He Says He's Just A Friend

Chapter 8 - It's Nice to Have a Friend

- Emmett -

My phone started ringing at an unreasonably early hour for a Friday morning during the summer. What kind of monster would rob me of my precious sleep? I rolled over and stuffed a pillow over my head.

When the ringing ceased, I heard a text notification. I shrieked as I threw off my covers and crossed the room to my desk, where the phone was charging. I made a habit of keeping it across the room for those days when I needed to set an alarm. If it wasn't out of reach, I'd hit snooze at least five times before the alarm finally got to me. This way, I had no choice but to get up.

Tapping it to illuminate the screen, I saw that the call and the text were from Clay. My mind cleared up like I'd just shotgunned an espresso.

CLAY: R u still up 4 hanging out?

My eyes drifted up to the time, 7:48. As much as I wanted to crawl back into bed and bury myself deep within the covers, I wanted to see Clay more.

EMMETT: 👍

CLAY: B there n 5.

I rushed around to gather an outfit. What does one wear for a day of riding four-wheelers? I knew enough to suspect we'd be getting dirty, so I grabbed the jeans I wore yesterday—still bloodstained—and threw on a plain blue t-shirt that I had no attachment to. I slipped my feet into my old hiking boots, not wanting to risk any of my good shoes with the possibility of mud.

Clay announced his arrival by text. He said he didn't want to wake anyone.

"Except me," I mumbled to myself on the way downstairs.

I smelled coffee, which meant Mom was awake. "I'm going out," I yelled.

Mom hurried from the kitchen, still wearing her pajamas. "Where?"

"Riding ATVs."

She snorted. "No, seriously."

I glared at her. "I am serious. My new friend invited me."

Her head reared back, looking over my outfit. "Have I met this friend?"

"I only just met him."

"You know the rules, Em. You don't get into cars with people I haven't met."

I rolled my eyes, not mentioning the fact that I'd already been in his car without her knowledge. That was not the way to engender trust. "Hold on."

It's not like I didn't understand why she had that rule. She had a very good reason for it, given my history of misplacing trust.

I stepped outside. Clay waved from his car, smiling brightly. I beckoned for him.

Clay's face fell as he got out. He jogged up the front sidewalk. He wore an outfit almost identical to mine, except for the color of his t-shirt (red) and the bleached out jeans. The splotchy stains and random tears didn't look factory-made. He came by that wear-and-tear honestly.

"What's up?" Clay asked, hooking his thumbs in his back pockets. It made his shirt pull tight across his chest.

"My mom won't let me go unless she meets you."

Clay blew out a breath, relaxing his shoulders. "Oh. Okay. That's cool."

"Not really." I waved for him to follow.

"It is to me. I thought you were gonna cancel." His bright voice made me hate this a little less.

Mom waited inside. She'd put on a robe over her pajamas and pulled her black hair into a ponytail. I introduced them.