Wrong Answers and Crashes
Apple Valley, Ma
The Past
January 2007
After the New Year, Regina came to school with a new car, a black convertible Mercedes. She, her sister, and her friends, now made a show of arriving to school every day. Hers wasn't the only expensive car in the student parking lot; half the kids at Abigail Adams High drove better cars than the teachers or staff would ever have. However, someone as popular as Regina getting a new car naturally became an event.
Emma wondered if Regina had forgotten the baking appointment they had or if it would ever come up again.
But on that Monday, a note appeared in her locker that said, "See you tomorrow."
At exactly five o'clock the next day, Regina rang the doorbell.
"Your mother?" she asked, without preamble.
"Doing something or other at school. Told you she would be." Emma nodded to the bulging grocery bag in Regina's hand. "You need all that to make whatever?"
"I do. The kitchen?"
Emma pointed then muttered under her breath as she followed Regina. "I'm fine, Regina. How are you?"
"I'm making caramel chocolate almond squares with just a flower of frosting."
"Catchy name."
Regina's eyes twinkled as she started to unpack. "I'm improvising on a traditional chocolate chip cookie. I've been thinking about it for weeks."
Emma couldn't help but be amused by Regina's childlike joy. "Well, who wouldn't?"
Regina paid no mind to Emma's poking mockery. "I need to work on the balance of ingredients. Each thing I add builds the flavor. Do you have a bowl and a mixer? I'll show you."
Emma knew where many of the baking utensils and pans were though some required excavation of the kitchen cabinets.
Regina kept lifting the spoon and making her taste. She did it after adding butter, then almonds, chocolate chips, and after the caramel chips, too. Each time she proffered the spoon, her eyes glittered awaiting Emma's reaction.
Dear god, this was not going to help with the fantasies she was having. Sometimes she wondered if she should be embarrassed or guilty, given where her thoughts went sometimes.
Except, for Emma, friend-Regina and fantasy-Regina separated into two entities. After all, they existed in different worlds and they definitely behaved in disparate ways. Besides, fantasy-Regina's visits were infrequent.
"Does it seem like there's too much caramel?"
"I have no idea."
"Concentrate," Regina said, voice low and patient. Emma tried and in the back of her mind, she weighed the differences in Regina now compared to school. She brimmed with energy now, instead of restraint. She relaxed, sleeves rolled up and hair wispy in places from her hard work.
"Close your eyes and taste. Do you taste mostly chocolate with a hint of caramel or is it more than that?"
Emma cracked open one eye. "But if both are good, does it matter all that much?"
"The best chefs and bakers refine their recipes until it invokes exactly the intended flavor, in precisely the right order on your palate. They strive for perfection. Think of it like you would sports. In wrestling, you practice a move till it's fluid, don't you?"
"I get it. I take taekwondo. It sounds more like that — they make us study these forms, which are just a series of moves, one into another. But it's about your stance, how you transition between the moves, the position of your body."
Regina considered then nodded, deeming it an acceptable comparison. "How long have you studied martial arts?"
"Couple years now."
Amusement played over Regina's mouth and deep in her eyes; unobscured by shields. "Those poor boys never had a chance, did they?"
Emma did her best to appear humble and shrugged. Everything inside her eased, and her own smiles were just under the surface, poking through at the slightest provocation.
"Open," Regina said and pressed the spoon against her mouth.
Being with her now, like this, her body hummed and her heart floated in her chest. Everything made sense and tomorrow was too far away to worry about.
Emma's mom arrived home just after Regina and Emma had each polished off a few squares. For the first time that day, Regina's neutral mask and that "at attention" pose made an appearance.
Emma tried to run interference. "Mom, you're home early. So listen, Regina's here —"
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Nolan."
"— and she's baking some stuff and we need to sorta keep this a secret."
"Baking?"
Regina gathered the cooking utensils and placed them in the sink, seeking to put distance between herself and the conversation.
"Remember the cookies I shared with you?"
Mary Margaret's eyes widened with delight. "She made those?"
Emma needed her mom to focus. "Mom, please. It's a secret."
"Ah," she said and nodded. "I suddenly forget what we were talking about. Except to say that any desserts that mysteriously show up at our house will be eaten until all evidence is gone." She stole a square for herself and took a bite, sighing in delight as she savored it. Still chewing she said, "Also, please get the recipe for this from, well, wherever it came from." Mary Margaret wandered into the living room, dessert in hand.
Emma grinned after her mom. She could really be amazing sometimes.
A little bit later, Emma walked Regina to the door. "So, um, next week?"
Regina maintained the bored, nonchalant expression she'd slid into place when Emma's mother had come home. "We can discontinue this if we are inconveniencing your mother. My time is limited as it is, so perhaps it would be for the best."
Emma didn't think that was really the issue. "Regina." Emma waited till their eyes met. "We're not going to screw you over."
She nodded slowly, the line of her shoulders losing its rigidity. "I'm being overly cryptic. It's just been a long time since I've actively pursued something I know my mother disapproves of. Usually if I lie, it's a one-off. I go to the movies or just — just escape for a while."
"I do stuff my mom doesn't approve of all the time. I'll teach you."
A playful brow lifted. "Is this more of your ideas about teenage rebellion? Are you volunteering to be a bad influence?"
Emma couldn't have kept the grin from her lips if her life depended on it. She shrugged and stuffed her hands in her pockets. "If you want."
She realized how much she liked who she became with Regina, how it felt so easy to be herself.
"See you next Tuesday," Regina said.
For the next few Tuesdays, Emma's mom joined them for the preparation part. She told them teaching stories or asked about different teachers or invited Regina to tell her what the newspaper was working on. Emma interjected a few things about wrestling here and there.
The moment Regina slid her dish in the oven, Mary Margaret always departed. She kissed the top of Emma's head and asked them to save some of the dessert for her.
It surprised Emma that she didn't mind when her mom joined them.
In Arts into Action, the group turned their desks to face one another and tried to get used to the dare system.
Archie dared Jefferson to show them his sketches. He did, shy and subdued for once. They passed the book around and Zelena said, surprised, "These are good." Jefferson expected her to follow up with an insult, Emma could tell by how his chin lifted and his arms crossed over his chest.
