Em and Em

by Budzinski, Linda

  Ember sighed. He’d waited four days and then wrote this? First of all, Thanksgiving was a month away, and she hadn’t started thinking about it yet. Second of all, no, she would not be going home. Did Zach not understand the concept of Witness Protection? And third of all, this told her nothing. Nothing about how he was doing, nothing about how he was feeling, nothing about what he’d meant by his earlier plea to “make it stop.” What was it?

  “That your boyfriend?”

  Ember started, almost dropping her phone. Tommy Walker was leering at her through the slats in the bleachers. She turned and walked away, but she could hear his feet clattering down the metal steps. Crap.

  He caught up with her in seconds. “His name is Zach, right? How’s he doing?”

  A wave of nausea coursed through her. Tommy knew about Zach? Did he know what was going on back in Jersey? She turned and faced him. “What do you know about him?”

  He sneered. “I know he’s a senior at your old high school. I know he pitches for the baseball team. I know he is—or was—your boyfriend.”

  Ember waited for him to go on, but he seemed to have run out of fun facts. “That’s it? That’s all you know?”

  Tommy hesitated. His left eye twitched. “Um. No. That’s not all. I know lots of stuff.”

  “Like?”

  “Like … ” He pulled at his chin. “He has curly hair.”

  Ember breathed a sigh of relief. This guy knew more than he should—a lot more—but he didn’t seem to have an inside scoop. Whoever he was, he wasn’t Mafia. “Remember, we have a deal,” she said. “You’re keeping your mouth shut, right?”

  He nodded. “You?”

  “Yes. But I’ll talk if you keep bothering me. In fact, the first person I’ll tell is a certain deputy I know real well. Wouldn’t that suck for you?”

  Tommy took a step backward. “I’m not bothering you. I merely asked how your boyfriend’s doing. Friendly conversation.”

  She glared. “He’s fine, thanks. Now leave.”

  He turned to go, but wheeled back around. “Oh, yeah. One more thing I know about Zach.” His sneer returned. “He has a new friend—chick named Allie. Very hot.”

  With that, he stalked away, leaving Ember to smolder. She studied the text again, then tucked her phone into her pocket without replying. Let Zach see how it felt to wait a few days.

  ***

  Ember tapped her foot and murmured at the computer. “Come on. I need to get out of here.”

  Her photos were taking forever to download, and she wanted to clear the Bruins Bulletin office before Charles arrived. She’d spoken exactly two words to him since The Kiss, a.k.a. The Mistake. She’d said, “Fine, thanks,” after he’d asked how Oliver was doing. For the most part, she’d avoided him. He didn’t seem to be seeking her out either.

  When the “finished” window finally popped up, she unplugged her camera and whipped through the photos. She liked to tag her favorites to save Charles time when he reviewed and selected them. She’d snapped a great shot of a receiver making a one-handed grab and another of a Bruin running in the open field. When she reached the second-to-last photo, she stopped. That was by far the best one—Charles being hoisted into the air by his teammates. He’d kicked the game-winning field goal, a huge forty-two yarder, clinching the Bruins’ spot in the state championship playoffs.

  Ember studied his broad smile, his beautiful eyes, his victorious fist pump. She sighed. Mr. Football Superhero. Part of her was mortified she’d kissed him, but another part wanted to climb through the computer screen and kiss him all over again, this time softer, slower, sweeter.

  “Whoa. Schmidt needs to watch his hand placement.”

  Ember jumped at the sound of Charles’s voice behind her. “Would you quit doing that!”

  “Doing what?”

  “Sneaking up and startling me.”

  He ignored her distress, instead pointing to the bottom of the shot, where one of the linemen’s hands hoisted Charles’s thigh over his shoulder. “That looks obscene.”

  “No, it doesn’t. It looks like he’s picking you up and celebrating. Don’t get all Marissa-y on me.” Ember blushed, suddenly aware that she was talking to him. Using full sentences and multi-syllabic words. “Congratulations, by the way,” she mumbled. “Nice kick.”

