After school on Monday, Emma stomped right up to her bedroom and slammed the door shut. "I hate my life!" she shouted for the entire house to hear, but only Liddy heard her. Naively, the five-year-old shouted back, "Why?" and frowned when she received no response from her older sister. Concerned, Liddy dropped her dolls on the carpet and made the long climb up to her sister's room.
She knocked on the door three times with her tiny knuckles. "Emma? Emma are you okay?"
"Go away, Liddy," Emma said. "I'm not in the mood right now."
"Why? What's wrong?"
"Nothing. Just go away."
"Wanna hug? Hugs always make me feel better."
"No."
"Wanna play with my dolls?"
"No, Liddy."
"Wanna cookie? Mommy and I made them from scratch. They're really good. Extra chocolaty. I told her you like lotsa chocolate chips, like Cookie Monster! Om nom nom nom! Me want cookie!"
While Liddy giggled at her own silliness, Emma rolled her eyes. "Liddy, stop bothering me with your childish nonsense. I don't even like Cookie Monster anymore. I have more adult things to worry about now."
"Like what? Like boys? Mommy says you're being over dramatic. It's not the end of the world, you know."
Emma slapped her hand to her forehead. "God, you even sound like Mom. Look, when you're my age, you'll understand. Until then, enjoy your childhood while it lasts."
"Why?"
"Because it's all downhill from there."
Liddy shrugged. "Okay. Well, I'm gonna go play with my dolls now. You can come play too if you want. We can have a tea party!"
"Maybe later, Liddy," Emma said just to get her sister to leave, and when she could no longer hear that annoyingly cute voice, Emma slumped forward in her chair and slammed her head on her desk.
A tired sigh drifted from her lips. "I hate school. I hate it so much. And I hate Brittany Vetter the most."
It was all because of her forehead. That big bruised lump that stuck out like a huge plum—and Emma didn't even like plums. If it hadn't been Harry who'd kicked that ball, she would have been furious, but since he had, Emma had no choice but to bear the bruise like a badge of honor.
Really, it felt more like a badge of shame.
That morning, Emma had tried desperately to mask the imperfection. She'd used cover-ups and concealers: creams, powders, liquids—whatever she could find in her mother's makeup drawer, and none of them did the trick. She even tried to cover it with her hair, but her bangs were too long and left her looking like Cousin Itt.
Having no other options (and running out of time before the school bus arrived), Emma grabbed her winter stocking cap and pulled it on. It seemed like a decent plan of defense, at least until Principal Hayes caught her in the hallway and made her take it off.
"Sorry, Emma," he said as he walked by. "Hats are against dress code."
And, of course, whenever somebody got called out by the principal, every student in the vicinity had to stop and watch the show. At that moment, Emma was center stage, and all she wanted to do was stuff herself inside her locker and never come out.
With trembling fingers, she reluctantly peeled the cap off her head and exposed her bulbous forehead to the entire school.
No surprise, Michael Clifford was the first to laugh. The giggles spewed from his lips before he could smother them with his hands. "I'm sorry, Emma. Really. It's just—Wow! It looks even worse than yesterday!"
"What happened?" Luke asked with a sympathetic frown.
"I hit my head," Emma lied, "on the monkey bars."
"How?" Calum asked.
"I don't know how! I don't know the science behind it. I just—"
Emma stopped when she heard the other students' roaring laughter. Louder and louder they got, hooting and hollering, giggling and guffawing. They were a bunch of scavengers who only pounced on the weak and the helpless, people like Emma.
Emma felt her stomach churn. "I think I need to see the nurse," she mumbled, and she would've left too if Michael hadn't caught her wrist and stopped her.
"It's not that big of a deal," said the blue-haired boy. "They'll move on to someone else soon enough, I promise."
"How can you promise that?"
"Well, ..." He paused for a moment and began rubbing his chin in contemplation. "Hmm ... Well, how 'bout this?"
Without warning, Michael went over to Luke, who was talking to Calum and minding his own business like the nice boy he was. Then, in one rapid motion, Michael grabbed Luke's shorts and yanked them down, exposing his bright green Ninja Turtle boxers for all to see. A loud, horrified yelp drew everyone's attention to the panicked blond, and they all started to point at him and laugh hysterically.
"See?" Michael said with a grin as he grabbed Emma's wrist and quickly fled the scene of the crime. "Told you they'd move on to someone else."
"That was really mean, Michael," Emma said. When she glanced over her shoulder, she saw Luke attempting to run away and pull up his pants at the same time. After just three steps, he was on the ground with his pants around his ankles. "Oh, poor Luke."
Unfortunately, Michael wasn't in her first period class, so there was nobody to stop Brittany Vetter and her pride of pampered poodles from viciously attacking Emma before the teacher arrived.
"She looks like a rhino," one said.
