Between the Lines

Chapter 8- Working Lines

The first thing Emily noticed when she pulled up to the library that Saturday was the car.

A pale, polished sedan-newer than most in town-parked too close to the entrance, angled like the driver hadn't cared about taking up space. Emily recognized it immediately. She also recognized the boys leaning against it, laughing with the careless confidence of people who'd never had to wonder if they belonged somewhere.

Socs.

Not her closest circle, but close enough to be familiar-faces she'd seen at pep rallies, football games, country club dinners. Boys whose names carried weight because their fathers' names carried weight.

Emily's hand tightened around the strap of her bag.

Of course.

Of course they were here.

She slowed her steps just slightly-not hesitation, never hesitation, just calculation. Her eyes swept the sidewalk, the library doors, the street. A few people moved in and out, heads down, going about their weekend errands. The air was crisp and dry, the kind that made your lungs feel clean when you breathed in.

Emily didn't look at the boys again as she passed.

But she felt their attention like heat on the back of her neck.

"Emily!" one of them called, loud enough to turn heads.

She stopped-not because she had to, but because she chose to. She turned with a polite, practiced expression that could pass as warmth from far away.

"Hi," she said.

One of them-tall, hair neatly combed, letterman jacket thrown on like he'd been born in it-grinned. "Didn't think you were the library type."

Emily's smile sharpened. "It's quiet."

Another boy laughed. "What're you doing here? Studying? Planning to save the world with your straight A's?"

Emily adjusted her grip on her books. "Something like that."

They exchanged glances, the kind that meant there was something else they wanted to say but were deciding whether to say it to her face.

The first boy tilted his head. "You here alone?"

Emily's gaze stayed steady. "Why?"

He shrugged, feigning innocence poorly. "Just askin'. Heard some... interesting things."

Emily's smile didn't falter, but it cooled. "You should be careful what you believe."

The boy laughed like that was adorable. "We always are."

Emily held his gaze for a beat longer than necessary, letting the message sit there-don't play with me-then turned back toward the doors.

As she reached for the handle, she heard it. A low, amused murmur from behind her.

"Guess the rumors are true."

Emily didn't react.

She didn't give them that satisfaction.

But her stomach twisted anyway.

Inside, the library felt smaller than it had last week.

Not physically-same narrow aisles, same dusty hush-but socially. Like the space had gained an audience. Emily's heels sounded too loud on the scuffed floor, and she immediately regretted wearing them. She wasn't dressed for attention, but she was dressed the way she always dressed: polished, put together, unmistakably Emily Rizzo.

She scanned the room.

Sodapop Curtis was already there again, seated at the same long wooden table near the back. His jacket was draped over his chair, sleeves rolled up, pencil tucked behind his ear. He looked up the moment she stepped inside, like he'd been waiting for the sound of her.