She didn't.
But most of the dares they threw at each other were annoying ones.
Jefferson dared Zelena to wear a baseball cap that said "jealous" for an entire day.
In return, Zelena made him wear preppy clothes for a day.
Jefferson tried to get her back on his next turn but at that point everyone voted to disallow retribution dares. So Jefferson challenged Regina to raise her hand in class, stand up, and give a long, completely wrong answer.
From the glare Regina gave him, it was his good fortune that exacting vengeance was no longer permitted.
Zelena cackled.
"'Long' is relative," Regina said tightly, expression stormy. "Specifically how long?"
"A minute." Jefferson said.
"Very well."
"Though wait," Jefferson leaned his desk back on two legs. "Regina's the only senior. How do we verify she did it?"
Zelena waved that away, totally enjoying herself. "Oh, I'm sure our friends will all be talking about it. Won't they, Regina?"
Mary Margaret pushed Jefferson's desktop so that it rocked forward, all legs landing on the ground.
Since they were in two different grades, Emma didn't see it but she heard it went down like this:
The teacher asked, "The Bill of Rights guarantees what rights?"
Regina raised her hand, then stood (which no one ever did). She moved her hands behind her back. "The Bill of Rights guarantees that the school system and teachers can test students endlessly. The unbalanced scales of the standardized tests they often use don't measure specific strengths and weakness, which would actually help students, but instead create a minimum achievement mentality." The more she spoke, the more her face splotched with red. "Then there are other tests, used year after year by teachers, that evaluate the simple ability to memorize facts."
Members of the class started to giggle, stir and whisper.
The teacher, stunned that one of his best students was acting out, tried to interrupt. "Regina,"
She cleared her dry throat and slowed down the frenetic pace of her words. She wrung her hands against the small of her back. "Essay questions are an improvement. Though, what life lessons are we supposed to be learning from stories by Edgar Allan Poe, where his main character straight up murders people? Is it a lesson in how elegantly violence can be described, or shall we take away the message that the human soul can be twisted? Anyone who watches the nightly news for more than five minutes is perfectly aware of that. Bizarrely, I have yet to —"
The teacher called her name again. "Regina?"
"— be taught anything about how to balance a checkbook, the importance of credit, the basics of car repair, and a host of other life skills every adult needs. Only in my senior year will I have access to classes that explain the world of business and what drives it. So, because it is so pervasive, it must be an absolute right to test, then group students so colleges can more easily decide who does and doesn't gain admission. Thank you."
She sat down and the teacher, seeming more concerned than offended, whispered to her that perhaps she should go see the guidance counselor after class.
The teacher went back to the front of the class. "Does anyone else have an answer?"
Regina wrote it off to both authority figures and her friends as a prank.
"Mortifying," she hissed to Jefferson as she moved past them in the hall.
Emma couldn't deny though that Arts into Action had gotten much more interesting.
At the beginning of February, the coach told Emma he was going to let her wrestle at the next away match, one of the last regular matches of the season.
#################################################
Emma wrestled in the second lowest weight class. The guy from the other team, the Denmoody Dragons, kept smirking at her. Emma had heard that the principal of Denmoody reminded his school, in the sternness way possible, that unsportsmanlike conduct would not be tolerated.
She couldn't be sure he was referring to how they treated her, but she suspected it.
The guys on her team, now faced with a common enemy, were supportive. They patted her on the back and clustered near her.
In the stands, her mom wore a sweater with the school logo and held a banner in her hand. Jefferson and Archie sat just below her, occasionally chatting.
Zelena, Regina and their friends sat on the top bleachers, very rarely watching the matches. Except when the time came, Regina shifted to face the gym floor and shushed some of those with her.
Her opponent moved to the center of the mat, shaking out his arms and legs. "Don't worry," he said when the ref asked them to shake hands. "I'll try not to make you cry too much." He chortled at his own joke.
In her head, Emma mocked him, Try not to make you cry. Asshole.
She noticed his loose stance as the referee had them face one another. She realized that his overconfidence would likely give her an advantage, at least at first.
The referee blew his whistle to start the match.
Emma went low, grabbing him around the back of his knees and forcing his limbs to splay open like a crab. She twisted her body around his, grabbed him in a headlock and took him down. She used her body weight to keep him on his stomach as he fought to rise to his hands and knees so he could stand. They grappled, straining against each other. Her muscles sparked with the first hints of pain. She pushed herself physically all the time, though, and it brought out the best in her.
He managed to push to his feet, even with her clinging to his back. She didn't let go, instead swinging in front of him, her arm tightening her hold on his neck. He pushed her back. She planted her feet and tried to resist him but he drove her out of bounds.
They moved to the center of the mat again. Emma got on her hands and knees, with her opponent above her, arm curved around her waist. When the whistle sounded, she tried to stand and he struggled to keep her down and turn her to her back.
Again, they battled for superiority. Emma realized that this stalemate would eventually give him and his upper body strength the advantage. She pulled her legs closer to her stomach and shoved up with all of her strength. She managed to get to her feet and peel away from him. They faced one another, and they each connected a couple of holds the other escaped.
She couldn't let herself get rattled. He wanted this to be over and would make a big move soon. She needed to act before he did and outthink him. She charged forward and grabbed him around the waist. She circled under his arm so that her front pressed to his back.
She lifted him up, and shifted her weight to bring him to the ground. He landed on his side and tried to push up, knowing the position meant trouble. She hooked her arm around his neck and angled her body so she could use her knees and arms to push him over and get his shoulders on the mat.
She did.
The ref called it.
She rose to her feet and heard polite applause and the louder braying sound of…
A kazoo?
Sure enough, Jefferson stood blowing into one, soon joined by Archie who had a party horn between his lips and gave three loud blasts. Her mother cupped her hands around her mouth and "Wooo-d" loud enough to echo through the gym.
She should be embarrassed, but they were all so totally on her side. She swallowed and her eyes burned as the ref raised her hand. She winked at her mom, who beamed back at her.
Emma glanced toward Regina. She smiled — that one smile that melted Emma and showed her more of Regina than most ever saw.
