Love, Emma

Chapter Nine:

I simply shrug, unable to really answer her question. The truth is I just don't know. I'm just a happy person, and nothing I've come across seems bad enough to take that happiness away from me. I think life is much better confronted with a smile.

"Alright everyone! Gather around!" Mr. crow shouts, clapping his hands to interrupt our chatter.

The class surges forward to surround him in a loose circle, our gaze focused on the young man before us.

Mr. crow is a nice teacher, thirty something years old with a slight beard that suits him. He used to be in the OHL, and when he threw out his knee during a game, he resorted to teaching moody teenagers health and physical education. Personally, I don't know if it's a choice I would have made, but he seems to enjoy it, so I won't ruin his thunder.

"I want two teams, mixed boys and girls. Silenski, Owens, you're captains."

Two tall boys step forward at his words, joining him in the circle, their eyes scanning around the familiar faces they've been seeing for the past two months in gym class.

After a grueling game of basketball that consist of me running into people twice my size, and shooting pathetic and laughable shots, I head off to creative writing.

Mr. Bree is a pretty cool teacher, he lets us talk during work sessions, and gives us weekly partner projects. Monthly we get a big group project, and we always do whacky Wednesdays where we share stories, poems and even songs.

He's sort of got this hippy vibe going on with his shoulder length blonde hair, socks, sandals and big Hawaiian print t-shirts. The guy was up to date on more gossip than I am, always talking away in class about what he heard about who and what's happening when.

Knowing this, I guess I shouldn't have been surprised when he turned on me first thing last period, his eyebrows reaching his hairline they rose so high.

"Best friends with Nathan Walker?" He gasps, sliding into the empty seat beside mine, eyes desperate for information.

"Mr. Bree, not you too." I groan, pushing a hand through my long hair.

"Emma Dawn, you cannot just announce something like that and not expect me to know about it. Who do you think I am?" He pulls the pen from my hand, stopping me from writing." Now spill girl. Tell Mr. Bree what's going on."

I laugh at his expression, giving a brief description about meeting Nathan outside school at the café, and just starting to eat with him and what not. After listening intently for some time, Mr. Bree stares at me with pride in his eyes, and emotion very defined from his usual chillness.

"Emma, he really needs you. You have no idea what that boys been through, how much he needs you. God, you'll be so good for him."

After patting my shoulder, he gets up, walking off to join the next student. I stare at his palm-tree print covered back in shock, how can he say something totally cryptic like that and just walk away?

What he's been through- was he referring to the scar? To his anxiety?

I glare at his back, knowing he won't tell me anything if I ask. That's the cool thing about Mr. Bree- he may know everyone's secrets and have dirt on everybody, but he never talks behind your back. He gets his scoop, his story of the day, and he leaves. Nothing in his chill demeanor is backstabbing or untrustworthy, it's just so impossible to even imagine.

I personally think he should be a therapist, just because he's always willing to listen and he gives great advice, but then again if he were, I wouldn't have him as a teacher.

I decide to leave my thoughts alone, turning my attention back to my blank paper. Although I'm not very good at writing, I find it highly therapeutic. Something about pouring your innermost thoughts and feelings out on paper just really helps me calm down, and find a new piece of mind. It's a different perspective, sometimes refreshing.