"Maybe it's a tumor," said another.
"Oh my god, what if she has an STD?" shrieked a third.
On and on they went, and Emma just sat there and suffered in silence. Those forty-five minutes of torture made Emma hate Mondays for the rest of her life.
A sudden knock at the door parted Emma from the embarrassing memory. Lifting her head up from her desk, she grumbled, "Who is it?"
"The woman who gave birth to you." Mrs. Walters opened the door with a smile, a smile which fell as soon as she saw her daughter's miserable expression. "Bad day?"
Emma nodded. "Terrible."
"Did you get teased because of your forehead."
"What do you think?"
Mrs. Walters leaned her hip against the door frame. "I think you're making a bigger deal of this than it is. Kids like to tease kids. Always have, and they always will. You can't be so sensitive all the time. They'll eat you alive. Just laugh along and move on. They'll stop if they see it doesn't bother you. They just want a reaction, so don't give them one."
Emma's eyes narrowed into mere slits. "Ignore them? That's your advice? Brilliant. Why didn't I think of that while the entire cafeteria was laughing at me?"
"Well, if that doesn't work, you could always use some of that sarcasm you've got stored up. Or is that reserved solely for your poor parents?"
Emma scoffed. "Funny."
"Look, your sister and I are going shopping for some clothes. She needs a dress for her party on Sunday. Would you like to come with us? Or would you rather sit here and sulk all day?"
At those words, Emma sat up a little taller. "Can I buy some clothes?"
"I suppose you can buy a few tops, but I don't want any more attitude today. Deal?"
"Deal," Emma said, and then she pulled on her winter cap and followed her mother out the door.
It wasn't very often that Emma went clothes shopping with her mother. Typically, they only went once at the beginning of the school year, and Emma was only allowed to buy a couple shirts, two pairs of jeans, and maybe (if her mother was feeling generous) a new pair of shoes. All of the clothing, of course, had to be approved by her mother, and she had a very outdated fashion sense.
"What about this?" Mrs. Walters said as she grabbed a t-shirt off the rack and showed it to Emma. "This is cute, huh?"
Emma cringed. "No, Mom. Please, no."
"What? I thought you liked Hello Kitty. Just last month, you wanted a Hello Kitty bedspread. It was all you talked about."
"Yeah, but I'm thirteen now. I can't dress like a little kid anymore."
"I see." Frowning, Mrs. Walters hung the shirt back on the rack and kept looking. "Well, as a thirteen-year-old, what kind of clothes would you like to wear? Keep it reasonable, mind you. You may be thirteen, but that doesn't mean you get to walk around dressed like a harlot. — Hey, what about this? This is adorable and age-appropriate. What do you think?"
She was holding up a soft pink babydoll blouse. It was cute, cloyingly cute, and so innocent. Paired with a grey cardigan, it would be the kind of top Emma wore to church (the few times her family actually went). It practically screamed, 'I'm a virgin, and I'm gonna stay that way!' No wonder her mother liked it so much.
"Well, what do you think?" Mrs. Walters asked again.
"I think ... I think I want something edgier. I want something like, like this!"
Before her mother could protest, Emma ran over and snatched a leather jacket off the rack. It was the most beautiful jacket she had ever seen, and so very rock 'n roll. Nobody would think she was lame if walked into school with that jacket. No, she'd be cool.
"You're not getting that jacket," her mother said, and just like that, all of Emma's hopes popped like a balloon pushed against a sharp pin. "It's almost eighty dollars. Besides, your father would have a heart-attack if he saw you in that."
"Ugh, who cares? All the other girls dress like that!"
"I don't care about the other girls. I only care about you. And you're not getting that jacket. When you have your own money, you can buy whatever you want. Until then, we decide. Now, do you want this top or not?"
Emma crossed her arms over her chest and scowled. "No, it's ugly. It's the ugliest thing I've ever seen. It's like Pepto-Bismol pink. It's disgusting!"
Mrs. Walter's eyes hardened. "Fine, then you're not getting anything. How 'bout that?"
She smiled down at her younger daughter, who was patiently waiting for her turn to shop. "Come on, sweetie, let's go find you a dress."
"What about Emma?" Liddy asked with a pout.
"Emma has an attitude today, so she doesn't get anything."
"Then give me the keys," Emma said as she held out her hand. "I wanna go wait in the car. I don't care about Liddy's stupid dress. It's not my birthday anyway."
"No, you're going to stay here. And I don't care if you're miserable. You can stand there and pout as much as you want. You're going to help your sister find a dress, and then you're gonna help me run the rest of my errands. And when we get home, you can sulk all you want, but you'll be doing that in your room because I don't wanna see you. Now, let's go. We've kept your sister waiting long enough."