She shook the hand of her competitor, who scowled at her. Emma answered by tracing a fingertip down the side of her cheek, indicating an invisible tear.
The weirdest part, though, came when several of her teammates hugged her and a few more patted her head. Winning made her a more palatable teammate, she guessed. The coach didn't react at all, which seemed par for the course.
That night, Jefferson draped her in a celebratory feather boa, which she told him wasn't really a thing. Her mom took her, Jefferson and Archie to a restaurant and they toasted with milkshakes. Later, the teenagers continued the festivities by smoking a couple of joints, then they ate about a half-dozen tacos each at Taco Bell.
They ended up hanging upside down from a picnic bench because Jefferson swore it would prolong their high. Only when he crumbled to the ground, giggling, did she and Archie realize they'd been had.
On Monday, nothing changed at school, but Emma received a note with familiar handwriting asking her to show up in the Home Ec room during lunch.
Emma pushed opened the door and encountered Regina flattened against the wall near it, hiding. "I haven't been able to bake anything," she apologized without preamble.
She made sure the door was closed, then laid her hands on Emma's shoulders. "You did so — I — I'm so —" she shook her head, as if too many words were jumbled in her mind. Emma, startled, found herself captured in the embrace of a still-tongue-tied Regina.
Her hands reflexively surrounded Regina, catching her. Regina's hair grazed her cheek, the contact tantalizing her. She caught her breath. She bent closer, helpless to stop herself. The energy always buzzing in her system stopped and changed into slow, rolling waves, taking her high up, plunging her down, then rising again.
She closed her eyes and wondered if this was what perfect felt like, as the swells and crests kept coming.
Regina stirred and drew back. Wide-eyed she stared at Emma. "I wanted to say congratulations."
"Um, thanks."
Regina charged from the room.
Emma leaned heavily against one of the ovens. She lectured herself not to make too much of the moment. First, her attraction to Regina wasn't new. Second, she suspected she could attribute the intensity of the moment to teenage hormones screwing with her. She read about it later on the internet: heightened levels of estrogen, progesterone, and testosterone were normal.
So, no big deal.
On Tuesday, Regina showed up with her bag of groceries, prepared to make empanadas. From the moment Emma opened the front door, strangeness ensued.
Though, really, it started before that. Knowing Regina would be coming over that day kicked Emma's need to move into overdrive. Archie and Jefferson struggled to match her pace in the halls, and they finally gave up on it. She decided to run laps during lunch. The coach, at practice, ordered her to do the drills as instructed and slow down.
Her body kept flaring hot in reaction to the memory of the day before. Emma tried to act extra normal to compensate, which only rattled her. So, in trying to prevent weirdness between herself and Regina, she created it.
Regina tried to scoot by Emma into the house but Emma didn't move fast enough and they nearly collided. Emma stepped to one side; Regina moved in the same direction.
Regina held up a hand to stop Emma from moving and conquered the overly difficult entry into the house.
Emma watched Regina unpack her bag, noting the contents. "I thought empanadas had meat."
"No, they can have any filling. These will be dessert empanadas."
Their conversation sputtered to a stop.
At this point, Regina knew where to find the bowls, pans, and utensils in the kitchen. She gathered what she needed.
"So, how do you find all this stuff, ideas on what to make?"
"Magazines. Occasionally a cookbook in the library. There are some good sites online."
Dead stop again.
Emma winced. Attacks of nerves were rare for her. They showed up, a blip on the radar, right before a match or a competition. This strain reminded her more of that point in the weight room when she'd maxed out the amount she could lift but added just a little more anyway.
"Did I hear Regina?" her mom asked, poking her head into the kitchen. "Emma kicked ass this weekend, didn't she?"
She swore Regina blushed, but she turned away too quickly to be sure. "She did," Regina said, getting organized. "I think everyone was duly impressed. At least that's what they've said."
"As they should be," Mary Margaret said and squeezed Emma's shoulders.
Emma wondered if her mom's pride canceled out her reservations. She didn't think it did.
"I wish Emma were just a little more involved in other things."
Annnnddd there it is, Emma thought grimly.
"Well, it seems like she's much more involved than she used to be," Regina said. "When I dared her to go to the Winter Formal for an hour, she almost succumbed to a heart attack on the spot." Her eyes glinted. "Now, I think she could attend for two whole hours."
"Maybe an hour and a half," her mom said.
"Hey, I'm right here."
Her mom stopped and tilted her head to one side. "Regina, did you hear something?"
"Perhaps the wind?"
"Hey!"
Her mother's humor broke through the weirdness. The urge to act like everything was copasetic released Emma from its talons and dropped her back into sanity.
The old argument between mother and daughter was put aside. Her mom helped Regina roll out circles of dough and flicked flour in Emma's face. Emma tossed some at Regina. It didn't devolve into a full-on food fight, but they each came away with patches of white on their faces and shirts.
Her mom hung out with them until Regina put the empanadas into the fridge, explaining that they would need to rest there for thirty minutes.
Emma and Regina sat together on the couch in the living room, channel surfing. Their usual banter returned, effortless and magnetic as always.
Regina laid a hand on her arm a few times when making a point and nothing happened. Just a regular old touch. Emma reiterated to herself that hormones were to blame for any odd attraction or any actions she might take, in private, as a result of those feelings.
Again, no big deal.
"Archie and Jefferson are having an easier time at school lately. Between you and the new anti-bullying policy."
"You've been paying attention to that?"
"I'm highly observant."
"Right."
Regina chuckled, an open relaxed sound. "I thought you used that word when you were judging people, but now I think you just use it willy-nilly."
"Righhhhhtttt."
Regina threw a pillow at her. Emma grinned, glad things were normal again.
####################################################
In late February, regional wrestling tournaments started but Emma didn't wrestle again. Their team didn't make it to state, but one of the larger wrestlers did. The entire team traveled to go watch him compete and lose. The next week, letters for letterman jackets were handed out, including one to Emma.
Wrestling season ended, and things settled into a new rhythm, interspersed with a degree of familiarity. She went back to taekwondo on both Mondays and Wednesdays. She jogged every morning, now four miles instead of two.