  “Thanks.”

  Ember grabbed her backpack to leave, but Charles bent down, his face—his highly kissable face—just a few inches from hers. “Let’s see what else you got.”

  She scrolled back through the photos, pointing out the ones she’d tagged. Charles nodded in agreement, until she skipped past one of the cheerleaders doing lifts on the sidelines.

  “Hold on. Go back to that one.”

  As soon as Ember clicked on it, she saw what Charles had seen. Tommy Walker sitting on the bleachers in the background, sneering at the camera.

  “What’s with that guy?” Charles asked. “He’s starting to creep me out.”

  “He’s a loser. He’s nobody.”

  “So you do know him?”

  “Not really.” Ember clicked to the next photo—a random shot of the bench—and pointed. “Check out this shot. I like the way these guys are … sitting.”

  Charles twirled her chair around so she faced him. The gentle expression in his eyes made her heart hurt. No guy—not even Zach—looked at her like that. “Ember, enough,” he said. “Who is he? And why does he keep staring at you?”

  Ember bit her lip. What if she told him? What if she spilled everything right now—who she was, where she was from, why she was here? End the whole charade. As good as it might feel to finally tell someone the truth, she knew she couldn’t do it. First of all, it would compromise the program, putting herself, her mom, and Tricia at risk. Second, if Charles knew her real identity, it would probably take him about three minutes on Google to discover everything else about who she really was. Then he’d look at her the same way the guys back home did. She couldn’t bear that.

  She forced a smile. “Okay, you got me. I didn’t want to say anything, because …”

  “Because what? What’s going on?”

  “This is so embarrassing.” Ember ran her fingers through her cropped hair. “His name is Tommy Walker, and …” She dropped her voice even though they were the only ones in the office. “We had a thing.”

  “A thing?

  “No, not really a thing. It was one date.”

  “With him?”

  “Yeah. I know, it was stupid. Because he’s creepy. But I was new, and I didn’t know anyone, and … you can’t say anything to anybody, okay? Especially not him. Let’s just say it didn’t go well.”

  “What happened?” Alarm registered in Charles’s eyes.

  “Oh, nothing. Nothing like that. He was fine, though not my type.” She stood, backpack in hand. “Anyway, now it’s over, and it’s all good.”

  “Except for the staring.”

  She sighed. “I can handle the staring. I can handle Tommy Walker. Let it go, all right?”

  Charles’s eyes narrowed. She got the impression he didn’t like to let things go. “Fine. But you have to answer one question.”

  “Okay.”

  “Last week, in the barn. Is that why you … you know? Because you’re new and you don’t know anyone?”

  Ember would have given anything to have the floor open up and swallow her and spit her back out in New Jersey, never to face Charles again, but she forced herself to stay calm, casual. “Pretty much. I’m full of stupid these days.”

  He let out a long breath. Disappointment or relief? “You’re sure?” he asked.

  “Positive.”

  “Got it.”

  She wheeled around and headed for the door. “Good.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Seven weeks earlier

  Emily collapsed onto her bed. Her first day back at school had gone better than she could have dreamed. Not only had the football goons stopped bothering her, they’d become perfect gentl
emen—smiling at her in class, opening doors for her, saying “excuse me” if they happened to brush up against her in the crowded hallways.

  It was almost as though they were afraid of her.

  She grabbed the notebook sitting on her nightstand and reviewed her list one more time.

  Pros and Cons of Going to the Cops

  PROS

  Jimmy gets what he deserves.

  Justice for Rosa.

  No more victims.

  Trina.

  CONS

  What if I have to testify?

  What if no one believes me?

  What if everyone totally hates me?

  Trina.

  Trina was on both lists. She was on the “pro” list because Emily wanted more than anything to protect her. If she did nothing, said nothing, who would be next? Maybe it wouldn’t happen again tomorrow, or next week, or even next year. Maybe it would be a few years from now. Sure, Jimmy d’Angelo would be gone by then, but there would be other guys to take his place. She could already see it in some of the freshmen who idolized him and his crowd.