So the three of them went to kids section, where her little sister tried on over twenty dresses that looked exactly the same: poofy and sparkly. Liddy wanted to be a fairy princess for her party, but every time she came out of the dressing room, she looked more and more like a cupcake. But, of course, Liddy loved it. She wanted to buy all the dresses. Since she could only get one, she settled on a yellow one because, as she claimed, it brought out the yellow in her eyes.
Liddy had no yellow in her blue eyes.
"Where are we going next?" Emma asked with a loud huff as she put on her seat belt.
Her mother was busy buckling Liddy into her car seat. "I have to go to the bakery to check on Liddy's cake. If you're both good, maybe I'll let you get some cookies."
Liddy's eyes lit up. "Cookies? Cookies? Me want cookies! Om nom nom nom!"
When they reached the bakery, however, Mrs. Walters realized that she still had to do her grocery shopping. Luckily, both buildings were part of the downtown shopping centre and within walking distance of each other. Since it was almost five o'clock and Mrs. Walters still had to make dinner, she attempted to kill two birds with one stone.
"Emma, honey, can you do me a favor?" she asked. "I'm gonna head into the market with Liddy. Can you go to the bakery and check on the cake?"
Emma's jaw dropped. "Why do I have to do it?" she whined. "I don't even know what to do."
"Just go inside and ask about the cake. Make sure it'll be ready by Sunday. Come on, I thought you were grown up now. You should be able to handle this."
With those words, the challenge had been delivered. Now, Emma had a choice: she could step up and take some responsibility or back out and forever be considered a child.
"I'll do it," Emma decided.
Mrs. Walters smiled. "Great. Come find us when you're done." Then she took her youngest daughter's hand and walked off in the direction of the market. "Let's go, Liddy. You get to come shopping with Mommy."
Emma stayed on the sidewalk and took a few seconds to collect herself. "Okay," she said, taking a deep breath of courage, "you can do this, Emma. You can do this. Just walk up to the counter and ask about the cake. Simple as that."
She took another deep breath. "Okay. Let's go."
Confidently, Emma strode toward the bakery with her head held high. "I'm here to check the status of my sister's birthday cake," she rehearsed in her head. Yeah, that sounds good. With one strong tug, she pulled open the glass door and entered the shop.
The bell jingled and jangled, signally her presence. Emma looked toward the counter and prepared to announce her intentions. "I'm here to ..."
Emma's eyes bulged in disbelief. There was nobody behind the counter. Nobody at all.
Just like that, all her confidence fizzled out. "Well now what do I do?" she wondered as she scratched the top of her head.
"Just a moment, please," a boy called from the back. "I'll be right out."
"Um, okay," Emma answered.
While she waited, she leaned back against the counter and gazed about the store, taking in all the unfamiliar sights and smells. All around her, she saw nothing but bread, in all shapes and sizes, with all kinds of herbs and tasty coatings. They were on shelves, in baskets, and behind glass counters. Until today, she'd never been in a bakery, and now she knew why.
They were absolutely boring.
"Hey, sorry about that," said the boy as he approached the counter. "I was sweeping the kitchen."
"It's fine," Emma answered with a shrug, and when she turned around, she just about screamed with shock and delight. Instead, all that came out of her mouth was an inaudible squeak.
Of all the bakery's her mother had to choose from, she picked the one Harry Styles worked at. Emma was truly the luckiest girl in the world.
"Emma, hey!" Harry exclaimed with a huge smile that exposed the dimples in his cheeks. Today, he looked especially cute, even with all the white flour stuck to his black apron. He even had a bit of it on his chin. As he spoke, Emma resisted the urge to lean over the counter and wipe it off herself.
"So how's your head doing?" he went on. "Did you wake up with a nasty bruise?"
"No," Emma lied, "not at all."
Harry nodded. "Then why are you wearing a winter hat when it's eighty degrees outside?"
"Fashion," she replied as her cheeks turned pink. "I just like hats."
"Mind if I take a look?" he asked, and by now Emma's face was as red as a tomato. Carefully, he leaned forward and gripped the edge of her cap with the tips of her fingers. Then he peeled the fabric back just enough to expose the huge reddish-purple bruise.
"Ouch!" he said upon releasing it. "That looks like it hurts. I'm so sorry, Emma. Really, I feel terrible. I was thinking about you all night."
Harry Styles was thinking about me all night? Emma thought she might faint from happiness.
"So what brings you here?" he asked.
All of a sudden, Emma forgot why she'd gone into the bakery in the first place. Nothing else seemed to matter at that moment, nothing except Harry's glittering green eyes and his dazzling white smile.
"Just browsing," Emma answered. "I've never been here before. I had no idea you worked here. How long have you been working here?"
"Since my freshman year," he answered. "Yeah, at first I just wanted a job and this was the only place hiring, but the more I work here, the more I like it, you know? Sure, it's not the most exciting after-school job, but I have fun. The customers are great, and all my co-workers are such nice, friendly people. Honestly, I can't imagine working anywhere else. And you know what's really cool? This year, they actually have me doing some baking, so I get to learn all the recipes and stuff."