Regina came over every Tuesday at five. Mary Margaret still hung out with them for a bit then left them alone. Every time she came over to bake, Regina transformed into this other version of herself. She smiled more, joked frequently and shed the need to chase the image of who she should be living in her head. Sometimes while waiting for something to bake, or after it had, they went up to Emma's room and talked a little or studied or watched TV.
Afterward, saying goodbye happened in stages. At the front door, then as she and Emma continued to talk about nothing, under the branches of the oak tree that hid them just enough from the eyes of others. Then again one last time, as Regina worried about the time and her mother finding out or someone seeing.
Often Emma would lean into the tree and watch until Regina's car disappeared, still glowing inside.
After a time, she would pat the old tree's trunk as if it were a loyal friend and wander up to her room. She lay down, smiling and not thinking of anything in particular.
On Thursdays, Arts into Action became both her bane (when she received a dare) and one of the most interesting things in her week (when anyone else did).
One morning in April Zelena and Regina didn't come to school, and the halls buzzed with the news that Zelena had stolen Regina's car and been in an accident. She had hurt her leg and would be out a week, then probably would be on crutches.
Emma wanted to check on both of them. She just didn't know how to go about it.
Archie gave her the answer. "The right thing to do would be to go and see her," he told her and Jefferson.
"You want us to go see her at home?" Jefferson looked on the edge of refusing, but he never did when it came to Archie. "Up the hill? The land of the Stepford people? Archie, I spend plenty of time with people like that in school. You think I want to seek them out in my free time?"
Archie remained insistent. "She's part of Arts into Action. She's one of us."
Jefferson sighed, but didn't say more.
That same week, Emma got her letterman jacket and her mother sewed on her letter from wrestling.
She wore it like armor the day they drove up the hill. Together the trio climbed out of her car and approached the front door, Jefferson shuffling along more than walking. Emma rang the doorbell and they waited.
"The belly of the beast," Jefferson muttered, and Archie covered his mouth and strong-armed him with a stern look.
An elegant woman with dark hair answered the door. "Yes?"
She fixed a disapproving frown on Jefferson, who had dyed his hair red weeks ago and wore a spiked bracelet around his wrist. He'd left the cowboy hat in the car.
Archie held up a bouquet of flowers still in plastic from the grocery store. "We go to school with Zelena. We heard about the accident and thought maybe we could visit."
"How nice," she said dryly. "Well, just for a few minutes. She needs her rest." She opened the door only a little wider, enough for them to come in single file.
She regarded Emma's jacket curiously. "What sport do you play, dear?"
"I wrestle."
Regina's mother's face scrunched like someone tasting something foul. "So you're the one." She gestured to the stairs without looking at them again, as if she couldn't be bothered, and called, "Regina, your sister's friends are here. They can't stay long."
As they started up, a wide-eyed Regina appeared at the top of the stairs. "What are you doing here?" she hissed and leaned over the banister to see if she could spot her mother.
"We brought flowers," Archie said, holding them up again.
Regina sighed and motioned for them to follow her. She knocked on the second door in the hallway. "You have visitors."
"That's novel. Who is it?"
Regina's answer was to push open the door.
Zelena's eyes dimmed when she saw them, clearly expecting and wanting almost anyone else.
"Are those for me?" she asked. "Well, I suppose beggars can't be choosers. Regina, could you get me a vase. I know it will be hard to fit them on the nightstand, what with all the other well-wishes, but we can try."
The nightstand stood barren.
Emma stood stock-still. A sick feeling twisted her stomach at the sight of the angry red cuts scattered across Zelena's face. Her right leg was elevated, supported by a pulley system. A brace, like a thick collar, stopped her from moving her neck.
"I had them frame a picture of the car. See?" She gestured to the second nightstand, where, on its own, sat a picture.
A telephone pole sliced through the middle of the car. The front of the car crunched inward around it, forming a gaping cavern. Shrapnel that used to be parts of the engine poked upward, wedging against the pole. The driver's side of the windshield no longer existed, the rest was a spiderweb of fragmented glass.
Emma realized why Archie had wanted them to come. Her hands balled into fists in her jacket. They all had this thing together and this — Zelena like this — was wrong. All the more so because it was mostly self-inflicted.
The world should be simpler. There should be people she could punch or tackle or take down in any given situation.
Jefferson spoke first. "So you took Regina's car?"
"Well, I really needed more alcohol, and I didn't want to bother her and her beau of the month."
"Well that was stupid," Jefferson said.
Zelena's eyes roared with temper. "Yes, please, bottom-feeder, feel free to judge me."
Jefferson's anger matched hers. He snatched the picture from the table. "Why would you want a picture of this? Do you think this is a joke? What the hell is wrong with you? You — you — fuck!" He pounded the picture into her bed near her hip, voice raw with emotion. "People die, Zelena. You could have fucking died. Do you get that? Is that registering in your thick, stupid skull?"
"Jefferson." Archie lay a hand on his back. "That's not what she needs right now."
Zelena's eyes swam with tears, but her chin rose defiantly.
"Jefferson just means" — Archie moved in front of him — "we were worried when we heard." He sat in an armchair, pulling it close to her. "We're not friends in the strictest sense of the word."
"Not in any sense," Zelena said. The cutting words were spoken in a weary reflex more than a true attack.
"Still," Archie said, rallying. "If you need anything. I — I know we...I — I'm not your first choice. I just...we've all shared things. We may not be friends but we're not not-friends. So, maybe next time, if you need a ride, you could call one of us. We'll find a way to come get you. We won't bug you or ask questions or anything. It'd be like calling a taxi. We just want you to be okay."
Zelena's chin trembled.
Archie rose as Regina returned with a vase. She took the flowers from him and removed them from their wrapping.
"I'm sorry if I'm being less than grateful," Zelena said, still teary. "You're the only people who've come. I wasn't alone in the car, but no one...so, anyway," She pulled her blanket up primly and recovered. "Thank you. If it matters, this time I scared the hell out of myself. I do know it was stupid."
Jefferson, who had been glaring at the doorway since Archie stopped him, rounded on her. He toyed with his leather bracelet, the anger ebbing from him. "Bad shit happens to people every day. You can't afford to invite it in."
She nodded, fixing her eyes on the ceiling. "I know."
