Project emma, p.3
Project Emma, page 3
I slowed to a crawl, listening to the increasing hum of static from the radio and gravel against the underside of my car. Blinking, I watched Maverick move. He was all shoulders, swagger and sweet temptation.
He slowed to a stop at the sound of my approach, and I imagined the smirk on his thin face. In the morning light, his hair seemed darker, his skin paler with winter, and I rolled to a stop in front of his house then opened the car door.
“Back so soon, Katie?” he called from where he stood, just feet away. He rubbed the horse’s head. It was a strong, beautiful speckled gray, and it leaned into Maverick’s touch.
Inwardly, I smiled at the gesture. There must be a hint of compassion in him. I stepped out of the car and slammed the door. “Not Katie,” I called back. Katie, his younger sister by a year and a half, played things different than Maverick. She kept to herself in school, and he kept to myself out of it.
My voice had gotten his attention. Finally, he turned around. With a lift of his eyebrow, he led the horse my way, and I frowned. Great, I thought. I didn’t come here to interact with the wildlife…just check in about this crazy project and get out. I didn’t come to bond with anything—or anyone, for that matter. Although I had to admit that bonding with Maverick had always been a childhood dream.
“Emma Cage? What’re you doing here?” He continued walking until he stood in front of me. The horse huffed a breath, and I begrudgingly wondered what I was interrupting.
I leaned against my car door. “Nothing,” I said, stupidly, and he laughed, so I forced a timid giggle right back. “No, I mean, I’m here because you’re my partner for this big English project. You weren’t at school yesterday when Mr. Zelner assigned groups, so…here I am.”
The look on his face darkened, and he chuckled. “That was fast,” he said. He stuffed his hand into his pocket and pulled out a peppermint. “Want to give Pacman a treat?”
I frowned, just staring at Maverick with my mouth slightly ajar. No, I thought. “Maverick, no.”
“Why not? Pacman doesn’t bite. He loves the ladies,” he assured me.
“I’m sure he does,” I said.
He unwrapped the peppermint and held it out to the horse. “Did I do something to offend you?” Shoulders lax, he didn’t seem to mind either way.
I groaned inwardly and shook my head. “No,” I said. That wasn’t exactly the gnawing feeling in my gut. I blinked, watching the horse eat Maverick’s peppermint. I had never seen anything like it, but, to be fair, I hadn’t been around many horses to know the odd things they might eat.
He patted the horse’s back then he looked at me. “Well,” he asked, “what is this big project you’re so worried about?”
I’d never said I was worried, but I didn’t take the time to correct him. “It’s for English,” I said. “A creative project. A story, a skit…something like that.”
He peered at me thoughtfully. “A skit?”
I looked at him with a hand in his hair, his eyes smiling, and I flushed. “Or a short story… Just something creative.”
He turned toward Pacman and smirked, tossing his leg over the side of the horse. “We’ll get right on that.”
I frowned, forehead wrinkling. He loomed over me, and I was dwarfed under his gaze. “Well,” I hedged, rubbing my forearm slowly, “can I get your number?” I heard myself talking and realized that I sounded bizarre, but it was too easy to ignore a Facebook message or even an email, for that matter.
He petted Pacman’s side. “I’ll be at school,” he said. “We’ll talk then.”
I sneered. Sure, I thought, you’ll be in school. I twisted a piece of hair around my finger in thinly veiled frustration. “We shouldn’t just throw it together.”
He twisted back to face the barn, shaking his head. “Don’t worry,” he said. “We won’t throw it together.”
With that, Maverick leaned forward and Pacman took off, leaving me in the dust.
“Okay,” I said to myself. “Okay.”
I stared after him, dumbfounded, and spun back toward the car. Well, I thought, that went well. I slumped into the front seat and grabbed my phone from the passenger side. Instinctively I hit Alex’s name and put the phone on speaker, shoving it under the mirror so I could drive away.
The phone rang and the gravel rolled, but no one picked up.
