Happy Valentine's Day, Lovelies!
T
his is a glimpse into the lives of the Martello's and Camerons (and yes, even Rosie) in their high school years. Emma is 16 and Evan and Ryan are both 18 (seniors).
Please to enjoy!
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~Part I~
The shrill ring of the bell, signaling the end of the school-day, and the week, pierced through Emma's zoned-out brain, making her jump. Chairs screeched on the floor of the biology classroom, and while her classmates buzzed to life, rushing to get out of the building for the weekend, she took her time. Dropping her text book into her backpack, along with her notebook, and the assortment of gel-pens she liked to color-code her notes with, she leaned back in her chair, stretching and letting her spine crack, before standing up.
"You still here, Miss Martello?" Mr. Wicker, her biology teacher's voice cut through her distracted thoughts. He was one of her favorite teachers. While she hated all the gross things they had to do (dissecting a cat came immediately to mind), he was so enthusiastic about the subject, that she sucked it up and took all the science classes he offered. His light brown hair fell over his forehead haphazardly, and he shoved his wire-rim glasses up his nose.
He was a nerd, through and through, totally oblivious to the fact that he embodied the stereotype of the nutty professor to a T. His plaid shirt was browns and greens, and half of it was untucked from his corduroys, which had the fluids of-Einstein-only-knew-what experiment, spattered over them. "I thought you'd be outta here as fast as the rest of the other hooligans," he teased.
It was Friday, and as per usual, he'd given the class the last fifteen minutes to talk while he straightened up the room and organized the storage closet in the back, which was where he'd reentered the room from.
"I just have a lot on my mind." She chuckled at the way his hair stuck up like Alfalfa in the back, shaking her head. He was one of their younger teachers, and more approachable. He was even cute in that nerdy, super-smart kind of way, although he was oblivious to the possibility of romance, or even the existence of it. Emma had seen Miss Backstrom, one of the new English teachers, trying to flirt with him, and had struggled not to laugh at her growing frustration, and how completely unaware he was of her intentions. Emma slung the strap of her bag over one shoulder, and grabbed her sweater off the back of her chair.
"I thought you'd be half-way home by now. All I've heard, all day long, is all the girls in my classes going on and on about the Valentine's dance tomorrow." He laughed again, gathering up his own things, and following Emma out of the room.
Emma scowled, flipping her frizzed-out curls away from her eyes. "Yeah, well, thanks to my brother and his stupid friend, I can't get a date," she bit out. "I'm going to end up going with Rosie."
"I see." Mr. Wicker laughed again. "Well, good luck. I've heard there are some interested parties, if they can manage to get you away from your brother long enough." He winked, and left Emma standing in the quickly emptying corridor, dumbfounded.
"Who?" she called after him. "Who's interested?" Growling in frustration when he just chuckled again, and turned the corner, she spun on her heels and headed for her locker.
Muttering to herself, she barely noticed the lanky, tow-headed boy, sidling up behind her.
"Hey, Ems!" He slung a long arm around her shoulder, and she jerked to the side before relaxing.
"Oh, hey, Brent. You scared the shit out of me!" she smacked his chest and he laughed, his eyes, the color of pea-shoots, crinkling at the edges. He wasn't bulky or extremely muscular like her brother or his stupid friend, Ryan, but he was still in really good shape, and she discreetly admired his runner's body. "I didn't see you in English today," she noted.
"Ah, yeah, there was an all-day track meet. The bus just got back," he explained. He was on the track team, and was a long-distance runner. She observed that his hair was still damp, and realized he must've just come from the locker room. The idea of him in the shower had her blood rushing hot through her veins, and her eyes shifted away just in case he noticed her attraction.
"Oh," she murmured. Then, casting about for a change of subject for her hormonal brain, she asked, "So how'd you place?"
"First," he grinned proudly. "It secured me a place at the regional meet."
"That's awesome!" Emma gushed. "Congrats." She smiled softly, and found he was looking right at her, his spring-green eyes, examining her intently.
"Thanks." He shrugged "I'm glad we got back a little early. I was actually hoping to catch you before you left." Emma noticed that he suddenly seemed nervous, and his eyes shifted up and down the hall quickly, before landing back on her.
She cleared her throat. "Okay? Do you need my notes from class?"
The two sat next to each other in Mrs. Hardwick's class, and had gotten to know each other a little better over the last month, as they were partners on a project where they had to do a presentation on an American author. They were assigned Upton Sinclair, and though Emma usually hated group projects, he proved to be hard-working, and surprisingly insightful. When she opened her big mouth to point out that she thought he'd be like the rest of the jock slackers, he'd just laughed and explained that he liked to do his own work.
He ran track in hopes of a scholarship, but he had big plans for college, and was pretty serious about his education. She also found out most of his classes were AP, not just English, which impressed her further. To top it off, he was funny, sweet, and as she was now realizing again, pretty cute with his blond hair, green eyes, and the dimple that seemed to be a perpetual divot in his cheek.
"Uh, yeah, that'd be great." The dimple deepened, but then receded as he bit his lower lip. "I had another question, too, though," he added, as Emma fished her notebook out of her bag and handed it to him.
Glancing up, his discomfort was palpable, and she raised a curious eyebrow. "Well, what is it?" she laughed. "You look like you're about to throw up."
He chuckled nervously. "Sorry, that's not what I'm going for," he joked. "I, uh... well, I was wondering if you had a date yet for the dance tomorrow?"
"A date?" Emma stared at him blankly. "You're asking me to the dance?" Her large, hazel eyes widened further.
"Yeah, I mean, if you haven't already been asked," he stammered, a rosy blush creeping up his neck and staining his ears.
"No," Emma replied.
"Oh. Uh, okay. I see. Sorry, I asked. Um, thanks for your notes." He stumbled over his words, and his blush deepened.