They stayed only a few more minutes.
"Regina, could you stay a sec? Guys, I'll see you downstairs." Emma told them as they started to leave. Archie and Jefferson continued out. Regina, tired, circles under her eyes, waited.
Emma went to Zelena's bedside. "I tend to think before I do anything. A lot." She reached for the picture, lifting it up. "And I'm not good with people. So, I know I don't have the right to act like I know so much better than you do."
Emma put the photo back on the nightstand and clenched her hand, trying to still her shaking fingers. "But you're one of us. Like it or not, you are. You need to take better care of yourself, okay? So, here's how this is gonna go. I'm gonna leave my number with Regina." She motioned to Regina, still statue-like near the door. "From now on, you get drunk at a party, you call me if you need a ride. I don't care if it's every damn weekend. I'll make a deal with my mom so she won't ask questions. It doesn't matter what time. Just do it. Don't force me to sit outside every party you go to, because I will."
Emma didn't feel done, like something still lingered that needed to be said. "And...I'll meet you in the parking lot on Monday just in case you need any help with anything, okay? If your drooling admirers pick up the slack and help you, fine. But it would make me feel better to make sure. Just go with me on that, okay?"
Zelena cracked a smile, lacking the usual bitterness. "You sound so tough. You know if you were a guy, I'd be all over you." For the first time since they'd arrived, she seemed okay, really okay. "Such a stud."
Emma's cheeks burned but she laughed. It was the first time they'd ever acknowledged one another as people, beyond who they hung out with.
"Feel better. We need your sarcastic ass back in the club as soon as possible. Archie might try and get us to all sing Kumbaya every meeting otherwise." She bumped Zelena's good foot with the back of her hand. "See you Monday."
Regina followed her to the landing of the staircase, head bowed in thought. When Emma rattled off her phone number, she typed it into her phone. She pressed each number slowly, as if it expelled significant energy.
Regina shook her head. "I don't help her as much as I should."
Her worried, pained expression hammered into Emma, splitting her open. Her heart ached to do something: to dive in front of Regina, a tall bulwark defending her, or bargain with the universe to carry Regina's pain.
All Emma could think to do was say, "If you need anything, if I can do anything, just tell me."
Regina quickly checked the foyer, then leaned in, hugging her hard. "Thank you," she whispered.
#################################
On Monday, true to her word, Emma met Zelena in the parking lot. Two guys were already helping her with books and her crutches. Emma gave Zelena a little wave, which she returned, then wandered off. Regina looked on curiously, frowning.
In the group that week, it was Archie's turned to dare.
"Could I ask a favor, Regina? I want to dare Zelena but I think...I think it might be hard for her to do the dare if you're here. Do you or anyone have any objections if I ask you to leave for five minutes?"
Regina didn't seem happy but muttered, "Of course," and left the room in rapid strides. Emma got the feeling Regina would immediately begin drafting a new rule to prevent this kind of thing in the future.
"Archie," Zelena said when her sister was gone. "You are in for it. No one asks my sister to leave a room." It was the first time Emma ever heard Zelena refer to him by name.
He moved into the empty desk beside her, taking her crutches from it and leaning them on another desk. "Why don't we all move in a little?"
Zelena frowned suspiciously. "Now you're scaring me."
Jefferson and Emma took seats closer to Zelena though they did so uncertainly. Mary Margaret faded back from the group a little, signaling, as she often did, that this was thiers to handle as they would.
"This won't take long," Archie said. "I want you to tell us how you feel about the accident and be completely honest. For five minutes."
"The accident," she repeated.
"Yes." He folded his hands together on his desk, patient.
The full story of what had happened had cascaded down through the rumor mill until even those on the bottom of the school's social ladder knew the overall story. The weekend of the accident, Regina, Zelena and their friends went to a party. Zelena drank about as much as she usually did, but this time she stole the keys to Regina's car. She and several guys decided to take a joyride. Zelena took a turn too fast, and the car careened into a telephone pole. Everyone except Zelena was fine. Her date, or whoever, ran to a payphone and called the cops, but then the guys decided that they might get in trouble if they stayed.
They left.
Someone found Regina and told her what happened. She convinced someone to take her to the crash site. The ambulance and police got there just moments after.
"Five minutes. Are you timing this, pasty boy, because I don't intend to talk about it for one more second than I have to."
"Zelena," Emma's mother scolded.
"I know, I know," she grumbled. "Archie" — she stressed his name — "you'll have to ask me a question...it was a long night." She sounded like sweetness and light, but her eyes spit venom.
"It's okay," Archie said. "Just take your time."
Zelena's bitter affect weakened. She swallowed a few times, shaking her head and dismissing a half-dozen thoughts before she spoke. "Very well, the crash. I woke up after politely introducing myself and Regina's car to a telephone pole. I smelled smoke and gas. My leg was trapped. I called for help, but I was alone." She shifted, turning away from the others, facing straight ahead. "There are a lot of blanks I have about that night, but I remember that part clearly. I wasn't entirely surprised to have been deserted. You know that feeling, when you expect things? People don't like me. Not the way they like my sister. They never have."
Her breathing hitched. "Do you know the first thing my mother said to me? She came into my hospital room and said, 'What did you do now? Can't you see how your actions affect this family's reputation?'" Her bark of a laugh smashed into the room, more fury than mirth. "As if it would be better to be invisible. Overshadowed by Miss Perfection. The chaos I cause is entertaining, and I put out. That's why most of my so-called friends hang out with me. Only one person except you visited me last week. And he wants to get into my pants."
"My sister found me that night. She rode with me in the ambulance. She kept doing all these things for me after I got home. And I, if I am being honest, I only feel confused and angry at her. She cleans up my messes, but it's hard to be sure why. For herself or for me."
"I know all of you think I'm a bitch." She turned to Archie. "And I do care that you're being picked on. But you show way too much of your heart. You stand out, and you don't fight for yourself. And you can't do that." Slow, crawling tears ran down her cheeks. "And I don't have all that much that I can afford to lose things."
She covered her face and her shoulders shook. Jefferson and Emma came closer but weren't sure what to do after that. Archie, though, knelt beside her and hugged her.
