Sooner or Later (Feat. 1D and 5SOS)

14. Baker's Dozen

After school on Monday, Emma stomped right up to her bedroom and slammed the door shut. "I hate my life!" she shouted for the entire house to hear, but only Liddy heard her. Naively, the five-year-old shouted back, "Why?" and frowned when she received no response from her older sister. Concerned, Liddy dropped her dolls on the carpet and made the long climb up to her sister's room.

She knocked on the door three times with her tiny knuckles. "Emma? Emma are you okay?"

"Go away, Liddy," Emma said. "I'm not in the mood right now."

"Why? What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Just go away."

"Wanna hug? Hugs always make me feel better."

"No."

"Wanna play with my dolls?"

"No, Liddy."

"Wanna cookie? Mommy and I made them from scratch. They're really good. Extra chocolaty. I told her you like lotsa chocolate chips, like Cookie Monster! Om nom nom nom! Me want cookie!"

While Liddy giggled at her own silliness, Emma rolled her eyes. "Liddy, stop bothering me with your childish nonsense. I don't even like Cookie Monster anymore. I have more adult things to worry about now."

"Like what? Like boys? Mommy says you're being over dramatic. It's not the end of the world, you know."

Emma slapped her hand to her forehead. "God, you even sound like Mom. Look, when you're my age, you'll understand. Until then, enjoy your childhood while it lasts."

"Why?"

"Because it's all downhill from there."

Liddy shrugged. "Okay. Well, I'm gonna go play with my dolls now. You can come play too if you want. We can have a tea party!"

"Maybe later, Liddy," Emma said just to get her sister to leave, and when she could no longer hear that annoyingly cute voice, Emma slumped forward in her chair and slammed her head on her desk.

A tired sigh drifted from her lips. "I hate school. I hate it so much. And I hate Brittany Vetter the most."

It was all because of her forehead. That big bruised lump that stuck out like a huge plum—and Emma didn't even like plums. If it hadn't been Harry who'd kicked that ball, she would have been furious, but since he had, Emma had no choice but to bear the bruise like a badge of honor.

Really, it felt more like a badge of shame.

That morning, Emma had tried desperately to mask the imperfection. She'd used cover-ups and concealers: creams, powders, liquids—whatever she could find in her mother's makeup drawer, and none of them did the trick. She even tried to cover it with her hair, but her bangs were too long and left her looking like Cousin Itt.

Having no other options (and running out of time before the school bus arrived), Emma grabbed her winter stocking cap and pulled it on. It seemed like a decent plan of defense, at least until Principal Hayes caught her in the hallway and made her take it off.

"Sorry, Emma," he said as he walked by. "Hats are against dress code."

And, of course, whenever somebody got called out by the principal, every student in the vicinity had to stop and watch the show. At that moment, Emma was center stage, and all she wanted to do was stuff herself inside her locker and never come out.

With trembling fingers, she reluctantly peeled the cap off her head and exposed her bulbous forehead to the entire school.

No surprise, Michael Clifford was the first to laugh. The giggles spewed from his lips before he could smother them with his hands. "I'm sorry, Emma. Really. It's just—Wow! It looks even worse than yesterday!"