[COMPLETE]
Emerson Castell loves facts.
Enjoying the how and why of everything, she never fails to let her obsession seep into every aspect of her life, including her relationships - or lack thereof.
Leo Caruso is no stranger to a busy social life...
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I could still see Emerson from where I was standing, impatiently tapping her foot at a crosswalk. Before the signal changed, she darted to the other side of the road, narrowly missing the Ford F-150 zooming by. Emerson was a principled rule follower, only breaking them when she was mad.
Right now, she seemed livid.
I debated giving her some space to cool off, but I worried she'd come to her senses and realize she didn't want anything to do with me at all. I was too used to people leaving me—by choice or not—that I couldn't afford to lose another.
I jogged all the way over to her, balling my hands into fists so people in their cars wouldn't call the cops on the guy running with blood caking his fingers. Like I expected, she didn't turn around when I called her name, nor the two times after with mounting desperation.
"Emerson," I begged at last, out of breath. "Em, please turn around."
The nickname finally stirred something in her, but her body was still as she turned around, her eyes holding an even harder stare. I could see her visibly strain as her right arm moved upwards to tug up the zipper on her jacket.
My jaw clenched. That bastard.
"Leo, I need to get home," she said through gritted teeth. "Unlike you, I actually care about not failing every English quiz."
"But do you really need to study?" I wondered if Emerson even had to open up a book, let alone study for English of all subjects.
She didn't say anything.
"Will you at least walk home with me then?" I asked. "We live three houses apart. And I don't want Franco catching up to you out of nowhere."
"Please," she scoffed, rolling her eyes. "You give him too much credit." She began walking ahead of me at twice her natural space, making me realize how awkward this walk was going to be.
A silent fifteen minutes later, we made it to the entrance of our neighborhood. Her nose and cheeks tinted pink from the cold near-winter air, and she gave her house up the street with a long look.Was it reluctance?
"You don't want to go back home, do you?" I finally spoke.
"It's not that I don't want to, it's just that I'd prefer not to," she responded dryly.
"That's the same thing."
"Yeah, you got me there, to be honest."
"Look," I said, taking a step forward. "Do you want to come to my house? My grandparents won't be home until tomorrow morning. Which is a shame, since I might starve, since I can't cook for the life of me." I cracked a smile and so did she at that.
But then she responded with, "I don't know... Your behavior was pretty unhinged back at school."
