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✧➴EIGHT

        Em glanced down, as though he'd forgotten what he was wearing. Instead of his usual leather jacket and ripped jeans, he borrowed a pair of suffocating khakis from Jordan (He was the only one who wore the same length pants as Em, though Jordan, who also never wore anything other than jeans, claimed the last time he wore them was the 8th grade piano recital.) and Henry offered him a polo. He might as well be a poncy frat boy who'd never worked a day in his life.

        "I look like a fucking clown," Em dead-panned. He pulled at the collar of his shirt, which, in Em's opinion, was so tight it threatened to cut off circulation to his head. On the bright side, he wouldn't have to go through with this stupid mission. "How come you didn't have to change?"

        Maeve glanced at her own outfit. "I'm not sure, no one really asked me to."

        Em rolled his eyes. "Of course they didn't." They turned the corner onto Reddington Street.

        "I don't think it was anything against you. Your style is just a bit more declarative than most," she said sincerely.

        He didn't bother to comment on her statement. "What was the house number?"

        Maeve stared at him blankly, stopping rather abruptly. "I don't know..."

        Em stopped too. She couldn't be serious. "What do you mean you don't know?" He asked incredulously. "I thought you and Chandler found it last night in the directory."

        "W-we did," Maeve admitted, face burning scarlet. "I just forgot is all."

        Nauseating annoyance burned at the base of his throat. "Well, that number's kind of important, Maeve."

        "I know, I know—"

        "Are you kids alright?" By the time both teens turned around, the newcomer was upon them. He was older, about mid-forties as proven by the prominent crows feet stamped in the corners of his eye. His finger moved to push the round, Harry Potter-esque frames up the bridge of his nose.

        "We're fine—" Em began curtly.

        "Actually," Maeve ignored the look her companion gave her, "We're looking for a certain house but I seem to have forgotten the house number. My mom says I'd lose my head if it wasn't attached." Em hadn't noticed her pleasantly charming tone until now, the type of voice that made all your parent's friends love you and wish you were their own.

        The man chuckled at her comment. He bent down to retrieve the paper on the drive way. "Happens all the time to my youngest. He's never been the best with directions." His eyes shine with recollection, picturing a memory unbeknownst to Maeve and Em. He returned to Earth after a moment, meeting the patient gaze of Maeve... as well as the inpatient one of Em. "Where are you headed? Maybe I can point you in the right direction."

        "The Wicker's," Maeve supplied with a smile.

        A good-natured smile grew on the man's face. "I know exactly where that is."

        "Mind leading the way?" asked Em colorlessly.

        "Of course." The man stuck the newspaper under his arm. "What are your names?"