Emma expected her to push him away but instead, she clung to him and buried her face in his shoulder. "I'm sorry," she said, the words fragmented by tears.
Archie held her until she drew back, wiping at her face. Emma's mother quietly brought her a box of tissues.
Archie stayed next to Zelena and held the box for her. "You're a really brave person, Zelena."
She continued to rub at her face. "Yes, that is exactly how I would describe myself at the moment."
"You are," he said. "You're just so busy reacting that you can't see it. "
"He's right," Jefferson said. "You're a fighter. But you fight almost everything, and the way you fight hurts you. Like you keep punching yourself in the face." Her still-teary gaze lifted up toward him, uncertain about his intentions. She caught Emma nodding and only then did she seem reassured.
"What if," Emma said quietly, "you picked things though. Like, I couldn't have tried out for the wrestling team and the football team and the hockey team all at once."
Jefferson sat on the other side of her. With a small show of reluctance, because he and Zelena still habitually waged war on one another, he lay his hand on her back. "You could start your own team, like, Team Bitch.".
"Not what I was going for," Emma said.
"Yeah, I just wanted to say 'team bitch'."
Zelena chuckled, a little of the pain lifting from her.
Jefferson lay a hand over hers, not holding it, just making contact. "I had a little sister. She died in a car accident. Years ago. When I saw you at your house, I wondered what if it was her lying there. I'd have yelled at her like I yelled at you. You deserved that." His hand fell back into his lap. "But I also woulda told her that the guys who took off were assholes. She was worth ten times what they are." He drew into himself, leaning over, elbows on his knees. "Fuck them."
She dabbed at the fresh tears in her eyes. 'Dammit, Jefferson, you are such an asshole."
"Well," Emma said. "You kinda both are."
Zelena's eyes searched Archie's face. "Why did you ask me to do that?"
He straightened, leaving the tissues on her desk. "I thought you might need to talk about it. I wanted to help, I wasn't sure how." He adjusted his glasses, rushing on. "I — I know you don't need my help. That's not what I mean. I just thought maybe I could do something."
"Archie," she called gently. She plucked at the edge of his shirt then used it to pull him down. She leaned up, kissing his cheek.
He brightened, holding himself a little taller, with a kind of confidence, as if she'd given him something he'd been missing.
He slid back into his desk.
Emma's mother stood near her desk, eyes warm and shining with pride. She went to them, the small group. "There's a book called Love in the Present Tense, by Catherine Ryan Hyde. It has this line, 'I looked straight at that candle flame and I knew Pearl was with me in that light. It was my first perfect moment.'"
Emma didn't know what transfixed her about her mother right then or why a lump grew in her throat till it hurt.
"When several flames touch, the light they produce is increased." She bent and wrapped an arm around Zelena's shoulders, hugging her. Zelena smiled, chagrined but trusting her teacher. "We give to others and we think it's just a moment. Or even a series of moments. But, I believe — I truly believe — love survives. Beyond everything else, what we give to one another always burns bright." Her eyes rained quiet praise on all of them. "Amen and Hallelujah."
A comfortable silence passed.
"Someone should get my sister before she has a heart attack," Zelena said. Emma nodded and moved to the door, retrieving a frowning Regina.
Later that afternoon, Regina knocked on Emma's front door, demanding to know what had happened.
Emma let her in, saying, "You do know this isn't Tuesday?"
Regina's expression changed from agitated to worried. "I just want to make sure she's okay."
They went to Emma's room and sat on the edge of the bed, radio on though neither of them were listening to it.
Emma told her what happened, adding. "You might want to let her know you care about her, Regina. I'm not sure she knows."
Regina shrugged. "I'm not good at showing how I feel."
Emma's shoulders lifted and fell in a motion that matched Regina's. "I get it. I'm not good at telling people things. Like, with my mom."
"She loves you."
"But, that doesn't make things easier."
"No," Regina said. "It doesn't with my sister either. My mother sets us against one another. She has for a long time. I knew what she was doing, but I couldn't seem to stop myself from reacting exactly the way she wanted me to. I constantly tried to outdo my sister. I think, Zelena gave up and now she just tries to cause trouble all the time." She folded her arms close to her stomach. "She could have died."
Emma wrapped an arm around her back, and they didn't talk for a while.
"I think my mom's afraid I'm too much like my dad," Emma said into the quiet. "And she...she thinks I'm supposed to do better than she did. Be more successful. Aim higher." She half-scrubbed and half-massaged the back her neck. "I dunno. I want to be me. And I want her to think I'm pretty good like I am."
"Just pretty good?" A light laughter settled over her features. It sparked a smile from Emma, but it became impossible to hold Regina's eyes. "Maybe," Regina went on, more quietly, "it's just that she doesn't want you to miss anything and she's worried you will."
"Maybe."
"I do think that at some point, you probably need to give much more consideration to your future. Just wanting to wrestle isn't much of a plan."
"Yeah, but right now?"
"No, not right now. If you want to go to college though, probably soon."
"I'm not sure I do. School kinda bores me. A lot."
"It's not supposed to be riveting, it's an opportunity to show what you can do."
Emma rolled her eyes. "Of course you think that. You're good at all that school shit."
Regina frowned. "I work very hard at it."
"I'm not saying you don't. I keep trying to make myself care about grades and classes. I just can't. I don't want to flunk out but I don't see doing four to eight more years of it after high school. I want get out there and start doing things."
"What things?"
"I haven't really thought that through yet."
"Shocking."
"I'm not good at all that much."
"Maybe you're better than you realize. What's your grade point average?"
"You're assuming I know."
"What kind of grades do you usually get?"
"C's."
Regina winced as if the existence of such a grade pained her. She crossed one leg over the other and straightened her skirt where an unnecessary column of buttons ran down either side. She wore a matching wool vest with squares of black leather. Emma figured that the outfit cost more than half of everything in her closet.
"I bet you could get A's," Regina said. "At least B's. In fact, I'll prove it to you. Let me actually tutor you in one class. I'll come over Thursday evenings too. I'll tell my mother I'm helping a particularly challenging student. You can pick the class."
"How 'bout study hall?"
"Emma, I'm serious. One class. Achieving success might provide motivation."
