Between the Lines

Chapter 8- Working Lines

Their eyes met.

Soda didn't smile.

But his expression changed-subtly, quickly-like relief flickered across his face before he forced it away.

Emily didn't like that she noticed.

She walked toward the table with measured steps, aware of every eye that tracked her. Students sat scattered around the library-faces from school, a couple of girls she recognized from the cheer squad, one boy from the football team. They weren't staring openly yet, but Emily could feel their attention shifting, like magnets turning toward something unexpected.

She set her books down across from Soda and slid into her chair.

"Curtis," she said quietly.

"Rizzo," he replied.

Emily opened her notebook immediately, not giving either of them space to linger. "We're sticking to the outline. We need three supporting points for the thesis and at least two sources each."

Soda nodded. "Yeah."

She pulled out a folded sheet of paper and slid it across the table. "These are the sources I found. You can use any of them, but you need to pick at least two and write summaries."

Soda picked up the paper, brows knitting as he read. "These are... like, real books."

Emily's pen paused. "Did you expect comic strips?"

Soda's mouth twitched. "No. Just-never mind."

Emily didn't smile. "This is not optional."

Soda leaned back slightly, exhaling through his nose. "You don't let up, do you?"

Emily lifted her gaze. "I don't miss deadlines."

Soda held her stare for a second, then looked back down. "Alright."

They worked.

Quietly at first. Emily wrote with quick, clean strokes. Soda read slower, lips moving faintly as he tried to untangle academic language that didn't come naturally to him. Every so often he'd glance up, like he wanted to ask something but didn't want to give her ammunition to call him stupid.

Emily noticed. Of course she did.

"Ask," she said finally without looking up.

Soda blinked. "What?"

"If you're confused, ask," Emily repeated, voice steady. "We don't have time for pride."

Soda's eyes narrowed slightly. "I ain't confused."

Emily looked up now, brow raised. "Then why are you staring at the same paragraph like it's going to change if you glare at it?"

Soda huffed a short laugh, almost unwilling. Then he leaned forward, tapping the page. "What's this word mean?"

Emily leaned in to read.

She stopped herself before she got too close.

That was the first adjustment she made-small, controlled. She stayed back in her chair, keeping the distance between them deliberate.

Soda noticed.

His eyes flicked to her, then away again.

Emily answered his question anyway. "It means-basically-that people assign value to others based on social ranking."

Soda frowned. "So... like Socs and Greasers."

Emily's pen froze for half a second.

"Yes," she said, carefully neutral. "Exactly."