Where Darin Went

02: FREDDIE ISSUES AN APOLOGY

Spencer rolls his eyes, “This is about Darin, isn’t it?”

“No, it’s—"

“—Of course it is, Emme,” he scoffs. “You’re obsessed with finding this guy. You’re going to the newspapers, putting out Help Wanted ads. It’s not normal – you don’t even know the guy!”

Emme scowls, looking back down at her iced tea, nauseated. “I’m sorry for wanting to do something for once.”

“You wanna do something?” Spencer exclaims, laughing now. “Then let’s do something! Let’s go to a club. Let’s get fake IDs. Let’s take a trip to Hilton Head – we can stay at my beach house. Let’s do anything except cross the country for this guy!”

But she shakes her head, “I’m not negotiating this with you. I’m going to find Darin, whether you approve or not.”

Spencer curses under his breath, burying his face in his hands. “You’re crazy, Emme Foss,” he chuckles under his breath. “Absolutely crazy."

And that sets off a spark deep inside her, and immediately she feels like she has to get some air. Before she can say why, she’s already on her feet, about ready to head for the door when she finds herself collide with another body, sending each other spiraling to the floor.

“Emme!” Spencer shouts, and immediately he’s helping her up as she tries to regain her footing. “Fuck. Are you okay? You hit the floor like Christian Slater’s career.”

She shakes her head, wincing in pain, “Yeah, I’m fine—”

“—God dammit, you fucking crushed my muffin,” A familiar voice gripes, gasping.

Emme looks up to the girl in question only to see a very recognizable – and somewhat frightening – face. Bea Barnes could be recognized from a mile away, with a tower of red coils sitting atop her head, her face splayed with freckles with eyes wide and innocent looking as a China doll’s. Though, anyone who knew her would know she’s far from such a thing.

 “Oh, God,” Emme gulps nervously, “I’m sorry, Bea, I didn’t mean to—”

“—Also, Beatrice,” Spencer pipes up, wincing, “just saying that you might want to rephrase that sentence in the future. It can be misconstrued in a multitude of ways."

Beatrice scowls, her nose crinkling in disgust. “Oh, go fuck yourself, Birch. Don’t you have someone else to go bother?” She grumbles, reaching down to pick up the crumbs remaining scattered across the floor. Bending down to assist her, Emme begins to sweep them up with the palm of her hand.

“I’m really sorry, Bea, honestly,” Emme says. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“Obviously,” she grumbles. “That was for my dad. Now I’m going to have to get him another one.”

“Oh, heading to the repair shop, are we?” Spencer asks, leaning over his seat to watch with wide eyes. “I’d just love to swing by. You know how I love the smell of oil and grime.”

Bea looks up at him, smiling menacingly. “You know, I’d just love that. Wouldn’t it be a nuisance, though, to get all that oil and grime under your nails?”

Spencer only nods in agreement, “You’re right. It’d be absolutely heinous – but a small price to pay for your company.”

She rolls her eyes, and just as she and Emme could sweep up the last of it, she throws them out in the garbage can, grabbing her things. “As thrilling as this meeting has been, I think I’ll just go get him something from the coffee shop down the street.”