  On the other hand, she was also on the “con” list, because going to the cops would mean telling them about that night at Molly’s. Emily was convinced she’d been drugged just like Rosa. It made so much sense. But digging that back up, making it public, would mean Trina would hear all about it and would most likely see the GIF. The thought made Emily sick to her stomach.

  The front door closed and her mom’s footsteps sounded on the stairs. Emily sat up and tucked the list under her pillow.

  “Hey, sweetie. I brought home some Wok ‘n’ Roll for dinner.”

  She forced a smile. “Sounds great. Be right down.”

  Her mom. She couldn’t even think about her seeing the GIF. Ugh.

  “First dibs on the moo shu pork,” her sister called as she slipped past her door.

  “Hey! No, you don’t.” Emily jumped up and ran after her. Their mom never bought enough moo shu.

  They ate sitting on the floor around the living room coffee table. Halfway through dinner, Trina set down her chopsticks. She’d been unusually quiet.

  “Something wrong?” their mom asked.

  Trina’s face grew red. “This is so embarrassing.”

  Emily and her mom looked at each other.

  “What is it, sweetie?”

  “It started today.”

  “What started?”

  Trina took another bite of her pork and rolled her eyes.

  “Oh, sweetheart.” Her mom’s voice caught. “You’re growing up so fast.” She looked back and forth at the two of them. “You both are.”

  “Oh. That started.” Emily smirked. “Lucky you.”

  Trina returned her smirk but then burst into tears.

  “Oh my gosh, seriously?” Emily kicked her sister’s shin. “It’s not that big a deal, T. You’ll see. Calm down.”

  Trina’s sobbing grew louder. “I know. It’s just … it makes you emotional, right?”

  “I guess. But … emotional, not hysterical.” Emily’s amusement morphed into alarm as her sister’s sobs grew stronger. What was going on? Trina could do moody, snarky, and sour like a boss, but she rarely cried. This was more than hormones. Emily could feel it. She scooted beside her. “What happened?”

  “Nothing. It’s stupid.”

  Their mom appeared with a box of tissues, and Emily wiped her sister’s eyes. “Come on, T. Talk to me.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t want to.”

  “Well, I’m not leaving you alone until you do.”

  Trina grabbed a tissue and blew her nose. “Whatever.” She gave their mom a no-way-am-I-telling-you look.

  Their mom grabbed a fortune cookie and headed toward the staircase. “I get it. You two clean up the dishes when you’re done.”

  Trina fingered her napkin, waiting until their mother was out of earshot. “Remember when you said high school wasn’t all rainbows and butterflies? Well, neither is eighth grade.”

  Emily nodded. Sometimes, with all she’d gone through the past year, she’d forgotten how hard middle school could be. “Tell me, T. Promise I’ll understand.”

  Trina plucked a tissue out of the box and buried her face in her hands. “It’s humiliating.”

  Emily put her arm around her. “Shh. It’s okay.”

  They sat in silence for a long time, Trina crying and Emily rubbing her back. Finally, she spoke again. “I noticed it right before gym, and I kind of freaked out. I had to ask Ms. Martin for a pad.”

  “Awkward.”

  “I know, right? And Ms. Martin gets all excited and starts saying, ‘Oh, your first period … so exciting … rite of passage … blah, blah, blah.’ And then Callie Malone overhears us, and she starts telling everyone. And the next thing I know, somebody tapes that stupid picture of me with the kite up on my locker with a huge red magic marker streak going across it.”

  “Your gym locker?”

  “No, my locker locker. Like, in the middle of D Hall where everyone in the whole school probably saw it.” Trina grabbed more tissues and cried into them.

  Emily felt the same sense of nausea she’d had when she first watched the infamous GIF on her phone. She pulled Trina into her chest and rocked her. “I’m sorry, T. People suck. They really do.”

  “I know.” Trina hiccupped. “Brie and Cece have been nice about it, but the A-Crowd all act like it’s a huge joke. Jon Kripps started calling me Blood-kowski.”

