The next morning, Emma woke up with a pounding headache and her phone alarm blaring beside her. Groaning loudly, she turned over and reached for her phone, switching the sound off. The blonde slowly peeled the covers from her pajama-clad body and sat up on the edge of the bed.
'Stupid move, Swan,' she chided herself, referring to how much alcohol she had the previous night. Standing, Emma made her way to her bathroom, which was connected to her room. She appreciated that Mary Margaret and David had given her the master room of their apartment, Mary Margaret wanting to be closer to her and her husband's baby's room.
Entering through the door, Emma winced at the sight of her reflection. 'I look like crap.'She attempted to run her fingers through her long, golden locks, only to have them get stuck mid-way. Groaning again, the blonde grabbed at her brush and started attacking her mop of hair. Five minutes later, she heard her foster mother call out to her from the bottom of the staircase.
"Emma, car's leaving in ten! You can't be late, again," Mary Margaret called out, knowing how last-minute the blonde is at almost everything she does.
"Yeah, yeah! Working on it," came Emma's response, which was muffled by the sound of water running and a toothbrush in her mouth. The woman rolled her eyes in response, returning to her previous task of packing their lunches for the day, Emma's foster mother being a teacher at the girl's school.
Though it wasn't her first choice, Storybrooke High School had been good to the blonde during her last three years of attending the school. Sure it was difficult for her to move from Hopkins, Minnesota to Storybrooke, Maine, forced to make a new life with new friends, but Emma had learned to manage. That is, after her first year of being rebellious, which was common for the blonde whenever she moved in with a new foster family. To her, it was a test on their part on whether or not they were worthy of staying with. To her surprise, Mary Margaret and David had been the first family to put their foot down at any sign of Emma wanting to push them away, which both annoyed and comforted the blonde. Truth be told, if Emma hadn't been so close to being of legal age, they would've adopted her after the first year.
After throwing together an outfit, Emma made her way downstairs. She quickly threw her backpack over her shoulder, grabbed a piece of toast–which Mary Margaret had known to have ready in the toaster–, and headed out the door to meet her foster mother in her car. 'Only one more day,' the blonde reminded herself. Her yellow bug had been in the shop, due to needing its breaks to be replaced. Emma had realized that they needed replacing when her car had slid on a patch of ice on her way to school. Thankfully, no one was injured, but Mary Margaret was adamant on making sure she got them repaired before driving it again.
When they had arrived at the school, they parted ways–Mary Margaret heading towards the elementary school while Emma headed towards the high school. Once inside, Emma went to her locker and began to gather her books needed for her first class. After mistakenly confusing her history book from her science text and fixing the problem, Emma was approached by her best friend, Ruby.
"Hey, ugly duckling," her friend greeted her in an obnoxiously cheery voice for a Thursday morning. Flashing the taller brunette an annoyed look, Emma addressed the girl, "Rubes, has it ever occurred to you that not everyone is a morning person?"
The girl didn't seem offended by the blonde's statement, it only prompted her to continue speaking. "Wait, so you mean to tell me that nothing happened between you and that smoking hot brunette last night," questioned Ruby, playfully wriggling her eyebrows. Emma rolled her eyes in response, shutting her locker door.
"Well," Emma drawled out, falling in step beside the brunette, as they made their way to their first class. Immediately, Ruby snapped her head towards the blonde. "No way," she squealed, causing the blonde to wince in pain from her still-violent headache, the pain relievers having not kicked in yet. "Tell me everything!"
Turning the corner into their English classroom, Emma opened her mouth to speak, only to be cut off by a familiar female voice.
"Miss Swan, presume," came the deep, sultry voice of the same woman she had encountered last night at the bar. Emma gulped, shrinking into herself at the intense stare the woman had fixed her with. The blonde could tell from her blatant expression that she was beyond pissed. "You're late."