stretches across his chest and shoulders, tapers a little where his torso does, and when he runs a hand through his hair the hem of the shirt creeps up just enough to reveal a flash of plaid and skin.

Hello, jaw. Meet floor.

"Emmie, is that you?" A reedy, disembodied voice calls. It's vaguely familiar, but that's not what catches my attention, distracting me from the Emmett peep show. He blushes scarlet, scratching at a spot behind his ear.

"Emmie?" I whisper, taking his arm. He glares and huffs a bit, but it's good-natured like everything he does.

"Here, Gram," he calls back. My hand slides down to his and I let him pull me down the hallway.

Their house is tiny but immaculate. It's pretty easy to tell that this is his gram's house. In fact, if it weren't for the coats hanging in the hallway and the gym bag on the floor right by the front door, I would never know Emmett lives here. Everything is all flowers with lace touches and dark, ornate wood. It smells like potpourri and cinnamon. It's cozy and warm. Nothing echoes, not even his gram's voice coming from the other room.

Emmett stops in a doorway and peeks in. I stop just out of sight, not sure if I'm supposed to be here. Pictures line the wall in the hallway, the vast majority of them Emmett at various stages of his life. There's one picture of a man and a woman holding a baby. It's time worn, a little yellow, and I recognize the dark, curly hair and dimples immediately. Emmett has his mom's smile and his dad's eyes. I can't help wondering where they are.

"Why are you hovering there, sweetie?"

Emmett looks over his shoulder at me, smiling bashfully, and oh, my god, it's the most adorable thing I've ever seen. I want to take his face between my hands and kiss his top lip, just a soft touch.

"I brought someone with me, Gram," he replies and tugs me gently through the doorway of what I guess is his grandma's bedroom. It's as pristine as the rest of the house, washed in soft colors. Emmett's Gram is sitting in a chair by the window and her gaze moves from a television on the nightstand in the corner to us. Closed captioning scrolls over what looks like Law & Order.

My eyes widen. Holy shit, I know Emmett's grandma."Oh! Mrs. Connolly, how are you?"

"Rose, dear." Her voice is thin and a little weak, but the surprise is strong. Imogen Connolly is one of the regulars at the DAR and a major bingo enthusiast. I see her nearly every time I volunteer and we always exchange hellos. She usually kicks everyone's ass, and now that I know she's Emmett's grandma, I see the resemblance. Her hair is snow white, but has the same curl that his does. They smile the same, too. Hers is just as mischievous as his. "How are you? I didn't see you at the DAR this weekend."

"Oh, they didn't need me." I can feel Emmett's eyes on me, warm and inquisitive, but he stays silent.

"I'm sure you had better things to do," she says with that smile. I open my mouth to tell her that no, actually, I don't and that I love being there anyway. I don't get the chance, though. She waves Emmett over, her eyes never leaving my face. "What are you two doing out of school? Am I going to get another call from the principal's office?"

Emmett laughs a little. "No, Gram, it's lunch time. And you know I learned how to forge your signature for sick notes a long time ago."

Gram clucks and smacks him lightly on the cheek when he crouches down next to her. "You'd better be lying, Emmett McCarty."

"I am," he says, but when she's not looking, he looks at me and mouths, "I'm not."

I have to press my fingers against my mouth to stop my smile and he watches me, his eyes narrowing.

He turns back to his grandma. "Did you take your pills?" His voice is low, almost conspiratorial, and I take a step back to give them some semblance of privacy. He reaches across her and picks up the pill case on the arm of the chair, popping open one of the tabs to check it.

Gram looks at me indignantly before snatching it from Emmett's grasp. "I've survived eighty-three years without you checking up on me, you know."

"Yeah, well, you had a bad week because you missed a day of meds, Gram, so now I'm gracing you with my presence."

"And the lovely Rose's." Gram winks at me, her irritation forgotten.

"Yes. 'The lovely Rose' and I have to head back to school now, otherwise we'll be late and you might just hear from Principal Greene." He catches my eye and makes a face. His smile is softer now, one that's obviously reserved for special people. Leaning down again, he drops a kiss on her head. "Get some rest, okay? I've got practice after school but I'll call to check in."

It's clear that she's taken the medication she's supposed to. I wonder what happened the other day when she didn't. And I wonder where Emmett's parents are, why he's taken on the task that should have been theirs. He seems a lot older than seventeen right now.

Acting on impulse, I move from my spot near the wall to her chair. I lean toward her, my arm carefully wrapping around her frail shoulders and hug her for a moment. My cheek rests on hers, paper-thin from seeing years and things I've never known. "I'll see you again soon, Mrs. Connolly. Next time I'll pick up some cannolis too."

When I look at Emmett, his expression is unreadable. I hope to god I didn't say something wrong, that there will be a next time.

We're quiet as we walk from the house, me wrapped in the hoodie he's helped me into, the leaves swirling around us with the wind. He walks me to my side of the Jeep and helps me in before climbing into the driver's side. I hope he isn't doing this just because he's being chivalrous, like his grandma taught him to be.

Emmett doesn't say anything, just starts the car and begins to drive the path back to school. But I can tell, even without his words saying it, that not many people see that side of him. Behind the easy-going, laid-back attitude, this is where his heart lies. My eyes focus on my hands and I wonder if he regrets showing this to me; if he wishes I hadn't forced myself on him in the parking lot.

God, I can be so selfish.

I'm starting to get the nervous sweats when he suddenly slams on the brakes and pulls to the side of the road. We both jolt forward a bit with the sudden stop and he shuts off the ignition.

"Holy Je-"

His lips are on mine and his hand is twisted through my hair before I can get out another word. Leaning across the gear shift, I can feel our upper bodies pushing valiantly against each other, but it's not enough. It can't be. He pulls back, for just a moment, and tilts the wheel all the way up. Unbuckling my belt, I climb over the console, straddling his legs with my own.

Our faces are close, so very close, and he kisses his way along my jaw before making his way to my mouth again. My pulse is racing, my heart beating wildly out of control and I press myself into him, giving everything that I have and am. My fingers are at the hem of his shirt and I feel the muscles in his stomach tighten when I touch the skin smattered with fine hair. He groans as my palm flattens again his stomach.

I've never felt like this before. This all-consuming want and need. I don't care about anything but this moment with him.

And then he pulls away, resting his forehead against mine. His next words swirl all around us, in the thick air, and I sigh when he murmurs hoarsely, "You're so fucking special."

Hi! Are you shaking your fist at this make-out cliffie? Never fear - there's more where that came from. ;)

You know who we think is fucking special? You guys for all of your comments here and on Twitter. Also, Jan and H, who sweep up our mistakes, and JD and Val, who give us invaluable feedback. We're surrounded by awesomeness, what can we say?

Radiohead is also pretty awesome for (unknowingly) letting us continue to use "Creep." And, I think we can all agree, for just being Radiohead.

We'll be back on Thursday, per usual. Leave us some love and we'll give you a teaser in return!