I frowned, staring out of the windshield.
Well… I thought.
Her voicemail ticked on, and I said a little bit of nothing. What was there to say to a voicemail?
Chapter Five
My phone vibrated, clattering against my desk. I’d been writing or reading or both, but Alex’s face lit up the screen.
“Hey,” I said after sliding the bar to answer.
“What’s up? Sorry I missed you.”
“It’s fine,” I said. “Are we still on for tonight?”
“Is that even a question? I’m outside.”
Seconds later, we were in my car and I was driving.
“He just rode off?” Alex was sitting in the passenger seat. I drove toward Hal’s Burgers, ready for the Friday night special—a double-sized everything. “On a horse? Really? I mean, that is so cliché,” she said.
I groaned. “Don’t make fun,” I replied. I leaned out of the window, shouting my order into the speaker.
“I’m not making fun,” she said, but we both knew she was.
I pulled around the front of the building and paid for our dinner from our collective Hal’s budget, and we pulled out a few seconds later. “Sure, you’re not,” I said, shaking my head and taking a sip of my drink.
I drove out of town toward one of our favorite spots in the city—a vacant parking lot of the old drive-in movie theater, where we would prop up her phone as a makeshift movie screen.
It had become a sort of Friday night tradition—drive out to the pavement paradise that had once been the theater, bring a bunch of junk food and watch a really bad movie on a really tiny screen. Half the time, though, we didn’t actually watch the movie. We talked and ragged on each other and everyone else. It was a good tradition. Steady.
She set her phone up for our newest showing. Soon, a leggy blonde made a bad joke and her suitor sniggered, because he wanted to get laid. Patterns, I realized, were essential in Friday night movie land.
Alex ran a finger through her hair, and she grinned a little. “So,” she said, “the Maverick is a hard case to crack. You’ll make it through. Seriously, Zelner wouldn’t pair you with an anchor.”
I shrugged, not so sure Zelner was Team Emma anymore. “Yeah,” I said. I peered over at the tiny screen. “Maybe.”
“No ‘maybe’ about it,” she said. “Zelner’s a good guy, and you’re one of his favorites. He isn’t going to let this guy drag you down. Just give the dude a chance.” She popped a fry into her mouth. “He probably needs an Emma, ya know? Someone to set him straight,” she clarified.
I rolled my eyes, because, really, who wants to set the Maverick Englishes of the world straight? I didn’t have time for that and Zelner knew it. Alex and I were on our way out. This semester would be the upward swing, and we would not be trampled by that track-and-field, flower-child cowboy, no matter how delicious he looked and how long I’d crushed on him. I crossed my arms, staring at Alex’s smartphone. “Yeah,” I said, “well, it isn’t right.”
“Hey, you might come out of it for the better.” A sly smirk slid across her face, and I regretted the conversation at once. “I mean, English is pretty cute…if you like that mysterious loner kind of chic,” she said. She twisted in her seat to grab another drink from the tray and flashed me a winning smile. “Think about it,” she said. “Will working with that face be so bad?”
I groaned. Of course, she was right. Alex knew every thought, every nerve, every facet of my personality. I guessed she’d picked up on the crush I’d developed on Maverick during freshman year, regardless of how much I’d tried to hide it. “No,” I said.
“Thought so,” she replied, and her grin broadened even more. “Ya know what?”
I peered over at her, silhouetted in the setting sun. “What, Alex?”
She reached over and squeezed my hand. “It might even be good,” she said.
“Yeah,” I replied, “it might even be good.”
But I didn’t believe it for a second.
Chapter Six
Ever since Dad had left, Mom and I had been second-row Methodists. Every Sunday, without fail, we woke up at seven, put on our Sunday best, had a nice meal and drove to the church three minutes from our house. First Methodist was a brick building with a steeple and Southern charm. The stained-glass windows painted pictures on the floor at sunset, and I loved to sit in the empty sanctuary and sing. My voice would bounce from the walls, amplifying itself ten times over.
