It Started With Hello

Chap. 7

The words "SCHOOL DANCE" screamed across the top. "I found this in your trash can a few days ago while I was cleaning up around the house." She held up the flyer. "I thought it would be a great idea if you go, you know, to have a little school fun. Your father and I have already taken that day off, so we'll watch Alex and you can go out and have fun." Her voice was full of forced excitement, a cheerful tone that grated on Blake's nerves.

Blake stared at her like she was crazy. Trash was in the trash for a reason. He'd thrown that flyer away, the one given to all students about the upcoming dance in a week. Now she wanted him to go? That wasn't about to happen. "I don't want to go. I threw it away for a reason, Mom," his voice flat with annoyance, betraying his rising frustration.

His mom's smile tightened, her eyes narrowing slightly in his direction. He rolled his eyes, leaning farther back into the couch. "Come on, son, it could be fun," his dad offered, patting his son's shoulder. Blake looked at him, raising an eyebrow. "Dad... it's lame. I'm not going." He started to stand, wanting to end the conversation, a desperate urge to escape the suffocating "concern."

"Stop right there, Blake!" His mom's voice snapped, her arms crossing, cutting him off mid-motion. "We are doing this for you. We know that you've been having a hard time taking care of your brother 24/7. You're stressed and overworked." Was his mom a therapist now or something? He let out a frustrated breath, looking at his dad for backup, but his father just gave a helpless, apologetic shrug. "I don't even have a date or anything to wear."

She pointed a finger at him as she headed upstairs, a triumphant smirk playing on her lips. "I'm sure you'll figure that out. After all, what girl doesn't like a moody guy? And you have a lot of great clothes." With a final, dismissive wave, she stumped upstairs. Apparently, his mom had won this battle.

He fell back onto the couch beside his dad, defeated. "We are just looking out for you, son. Please try to enjoy the night for us," his dad said softly, patting his son on the head before standing up and heading upstairs towards their bedroom.
Blake rubbed his hands down his face, dragging them through his hair. Dances weren't even his thing, a pointless obligation he neither wanted nor needed.

But he didn't really have time to worry about it. He had his homework to finish after all, and to him, that was infinitely more important. He'd figure out the dance crap later. He stumped up the stairs, feeling utterly exhausted, the weight of the night pressing down on him.

****Emma's Perspective (Next Morning)

"Please, Mother," Emma pleaded, her hands clasped, her voice edged with desperation, nearly a whine. It was the next morning, and she was currently losing the argument to convince her mother and father to let her go to the dance in a week. The kitchen, usually a place of quick, silent breakfasts, was charged with tension.

"Darling, it would be a complete waste of time," her father stated, his eyes fixed on his newspaper, as if the entire conversation were an annoying fly buzzing around his periphery.
"Exactly. Why would you want to waste your time when you could be having dance practice that same night?" Her mother shook her head, disappointment etched deeply on her face, her gaze piercing. "And why should we even let you go out when you came back late last night, and you didn't even go to your violin practice?"

Emma paced around the kitchen island, her mind racing, a frantic energy building as she tried to think of some way to make them agree, a strategic plan forming. "Pears don't break commitments," she began, her voice gaining strength, knowing that keeping promises was always a huge, unassailable deal to both her parents. "And I've already agreed to go with someone."

Their eyes, surprisingly, snapped to her. Her father lowered his newspaper, suddenly interested, a brow raised in genuine curiosity. "And who would that be?" she pressed her lips together, feeling a surge of defiant confidence bubbling within her. She had them right where she wanted them. "Chan Lee. Captain of the football team. Most popular guy in school," she declared, a hint of genuine pride in her voice that someone like him would want to hang out with her
.
"That doesn't matter! You should have let us know prior to you agreeing!" her mother exclaimed, her voice sharp with anger, the sudden interest fading to irritation. Her father rubbed his chin, considering, oblivious to his wife's displeasure. "Do you even know anything about the boy? Does he come from a good family, with money and brains?"

Her mother's eyes flashed towards him, a warning, as she tucked a stray hair behind her ear. "Gerald, that hardly matters!" She crossed her arms, holding a hand up to him dismissively, silencing him.

Emma clasped her hands together, a last, desperate plea. "Please, Mother, I won't ask you for anything else. I'll do whatever you want, just let me go this one time." She held up a single, trembling finger, hoping her mother noticed her fierce, unyielding determination.

Her mother sighed, thinking it over for a long moment, a calculating, almost predatory look in her eyes. "Fine, you can go. But the weekend after, the one night you don't have anything to do, you'll come with me to my work friend's dinner. No complaints. And I don't want to hear anything about the boy again, and you'll have to keep your phone on the whole night and keep us updated, deal?" Her mom offered a wicked, knowing smile, holding out her hand.

Her father looked between them, a silent, somewhat bewildered observer to the unfolding negotiation. In retrospect, it was an awful plan to just agree to this. She was basically signing away her freedom for one future night, but at least she would get one night-one glorious night-to just do whatever she wanted to do, without the ever-present, watchful eyes of her parents. "Deal," she said, forcing a bittersweet smile, the taste of victory and sacrifice mingling, as she shook her mother's firm hand.