[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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"Well, this is refreshing."
It was the Friday evening of the start of Christmas break, and for once, my whole family had sat through dinner without interruptions. Even Max sat at the table, although he may as well have been invisible from his silence and his refusal to make eye contact with any of us.
My parents' arguments had toned down over the last few weeks, or maybe they'd been doing a better job at hiding them.
"If refreshing means boring," Mason said, spearing his chicken breast with his fork. My mother leaned over and began to cut it into smaller pieces. He sat back in his seat and crossed his arms over his reindeer sweater.
"So, Emerson." My father turned his attention to me. "Did you get back your calculus tests today?"
I nodded. "Yeah, the teacher passed them out at the end of class."
"What did you get?" I didn't know why he asked, assuming he probably knew.
"An A," I said quietly. I chewed a slice of tomato from my salad carefully.
"That's my little genius." He chuckled and ruffled the top of my hair as if I was Mason's age again, and I shifted in my wooden chair. Max stared at his white plate even harder, as if he was trying to burn holes into it.
"Dad..." I began, glancing at his face. "I don't really like it when you call me that."
"Why?" he questioned, oblivious.
"Because," I said, feeling like everyone's eyes were on me. Even Max's. "It's not true."
He scoffed. "Of course it is."
I sighed and pursed my lips. For a man with a PhD, he was acting very unintelligent.
My mother intervened. "Don't you see, David?" she said, flinging her arm out in Max's direction. He jolted as if she were about to whack him. "You have a son here who's been acting up all semester in a pathetic effort for you to notice him and still you show blatant preference to one of your kids. And then you have the audacity to blame me for raising him wrong?"
Just when I thought the fights were over...
"Isabella, I think you're misunderstanding something—"
"I don't think she is." Mason tried to contribute to our adult conversation, yet he was actually right. My father glared at him.
"As usual, you're always trying to make yourself look perfect." My mom huffed and pushed away her mostly-eaten plate. I couldn't take hearing them quarrel again.
"Look Max," I began, garnering the attention of my whole family. "I love you, and we all love you. And because of that, I really don't want to see you like this, always trying to run away from everything."