"Or a headache."
"One class," Regina said, insistent. Emma sighed and they both knew it was capitulation. "I'll help you prepare a study guide. We'll need a binder, colored post-its and highlighters."
"Fun, fun, fun."
"Don't be so pessimistic."
"What's the difference between pessimism and being realistic?"
Regina smiled pleasantly. "If your definition of reality is inherently marred by a bad attitude, then they are one and the same. You need to think positively."
Increasingly, the way they pushed at one another was infused with teasing. The rules of their relationship changed a little every time they spent time together, but Emma didn't know if she could define how.
They just fit.
They worked.
Happiness, like some of the classic songs Emma so loved, started with a quiet, repeating chord, then swelled — bold and raw — inside her.
Emma wanted more of it.
Regina traced the leather sleeve of Emma's letterman jacket. "I do like this jacket on you."
"It would look good on you, too." Emma said the thought without checking it for stupidity, and instantly stuttered a disclaimer. "I mean, I'm sure you can get one of your boyfriends to give you theirs."
"You wouldn't lend me your jacket? Is that a definitive statement? What if I get cold?"
Emma's pulse jumped around, having no idea how to respond to the coyly spoken words. "Why wouldn't you use one of the five million jackets you own? I earned this thing."
Regina leaned in a little, her fingers playing with the top button of Emma's jacket. "Emma?"
"Yeah?"
"Tell me which class you want me to help you get an A in."
Emma fell back unto her bed, groaning.
At the next meeting of Arts into Action, Zelena dared Jefferson. She whispered it in his ear though, so no one but the two of them knew the dare.
"Fuck you," he told her. "I'm not doing it."
"I'm not trying to be cruel, Jefferson."
"I don't care."
So, Jefferson became the first of them to forfeit. Zelena and Jefferson refused to tell any of them what she had asked him to do. For his punishment, they made him be waterboy/towel boy for the boy's Track and Field team for an entire week.
He did it good-naturedly, and the animosity between him and Zelena continued to ebb.
The week after that one, Jefferson arrived to Arts into Action with a photocopy of a sketch for each of them: a candle, resting on a stand, wax dripping down its base. A halo surrounded the flame, where five matchsticks touched. "I asked Mrs. Nolan if there should be five matches or six, and she reminded me this is our group so…"
He didn't look at any of them as he said it.
"It's very good, Jefferson," Mary Margaret said.
Sometime after that, Archie taped his picture to the front of one of his notebooks. Zelena hung it in her locker. Regina kept it with her, usually in her pocket.
Emma asked her mom about having a patch made.
Between classes, Zelena sometimes hobbled through the halls with Archie, Emma and Jefferson.
########################################
The Present
Boston, Ma
/Previously/
Regina scowled. "It's been over a year. What kind of training regimen are you on, exactly?"
"Don't pretend you know anything about what's going on with me, Regina."
"Don't assume I don't know when you're lying to me, Emma."
"I'm not."
"No? Well you sure the hell aren't telling the truth. I understand why you've pulled back from me, but why them? They have done nothing to deserve it. Do you think they care that you lost? Or did this particular loss hurt your pride that much?"
Her heart banged in her chest, demanding attention. She ignored it. "Yep, that's it. It's just about my pride." Emma held up the letterman jacket. "Thanks for getting this back to me. There might barely be enough room in my saddlebag for it." She took on more casual body language and pushed open the door. "You ready to go?"
/End of Previously/
Emma kept her head down as she walked toward the large round sports complex. She'd called her manager the evening before, figuring he could probably get them in, and maybe even had enough clout to manage them wandering around for a while.
In exchange, he'd made her promise to come in and train at the gym that night.
Today, with no event going on, the center of arena just had a bare space.
That night, there had been a circular ring surrounded by a cage. Spotlights of red, blue and green passed over the cheering capacity crowd.
Emma winked at a cute girl on her way to the ring. Flashes from cameras exploded now and then ahead of her as her theme music — "Thunderstruck" — played.
Her manager, Grumpy, climbed the steps and opened the door to the cage for her. "Who's the champ?"
"I'm the champ," she said.
"Well, then you show them."
She nodded and grabbed a picture of a mirror-still lake with her mind, using it to quell the nerves rattling in her legs and arms. She focused and calmed, breathing in and out slowly.
Her opponent's music played — a rap song she couldn't remember the name of.
Soon, she and the flyweight champ stood toe to toe, her opponent trying to psyche her out by getting in her body space. They both bounced in place, until the ref clapped his hands together.
In the real arena, not the one in her head, Emma counted to twenty.
She circled, staying on her toes, cocking her fist, and guarding her body. She jabbed.
She kept up her counting. Another fifteen seconds.
She struck again, just as light and quick, following the game plan.
Almost a minute in, Emma thought.
The champ struck her leg with the arch of her foot and knocked her a little off balance. She stepped forward and punched Emma, putting her weight behind it. She followed up by tackling Emma, bringing her to the mat and continuing to punch.
Emma only knew that because she'd seen the recording, the first punch was the one that ended it.
After about forty seconds of assault, the ref ordered the champ off and called the match.
Grumpy examined her. She heard the announcer declaring the winner.
She blinked, pulling herself out of the memory, feeling sweat on her back and the labor of her breathing. Regina touched her shoulder and said her name. She heard it. She just couldn't answer for a minute, placing her hands on her hips and pacing as if walking off an injury.
"Emma," Regina said again.
For a second, Emma wasn't sure which pain was worse — the memory of the night or the ache of Regina standing that close.
"It was fucking humiliating. Every second from the moment I went down. But that wasn't the worst of it. None of you understood."
She could have thrown something, hit someone, run at full speed for miles. "I figured it out after I joined the WEMMA promotion in the MMA and started fighting. I didn't have a plan till then. But once I went pro, things made sense. I knew what I wanted to do. I needed to win."
Regina's furrowed brow made it seem like she was on the verge of asking a hundred questions and but couldn't figure out where to begin.
"I was going to dedicate the title to my mom, Regina. I even had a poem I was going to read for the press junket after, too. I thought maybe someone might like it, might even want to read more on their own."
Regina froze, stricken. "You didn't tell me."
