Better Off

2

"You think she's even going to show up?" Saige checks the time on her phone for the millionth time in the past ten seconds, glancing at the double doors of the hallway, as if waiting for Emmie to appear.

"I don't know, S," I admit with a shrug. "She did say she was going out with Asher. And you know what that means."

"Trouble," Saige and I say in unison, giving each other knowing grins. I turn back to my locker, shoving my bookbag inside the small quarters. "Let's just give her five more minutes," I propose, glancing at Saige over my shoulder. "If she's not back by then, we'll head to class."

"All right," Saige agrees. "I really hope she's okay. You know how she gets around that boy."

"Speaking of that boy." Saige laughs softly as I eye her skeptically. "I don't think I've seen Asher yet, either."

Saige wrinkles her nose, sticking her tongue out in disgust. "You don't think they're . . . together, do you?"

I shrug, sighing. The rush of air from my lips sends hair blowing out of my face. "Who knows with those two?"

As if it's her cue, Emmie suddenly appears by the double doors. Saige nudges me to get my attention, gesturing toward what used to be our best friend with wide eyes.

Emmie notices us staring, strolling toward us slowly. Her normally wavy blonde hair is flat. She wears giant sunglasses that cover half of her face, and she walks like she's sleeping. When Emmie finally reaches me and Saige, neither of us say a word. To be honest, I don't think either of us even know what to say.

"I know what you're thinking." Emmie's voice is hoarse, like she's smoked a pack a day for twenty years.

"Really?" Saige asks, finally speaking. "Because I don't even know what to think."

"What happened to you, Em?" I ask softly. "You look like a mess."

"Yeah?" Emmie snorts, running a hand through her matted tresses. "Well, I look better than I feel, if that's saying anything." She raises a hand to her face, whipping the sunglasses off to reveal eye bags bigger than Texas and darker than night. Her skin is pale, and she doesn't wear any makeup, which is a first for her.

"Yikes," I say unintentionally, making Emmie glare at me. She immediately pulls the sunglasses back on, making me feel kind of bad for opening my mouth.

"You don't look that bad." Saige gives me a thanks-a-lot look. I shrug, not knowing how to respond.

"It's not about how I look," Emmie hisses, resting her head against the lockers behind us. "It's about how I feel. And how bright it is in here. And why is everything so loud?"

"Oh," Saige says, suddenly sounding way less friendly. "You're hungover."

"Yeah. Duh. Isn't it obvious?" Emmie doesn't hide the bitter tone to her voice, either. If I don't step in now, I know the two of them are going to go at it. That's one of the downsides to being friends with someone for so long. Once you reach a certain level of comfort, you can fight about nearly anything. It doesn't help that Saige and Emmie don't exactly see eye-to-eye on a lot of things, especially underage drinking. We're all seniors at Day View High, which makes us seventeen (except in Emmie's case, she turned eighteen in August).