Out of nowhere, Harry stopped talking and his face became a little flushed. "Uh, sorry for boring you like that," he said as he nervously rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm sure you don't care. You asked a simple question, and I should've just stopped there. I do that sometimes."
"Oh, no, I didn't find it boring at all," Emma said with an earnest smile. "I think it's really cool that you work here and like it so much. Most kids just do the work to make money."
"Yeah," Harry agreed, slightly taken aback by her response.
At first, he thought Emma was just saying that to be polite, as most girls often did when they talked to him. While they twirled their hair and giggled at his jokes, they pretended like they actually cared about what he was saying, but they weren't listening. Not really. Their pretty eyes were vacant, always.
But with Emma, it was different. When Harry spoke, her eyes were completely focused on him, and she listened to his every word, never once interrupting him to talk about herself. Honestly, Harry didn't quite know how to react to her genuine interest.
"So tomorrow," Harry continued, "we're all heading to the lake after school. The weather's supposed to be really nice, so we're gonna take advantage of it and maybe have a little bonfire. You should come."
"Really?" Emma replied with an excited grin. "Yeah, that'd be cool."
"Awesome. I can pick you up after school, if you want."
Emma gulped. "After school?"
"Yeah, Saint Margaret's, right?"
"R-Right."
"Three thirty, then?"
"Sure. Sounds good." As those words left her lips, she couldn't help but wonder how exactly she was going to pull of such a ruse. Brownsburg was only ten minutes away, but still, that would be a tricky maneuver.
"Great! See you then."
Emma forced a smile. "See you then."
Just as Emma was about to leave, she heard the bell jingle and saw her mother and little sister enter the shop. "Goodness, Emma," Mrs. Walters said, "does it really take that long to check on a cake?"
Out of the corner of her eye, Emma saw Harry's lips curl into a smirk. "So that's what you came in here for."
Emma blushed and smiled sheepishly. "Yeah, I was supposed to check on my sister's birthday cake. I remember now."
"Birthday cake, huh? Whose birthday is it?" Eventually, Harry's eyes settled upon Liddy, who was hiding behind her mother's legs. When she finally poked her head out, the five-year-old smiled shyly and raised her hand.
"How old are you gonna be?" Harry asked with a friendly smile.
"Six."
"Six? Wow, you're getting old! You're gonna have to move out and get a job soon."
"Nu-uh!" Liddy said in between giggles. "I'm too little!"
Harry laughed along with her and then turned his attention to Mrs. Walters. "Okay, I'll go get the manager. She'll be able to help you."
While Harry walked off toward the back office, Mrs. Walters came up beside her daughter and leaned against the front counter. "Now I get what took you so long," she said with a sly smirk. "Nice boy, huh?"
"Mhm."
"Cute, too."
"I guess," Emma murmured back, wanting nothing more than for this horribly embarrassing moment to end. But it wasn't ending. Her mother just kept standing there with that knowing smile that all mothers seemed to have mastered. It was absolute torture.
"Hey, Mom, can I hang out with Heidi after school tomorrow?" Emma asked.
"I suppose. What are you going to do?"
"We were thinking about heading down to the lake, since it's gonna be so nice and all. Her parents are gonna take the boat out and everything."
"Okay, that sounds fine. I want you home before it gets dark, though."
"Oh, come on, Mom. I'm not five years old. Can't I stay out later?"
"Fine, you can stay out 'til eight, but that's it."
"Okay, deal. Well, I'm gonna go wait outside," Emma stated, and before her mother could protest, she walked out of the shop and sat herself upon the curb.
Oh my god, Emma slowly realized. Harry Styles kind of asked me out! I kind of have a date with Harry Styles! This is the best day ever!
"Okay, Emma," Mrs. Walters said as she and Liddy came out of the shop, "your suffering is over. We can go home now."
Before following her mother to the car, Emma stopped and snuck one last glimpse through the store window. Harry had grabbed a broom from the back and was busy sweeping the front. Even with a broom, he was adorable.
"Let's go, Emma!" her mother shouted from the car.
The loud, abrupt sound made Harry stop sweeping for a second. He looked up just in time to see Emma jump into the passenger side and shut the door. As the car pulled out of the parking lot, a small smile overtook is face, and then he went back to work.
---
Harry asked Emma out! Well, kind of ...
Sorry it took me so long to get this chapter up. I had a lot going on. The next chapter shouldn't take nearly as long to finish. Of course, you can always speed things up by voting and commenting!
Until next time!
(Note: The featured video for this chapter is actually a scene from the original movie Sooner or Later. It's the scene where the main characters, Michael and Jessie, first meet.)