The Monday after the school holiday had begun, I started my desk job at the hospital. I made appointments and took calls. Mostly I daydreamed about leaving this godforsaken town and doodled on hospital stationery. They didn’t seem to mind.
Tuesday, as I sat with my back to the TV that blared the news, I heard a rustle. Our corner of the hospital wasn’t far from the emergency room, so noise wasn’t uncommon. Curious, I glanced up just in time to see Maverick English arguing with the automatic coffee machine in front of our station. He kicked it, arm against the wall, back arched over a black shirt and jeans, and my cheeks flared with color.
He turned around, having given up on the coffee, and looked at me. Definitely not Maverick, I thought, but the thirty-something man was concerned that the receptionist in the ice-cream-cone scrubs was staring at him. “Do you know where a person can get a decent cup of coffee around here?”
I reached for the pot just inside our window. Stephanie, the nurse I worked with, needed coffee to survive and had requested a coffee pot when she’d been reassigned from the upper floor. “I don’t know about decent,” I said, but I poured him a cup of coffee and, honestly, he looked grateful.
“Thanks,” he said and shuffled off.
I huffed a sigh and ran my fingers through my hair. “Well,” I said to myself, “that was strange.” Yeah. It was strange—but not so strange that I was surprised. Alex had been right. I’d once had a crush on Maverick. One of those borderline obsessive ones at that, but it had been years ago. Now Maverick was just a means to an end. Right?
Frankly, he was an ass. There was no reason to like him, much less to like-like him. I mean, other than his ass. I shook my head.
Eighteen years and an Ivy League acceptance, and this track-and-field farmer occupies my mind like a disease.
I poured myself a cup of coffee and took a sip but nearly spit it out. No, I thought, I just don’t like coffee. I inhaled the smell of it, rich and warm, and decided to leave it on my desk, nonetheless. What could it hurt?
My phone, face down beside the keyboard, vibrated and I flipped it over. It was a text from Alex—
Hey. Plans tonight?
I frowned before responding.
Thought I would order Chinese and watch reruns of reality TV.
Seconds later a single word.
Wrong.
Sorry. Let me check my calendar… Yeah, Chinese and reruns.
The bit could go on forever, but we both know who would win. Finally, Alex made a suggestion.
There’s a party tonight at the lake.
I sighed. There was the punch line. And she soon followed it.
You want to go?
And while I considered her suggestion, she didn’t give up.
Yes! Let’s go. It could be fun.
I glanced around, listening to the squeak of tennis shoes on linoleum.
I don’t know, Alex.
Come on, Emma. Live a little.
I sighed, rubbing my forehead. I doubted there would be any convincing her to not go, and I didn’t like it when she went to parties alone, since there is safety in numbers and all that jazz.
All right, all right. Let’s go.
Yay! Wear your purple dress?
I laughed. My fashionista best friend, I thought.
Sure.
I’ll pick you up at 7:30.
I shook my head and flipped my phone back over. Well, I thought, I guess I have plans now. I turned back to the notepad and the doodles morphed to words. I guessed that was just what became of my mind. It structures itself into words, fragments and phrases. By the end of the day, my doodle paper would be another explosion of writer brain.
* * * *
I flipped off the lights in the office, hung the sign in the window and punched my card in the back. My stomach lurched as I passed a man on a gurney who was in dire need of stitches. Inwardly, I reaffirmed that the medical field was not for me, because I couldn’t handle the sight of blood. I smiled politely and pulled my jacket on for precautionary measures, even though I doubted that the temperature would be below forty-five degrees, even now.
I stepped into the parking lot and pulled my keys from my purse. The drive was short, just long enough for me to sing along to my favorite song on the radio. Inside the house, Mom was performing her own concert in the kitchen, so I hung my coat on the rack and sang along.
“Way to make an entrance, Emma,” she called between verses, and she stuck her head around the corner. She wore a white apron over her scrubs. “Hey,” she said. “How was work?”