  Tears pricked Emily’s eyes. She wanted so badly to tell her sister to ignore those stupid kids, that the teasing was silly and things would get better. But how could she? She was living proof that things could get worse. In fact, if she went to the police about Rosa’s death, things could get much worse. Not just for her, but for Trina too. The whole town could see that GIF.

  “Some people look for reasons to be mean,” she said. “At least getting your period’s not your fault.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  Emily looked her sister in the eye. “It means you walk into the school tomorrow with your head up, and you tell those stupid A-Listers that—”

  “A-Crowd.”

  “Whatever. You tell them you have no time for their immature stunts.”

  “Good idea. Except maybe I should say ‘shenanigans’ instead. While wagging my finger at them.” Trina gave her a hug. “Thanks, sis. You’ve been incredibly un-helpful.”

  Emily smiled. This was the Trina she knew and loved. “Any time.”

  Maybe everything would be okay. No doubt the middle school bullies would forget about her sister and move on to the next poor kid tomorrow.

  Trina grabbed the fortune cookies and held them out. “Pick one.”

  “You can pick first tonight.”

  Trina selected hers and cracked it open. “You love Chinese food.” She shook her head. “Hilarious. What does yours say?”

  Emily opened her cookie and tugged at the fortune inside. Her stomach rolled as she read it.

  Be the change you seek.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  “Oh my gosh. He is sooo cute!” Claire grabbed Ember’s phone and passed it to Marissa. “You have to see this.”

  Marissa set down her pear and watched the video. Ember expected her to roll her eyes or sneer or shrug, but to her surprise, Marissa smiled. “He’s adorable … and so tiny. Look at him chasing his tail.”

  “If you think he’s little now, you should have seen him when I first got him. I swear he’s doubled in size already.”

  “Where did you say you found him again?”

  Ember stared down at her tray and began rearranging the mushroom slices on her pizza. She hadn’t told anyone about her visit to Charles’s barn. Aside from finding Oliver, she wished the whole thing had never happened. “Sitting on the side of the road. Abandoned and scared.”

  Ember sat with Claire, Marissa, and their table full of friends every day at lunch now. Considering that they’d all gone to school together sin
ce kindergarten, she knew they’d always think of her as the “new girl,” but some days she almost felt like she fit in, like she could belong. She took a sip of her soda and changed the subject toward something she knew the rest of the girls would appreciate. “So, the state playoffs. What will that be like?”

  Marissa grinned. “No idea. BCHS hasn’t been there since, like, the ’80s. It’ll be fun to go on the road, though.”

  “I can’t wait.” Claire said. “You’ll be on the bus too, right? As the official team photographer?”

  The pizza churned in Ember’s stomach. Six hours in a bus full of football players? Ugh. Much as she reminded herself, over and over, that things were different here, certain images haunted her. “I guess.”

  “Speaking of photography, I love this picture of the guys celebrating.” One of the girls, a tall, quiet brunette named Suzette, opened a copy of the Bulletin to the sports page with the shot of Charles. She leaned in, lowered her voice, and pointed to the photo. “Did you notice this, though? Marcus Schmidt’s hand is practically in his crotch.”

  Ember laughed. “Please don’t let Charles hear you say that. I told him no one would notice.”

  “It was the first thing I noticed,” Marissa said.

  Of course. With her photographer’s eye and all.

  “What I don’t understand is how Marcus can even play,” Claire said. “I keep expecting him to get kicked off the team, but he’s out there every Friday.”

  “What do you mean?” Ember asked.

  “You can’t do sports if you’re failing, and he failed English the first quarter.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I sit beside him. Trust me, he failed.”

  Ember shrugged. “Maybe they let him do some makeup work. He’s one of the players Coach Sebastian kept telling me is critical for the defense.”

  “That would be so unfair.” Claire pouted. “I got a B, and when I asked whether I could do anything to bring it up, Ms. Gerard said, ‘I suppose you could study more next quarter.’”