Diane and Ema were lead to their rooms by the same perky blond woman, Artemis's wife, Melanie, Ema had met on her last visit. Although, "met" might be a bit of an over-statement; She had led Ema through a couple of hallways, glaring at her like the plague, saying little. It was far different this time. She couldn't seem to shut up, and the fact that she and Diane were both natural motor-mouths wasn't much helping Ema's pounding headache. After three hours on a stifling hot train, Ema was ready to pass out. (What kind of school still put students on TRAINS, anyway?)
As soon as Ema was alone in her room, she practically ran to the adjoined bathroom to take a long shower. The frigid water felt good on her aching head.
Ema turned off the water, dried herself off and changed into her clothes. She wore a dark green turtleneck sweater and a pare of pale gray jeans. Needless to say, Ema wasn't all that concerned about fashion. She tied her long auburn hair into a ponytail and walked back to her room.
The first thing she saw was her friend sprawled across Ema's bed, reading a book. To most, there would be nothing wrong with this picture; But Ema knew Diane. She hated reading. But even that wasn't enough to stop Ema's heart the way it did.
It was the book that Diane was reading. It was Ema's journal. It was a thick, leather-bound book with a ribbon bookmark attached. It had three sections; The first was a regular journal. The second, writing notebook filled with poems and short stories. But the third was filled with the same poems, written in Gnommish. Ema hated to think of what would happen if someone was to read that section.
But Ema need not have worried; Diane was reading the journal. "I knew you liked him," she said when she saw her friend. She emphasized the word.
Ema's face flushed, partly from humiliation, partly from relief. "Liked who?" She mumbled, attempting to play stupid, to no avail. Stupid wasn't easy for a genius to play at.
Diane rolled her eyes, a habit learned from Ema. "Simon," She said in a mocking voice.
Ema shook her head and grabbed the book from Diane's manicured fingers. "No I don't."
"Yes, you do."
"No, I don't."
"Yes."
"No."
"Yes."
"Shut up."
"Never."
Ema sighed. There was no point arguing with her. Diane had a comeback for everything, even if said comeback didn't always make sense. So Ema did the next best thing; she rolled her eyes, willed her face to lose it's rosy hue, and turned around to stuff the journal into the back of her bag. Diane, knowing that she had one yet another argument, grinned broadly at Ema's back, then went back to channel-surfing on the flat-screen T.V. on the wall. For her, this was like staying in a hotel.
Ema distracted herself by beginning to unpack, ignoring everything except where her hands were putting her clothes (mainly so she could find them later). If she tried, she could even manage to tune out Diane cranking the volume up on Much Music.
After her list of mindless tasks was finished, and Diane had gotten bored with screaming out lyrics to songs Ema had never heard, the two decided to look around the manor. Ema was dead set on learning about the architecture, and Diane just liked looking at the art. Somehow, though, they managed to find themselves on an outdoor basketball court, watching two young guys shooting hoops. Diane looked like she was going to faint.
The two were nearly identical, if one looked a little more athletic. One of them walked over to the two girls.
"Yes?" he said, grinning in a way that returned the bright manic light to Diane's eyes. "Can we help you?"
The other one, the more normal-looking one (in Ema's opinion), loped over. "Hey, you're Emalline, right?" He laughed. So far, they seemed like pretty easy-going guys. Ema found that reassuring. "Arty's kid, right?"
"It's Ema, actually, but otherwise right. You are you?"
The first one answered, his words accompanied by a sweeping bow. "Beckett and Miles Fowl, at your service."
Ema nodded. Artemis's brothers. They would be, what? Twenty-two now, if Ema was right. Which, she almost always was.
Diane decided that it was time for her to take the spotlight. She pointed towards the basketball in Miles's hands. "Mind if I join you? I'm Diane, by the way."
Beckett's hand shot out to shake, but instead of taking it, Diane grabbed the ball from his brother and dribbled toward the hoop. The two boys ran after her, and Ema chose a spot to sit on the sidelines and read. She was never much of an athletic person.
********
By the time dinner rolled around, Diane had passed out on her bed, snoring loudly. Ema didn't have the heart to wake her up, so she walked down to dinner alone. She wasn't looking forward to it. In fact, she probably would have in her room if she hadn't been so hungry.
It was easy to find the dining room; just follow the smells that made her stomach rumble loud enough to give a reading on the Richter scale.
"Ema!" Melanie cried, her high, perky voice scraping across Ema's, and everyone within ten miles, eardrums. Ema could have sworn she felt hoards of brain cells dying horrible deaths.
The large room was warmed and well lit by the crystal chandelier and the crackling fireplace. The long mahogany-wood dining table could have sat two dozen, but six chairs were carefully positioned around it. Only two of the were occupied, and Ema immediately wished for Diane's, or even Miles and Beckett's, presence.
Artemis looked up from his empty plate to his daughter's face, giving her a weak smile. Ema couldn't see much change in his appearance from the last time she had seen him, besides a few more gray hairs, and the fact he looked even more sad and tired. "Hello, Emalline. I suppose that I haven't really welcomed you yet." His smile turned to a grimace. " But I suppose Melanie has taken care of that." Ema suppressed the inner urge to roll her eyes. Welcomed, sure. The woman hates me, she though, and is just putting on this show because she fancies herself an actress.
"Please take a seat." Artemis motioned to the chair beside himself, but Ema opted instead for the chair farthest away from either of them.
Dinner was a quiet and awkward affair for all parties, broken only occasionally by questions from Artemis (how was school, how were her grades, est.) and Melanie (had she bought any cute shoes lately, how was the shopping in America, est.). But Ema didn't mind awkward; if she had to put up with them for two weeks, then they would suffer right along with her.
Ema left as fast as she could manage while still being polite; she didn't stay for desert, though in all honesty she had never really had much of a sweet tooth.
She stalked into her room, glaring murderously. Diane sat up, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, woken by the bang. "I hate you so much right now," Ema said. Diane cocked her head; her hair stood straight up on her head. Ema needed extreme willpower to keep from laughing like an idiot.
"Did I miss supper?" Diane asked, yawning, and Ema lost it; she just laughed. She fell on her bed, still snorting with laughter, her friend now staring at her with a slightly alarmed expression on her face, which only made Ema laugh more; it was the same expression she had so often used on Diane.
Diane stood up, looked at her friend still rolling with her laughter, and yawned again, walking towards the bathroom. "I'll be back. And if you're going to another meal, don't neglect to bring me." She closed the door.
Ema lounged on the bed, reading through a worn paperback copy of her favourite book, The War of the Worlds. It was ancient, the pages worn so smooth by the years of thumbing, they were nearly transparent. She found her page and settled in to read.
But after a while, when Diane still hadn't returned, Ema decided to check on her. Maybe she was sick. She knocked on the door, and called, "Are you coming?" No reply.
She knocked again, growing worried. Diane didn't just ignore people. Ever. Ema twisted the knob and opened the door.
And, there on the floor at her feet, Diane lay sprawled on the hard tiles, eyes closed, mouth gaping.
Ema screamed.