I shrugged. “Steph was out today,” I said. No need to mention not-Maverick showing up. “So, more boring than usual.”
“Sounds about right,” she said. She was plating dinner, so I took to filling glasses of water. Mom tended to run off coffee and dehydrate herself. “Any plans for tonight?”
I glanced down at my watch. Five-fifteen. Two hours, I thought. Two hours until Alex appeared, probably wearing something sparkly. “Well,” I said, “there’s a party at the lake.”
“And Alex wants to go?” Mom asked, easily filling in the blanks.
I leaned against the counter. “Yeah,” I replied.
“I knew Alex would be good for you,” she said.
I rolled my eyes. “By taking me to a party?”
“Yes, by taking you to a party,” she replied. “What are you going to wear?”
“Alex mandated that I wear the purple dress,” I told her.
“Alex does have a sense of style. You should curl your hair,” she said.
I groaned and took a sip of water. “Yeah.”
Mom slid a plate to me and smiled. “A party will do you good. You’ll be careful?”
“Of course,” I replied.
She nodded, took a sip of water then said, “Good.”
Chapter Seven
At seven-twenty, I stood in front of my mirror, tugging the purple dress into place. I ogled at my reflection—hair curled and pinned out of the way and awkwardly straight posture. I sighed, jerking a white wrap from my dresser. My pale arms and the sleeveless dress didn’t exactly add up, and I’d added a pair of black tights for modesty and potential wind chill alike.
I slid down onto the edge of my bed to zip up my boots, just as my phone buzzed on the nightstand. Groaning, I thrust myself across the bed to grab it. “Hello,” I said, my voice clipped from the laughable position.
“I’m outside,” Alex practically sang. “Are you ready?”
I rolled off the side of the bed, zipping my boots the rest of the way and righting myself. “Will I ever be?” I teased and hurried out of my bedroom and through the house. I waved at Mom, who sat at the kitchen table doing a crossword puzzle and waiting for time to leave before her shift started. “Have a good night at work, Mama,” I told her.
She looked up. “You two be careful,” she said.
“We will be,” I replied.
“No,” Alex said through the speaker, “we’re going to get plastered and have some real fun.”
I rolled my eyes at the phone. I was inwardly glad that I was off tomorrow. Lord knew how long tonight would be. I smiled at my mom and walked outside. Alex’s car was idling by the curb, and she rolled down the window.
“Come on. Come on,” she said. She waved, and I hopped into the car. Alex’s dress was green and flared, just like mine. Surprise, surprise… We’d bought them from the same store at the same time.
“We’re matching,” I noted, and she giggled.
“Yes,” she said. “They’re our colors.”
I replied, “Go ahead. Drive.”
She pulled into the road and nudged my shoulder. “Come on,” she said. “I know how we normally feel about these people, but they aren’t all bad.”
I frowned, surprised by the revelation. “Where did that come from?”
She dialed idly through the radio stations. “I don’t know,” she said. “I’ve just been thinking. They aren’t all bad.”
I picked a loose straw wrapper from the cup holder, folding it, accordion style. Suddenly, I felt like the conversation wasn’t hypothetical, but I didn’t want to get into the semantics of her sudden change of heart quite yet. “Okay,” I said, “they aren’t all bad.”
Silence lay between us. I peered out of the window. As we drove, the houses got farther apart and the stars got brighter.
“And…I mean,” she hedged, quieter now. “I just think we could make some memories, ya know? Here and now.” She paused, swallowing. “I mean, next year…things will be different.”
I frowned. Yeah, I thought, things will be different. “Yeah,” I said. “You’re right there.”
“It’ll be all textbooks and future and focus,” she said, leaving out the most important part—that we wouldn’t be together—and stepping into the pragmatics. She cut a glassy-eyed grin toward me. “We won’t have time to be wild.”
“Who said anything about being wild? I’m not even convinced I know how to be wild,” I said.
