Between the Lines

Chapter 12- Patterns

The second girl's voice dropped, more serious. "From being talked about like you're desperate."

Emily's chest tightened.

For a split second, she couldn't breathe.

Then she set her glass down carefully-too carefully-and said, "I'm not desperate. And I don't need protecting."

Silence.

Jillian finally spoke, quiet but firm. "Maybe she just doesn't like being told what to do."

The first girl's eyes narrowed. "We're not telling her what to do. We're telling her what people will say."

Emily's voice cooled. "People will say things no matter what. That doesn't mean I live my life for them."

The third girl hesitated. "But you kind of do."

That hit like a slap.

Emily's composure flickered-just a fraction. She forced it back into place immediately.

"Conversation over," she said, standing. "I'm leaving."

The first girl blinked. "Emily-"

Emily didn't wait. She grabbed her coat and walked out, heels clicking sharply against the floor.

Jillian rose too, following without question.

Outside, the evening air was colder, the sky turning dusky purple. Emily stood on the steps for a moment, breathing hard through her nose.

Jillian came up beside her. "You okay?"

Emily's laugh was short and hollow. "No."

Jillian didn't press. She just said quietly, "You don't have to prove anything to them."

Emily stared out toward the parking lot. "I'm not proving anything."

Jillian's voice softened. "Then what are you doing?"

Emily didn't answer.

Because she didn't know how to say it out loud without making it real.

Sodapop was already on the porch when Emily arrived at the Curtis house the next afternoon.

She parked down the street this time-farther away, less obvious. When she stepped out, she pulled her coat tighter, scanning the neighborhood instinctively like she was expecting someone to jump out and accuse her of existing in the wrong place.

Soda watched her walk up.

"You didn't park in front," he said, voice low.

Emily lifted her chin. "People talk."

Soda's jaw tightened. "So you're hidin' now."

Emily bristled. "I'm being smart."

Soda stared at her for a moment, then stepped aside to let her pass. "Come on."

Inside, the house smelled like dinner again-Darry always cooking, always trying to keep the place running like a real home. The sound of the record player floated from the living room, low and scratchy.

Emily set her books down, already in work mode. "We need to finish the conclusion."

Soda didn't sit.

He stood near the edge of the room, hands shoved into his pockets, shoulders tense.

Emily paused. "What?"

Soda's eyes stayed on the floor. "You shouldn't be here."

Emily stared at him. "Excuse me?"