"Would it have mattered? Anyway, I lost."
"And you feel like you let your mom down."
"That's not it."
"Emma, she didn't always understand you, but she loved you. She wouldn't have wanted you to torture yourself because you didn't win a title for her."
A single all-powerful thought stormed, imprisoned and hidden deeper inside her than any other. It didn't want absolution, it hated that possibility. "No, you don't get it."
"Then talk to me."
"You think talking helps? That it somehow changes things? It doesn't." She lifted a hand to her chest, pressing fingers into her skin till it hurt. "It makes it worse."
Emma circled the spot where the ring had been. She moved to stand in the center of the emptiness. "Can we go? I think we can both honestly tell the others we completed the challenge."
If she ducked that one punch, maybe wasn't so cocky, if she moved faster.
"Let's just go." Emma shoved the memories as far away as she could, and stalked towards the exit without waiting.
Emma got on her bike, arriving a full two or three minutes before Regina. Regina placed her hands on the handlebars instead of climbing on behind Emma.
"Can I ask one more favor?" she asked. "Another stop? Just one."
"Now?"
"It would mean a lot to me."
#####################################################
Emma's hands coiled around her handlebars in a death grip. They'd been that way since Regina told her where they were going. Now, they sat in front of Emma's old house, with Emma refusing to look anywhere but straight ahead. Her eyes wandered toward the giant, draping oak tree by the sidewalk. That too had memories that whipped at her.
"Why the fuck are we here, Regina?"
"Because this place is practically hallowed ground. We met at school but this is where we became friends. Every Tuesday. It felt like home in a way my actual home never did."
Emma just wanted to be anywhere else, but she knew Regina well enough to know that they weren't done. Emma kept her emotions locked down, fortifying the door she kept them behind.
Regina, seeing that Emma refused to soften, sighed. "You told me it helped to have me around...with your mom."
It had. The three of them in a room felt worlds better than just Emma and her mother alone. Regina stood between them, often literally, and she understood both sides. She translated.
Emma didn't want to talk about her mom, didn't want to think about her. Too many thoughts battled in her heart, and all of the pain and love kept crashing together. Better to keep it contained and try to live around it.
Someone else lived in Emma's house now. Someone with a Toyota and not a Volvo. Someone who had pulled out her mother's rose bushes and replaced them with easier-to-maintain hedges.
After her mother died, the courts stepped in. A judge appointed an executor and also approved the petition from Archie's parents to become her guardians. When she turned eighteen, about fifty-thousand dollars from the sale of the house waited for her.
"I didn't know her very long. A year?" Regina asked and glanced back to Emma for confirmation she would never find. "But she shared you with me. She treated all of us like we were amazing. Strong. Limitless."
Those words broke in. Emma shifted, her heart stinging, arms crossing over her chest.
Regina didn't stop. "The only other person to treat me that way was you. The feeling of belonging I felt every time I came here, that was you too."
Emma 's jaw locked. "It was a long time ago. And whatever it meant to you back then, it didn't stop you from walking away."
Regina nodded, offering no excuses. "Yes. I let you down. I let her down, too. This isn't what I intended when I asked you to bring me here, but I could try to explain, if you wish."
"I'd say the time for that is long gone."
"Very well."
"You think there's anything you could possibly say that will justify what you did?"
Her steps toward Emma were quiet but determined. She stopped only when she stood so close to Emma that their bodies brushed against one another. "I offered an explanation, not a justification. I am well aware that the way I acted was inexcusable and selfish. I've never been someone who faces the unknown and the perilous with stoic bravery. No, instead I try to control things. Your fighting terrified me. I didn't know what to do."
Each sentence pounded into Emma's soul. She tried to jerk back from Regina but, with the bike behind her, she had nowhere to go. "I let you in. You more than anyone."
"So did I."
She struggled to keep her voice down, to stop from screaming at Regina. "I would never have left you. Not ever." The fury inside her crumbled. "We were supposed to stick together. You and me."
"I know." Regina's hand curled around hers and she didn't quite have the strength to pull away. "You're the best thing in my heart. You have been for years and you still are. Incomparable to anything or anyone and inevitable. I never doubted that; I just let my fears control me. As they have far too many times. Can you really tell me you don't know what that's like?"
Watching Regina's tormented expression in the moonlight battered Emma as hard as the hit that knocked her down at the pinnacle of her career. The one she still hadn't really gotten up from. She held the cage shut inside her with all her strength. She couldn't keep things in and also reach for Regina or anything else.
"I'm sorry, I suppose I let us get distracted from the reason I brought you here. This isn't about us. The others are worried about you. You've withdrawn. And it sounds like it's not just from them."
After two years of time and distance, her heart should be fortified against Regina's influence. Emma couldn't stop her own yearning to give, to share. But letting Regina in, especially now, would invite demolition into her purposefully small world.
"Before, at the arena, you told me that I didn't understand. What haven't you said? I know that losing the fight is tangled with your feelings about your mother. I know you wanted to win for her."
Not wanted, needed, came a whisper from the largest, most hidden cage.
Emma shook her head and got back on the bike, hands hanging at her sides.
In the increasing silence, Regina finally drew in a deep breath and backed up. "The debrief is tomorrow. I want to remind you of the way we used to do things. We're honest. No deflections and no minimizing. Which is all you've been doing since the reunion at the bar. When it comes to you, I know the difference, Emna. And if you do it tomorrow, I will call you out."
############################################
As promised, she went to the gym that night. Grumpy gave her an ultimatum. She had two weeks to decide if she still wanted to fight or not. After that, she had to full-on commit, or he'd quit being her manager.
Later when she tried to sleep, she had the dream again. She woke up way before the alarm clock. Her gut jittered and even running didn't help. Neither did giving each arm a twenty-minute workout.
She dragged the heavy bag out from behind her couch and set it up. She didn't wrap her hands. Grumpy would have yelled at her for that if he knew.
She did a series of kicks and punches against the bag until the skin on her knuckles broke and her legs burned.
She called in sick to work that day, for the first time since she'd joined the police force. Archie called and left a message, checking on if she wanted to be picked up later tonight for the meeting. She rested for a while then started hammering her fists into the punching bag again.