Emma stared at him, confused. "I meant, 'no,' no one has asked me," she assured him.
"Oh." Brent's blush slowly receded, and a smile tilted his lips instead. "So... do you want to go with me?"
Inwardly, she did a giddy, little happy-dance, but outwardly, she kept a straight look on her face. "You sure waited long enough to ask me," she pointed out.
"I know," he groaned. "I was really nervous, and your brother and his friend are always around. I heard Evan beat up Matt Hearshman when he was talking about asking you."
"And you still want to take me?" she asked incredulously.
"Well, yeah. I mean, we can just go as friends, if that'll help."
Emma opened her mouth to respond, but a deeper voice than any high school kid should have, interrupted her. "She isn't going with you, bro. Back off."
Brent immediately stepped backward, and Emma groaned in frustration. Turning, she faced her brother, whose face was scowling past her at the reedy boy who was almost hiding behind her at the moment.
"Dammit, Evan," she hissed. "You back off! I'm going to this dance."
"Go home, Emmy," he replied, ignoring what she'd said.
"Look, man," Brent stepped forward cautiously. "I just want to take her to the dance, that's all." He was outweighed and out-massed by her Neanderthal big brother by a lot, and she was impressed that he still tried to stand up to him.
"Well, she isn't going with you, man." This time, it was Ryan who spoke up, and she suddenly noticed him leaning against the lockers. His reddish-brown hair was too-long, curling over his ears and falling into his eyes, while his t-shirt stretched tight over his defined chest and arms, and his faded blue jeans sculpted to his legs like a comfortable second-skin. His dark green eyes were narrowed at Brent, belying his relaxed posture.
"Dammit!" she shrieked in frustration, stalking over to the over-grown idiot. "You two need to leave me the hell alone, and quit chasing off all my dates. I'm going to this dance, with him." She pointed at Brent, who looked nervous, and not at all sure of that fact. Taking on Evan was one thing. Taking on Evan Martello and Ryan Cameron was just suicidal.
"We'll see." Ryan replied, smirking down at her. Tugging at one of the curls that had fallen out of her ponytail, he leaned down, murmuring just low enough for her to hear, "don't push me on this, little girl. You won't like the outcome."
Jerking backwards, Emma's face darkened with infuriated frustration. "I will do what I want," she insisted, "and I want to go to the Valentine's dance with Brent. And you two idiots better leave him alone, or I'll tell grandma and Greta." At that threat, both boys faces paled slightly.
"Come on, Emmy, don't be that way," Evan pleaded, his expression changed from promising a beat-down, to one of slight worry. Not much scared either boy, but Grandma Edie and Greta were enough to strike fear into any heart.
Holding her ground, she wiggled her finger between the two older boys. "You leave me alone, and quit interfering with my dates, or I'm telling."
"Fine," Evan conceded, turning to Brent, "but if you hurt her or try to get away with anything, you'll regret it." The promise of danger flashed in his golden-brown eyes as they bored into Brent, waiting for the younger guy to capitulate.
"I got it," Brent chuckled anxiously. "I promise, I'll be on my best behavior." He edged backwards, his eyes finding Emma's. "I'll call you later?"
She nodded, and gave him a small smile. Once he had turned and was gone, she spun back around. "You two suck, you know that?" she grumbled.
Ryan wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into his side. "Aw, don't be mad, little girl, we're just looking out for you. You never know what kind of psychos are out there." He grinned cheekily, and she rolled her eyes, elbowing him in his ribs. "Ow! You are so damned violent," he whined.
"Suck it up, buttercup," she cast back at him. "I don't know why anyone is even intimidated by you dummies. You're both a couple of pussies."
"Watch it, Emmy," her brother warned, "If I wanted to, I could still keep you from going to that dance."
Blowing out an annoyed sigh, Emma side-eyed him. "Yeah, I'm sure you could, but you need to stop it, Ev. I have no life and no friends except for Rosie because of you. Besides, what do you think will happen when you leave for college?"
"I'm not going anywhere," he vowed. "I'll still be keeping an eye on you, and keeping the pervs away."
"Lucky me," she muttered.
Ryan caught back up, and wrapped his arm back around her shoulders. Despite the dirty look she gave him, he didn't move, and she reluctantly tolerated it. It always seemed to egg him on the more she pushed back, so she tried not to acknowledge him. Unfortunately, he was especially adept at getting under her skin, so it usually didn't work. The trio made their way the eight and a half blocks to their neighboring homes, and she finally broke free of Ryan's hold, rushing into the house, and up the stairs.
"Emma, is that you?" Grandma Edie called from the bottom of the stairs, and she peeked over the bannister.
"Yeah, Gram. I was just going to call Rosie. I have a date to the dance!" she grinned, and her grandma smiled back up at her.
"Oh, you do? Has Ryan asked you, then?"
"Ryan?" Emma wrinkled her nose in disgust. "Why in the world would he ask me?"
"The boy's completely smitten with you, sweetie," her grandma snorted, inelegantly.
"Yeah, right," Emma muttered. "Well, whatever. No, he didn't ask me. Brent Carson did. You remember, he came over so we could work on our English presentation?"
"Oh, yes. Well, he's a nice boy, too," her grandma replied. "Dinner's in two hours, don't tie up the phone all night."
"Okay, Gram. I'm going to see about spending the night at Rosie's, though, alright?"
"Sure, hon. Just make sure I see you before the dance, tomorrow. I want to see you in your dress and meet this boy again." Her tone brooked no argument, and Emma sighed.
"Yes, Gram."
A/N:
I hope you enjoyed the first part of this one-shot glimpse into Ryan, Evan, and Emma's adolescence! Let me know what you think :)
Love,
Jessa