"That's not fair, Emily," he said to her. He seems exhausted and worn out as he rubs a hand over his face. I am, too. "I have no idea why I'm here or what I'm doing. I'm giving it my best shot at this point. I just informed the counselors that you had a difficult summer, and I want to make sure that everything goes smoothly for you as you transition. That wraps things up.And I believe him because I'm acting the Edwarde part in this scenario. Both of us are going down with the current. Both of them were swimming for the surface when they were suddenly pulled into a whirlpool and submerged once more. All because I had feelings for Jason. And because I am aware that my father is attempting to be supportive of me, even though he is unsure whether or not he believes what I am saying.My father's eyes go away from mine as he focuses on the mashed potatoes he is eating as if they were a crossword puzzle. This is one of his favorite things to do."I know it's hard, but no skipping again. If

I have to control my tongue so that I don't respond how I want to. Detention? Oh no! It's odd that certain behaviors that were once punishable are now not. Even so, it might serve as a welcome diversion. a means of getting out of Dad's awkward silence while his eyes are asking. I don't need to look in a mirror to see that I share some of his sorrow.So I nod instead of saying that."What happened yesterday? Someone please speak up? If you ever need to talk, I'm here. She gives me "the look" with a slight crinkle in her eyes. Pity. I'm not sure which is worse: the emptiness I experience from other people or sympathy.“No. ” My eyes land on the ground as I struggle internally with conflicting emotions. A part of me truly wants to speak with her. Speak to someone, yet I feel like I have a block inside. Unknown hands constructed a big wall that prevents me from mentioning Jason. about the infant or my feelings. concerning Dad or perhaps Mom. It's still there, preventing me from moving for

Dad isn't here when I arrive home. I take off my shoes, put on my pajamas, and head directly towards the backyard. Every aspect of my pottery room, which is always directly across from the back patio, draws me there. I want to go there so badly, but I just can't get myself to do it. I want to get lost in something there so desperately that I forget about everything else.Never again can I create anything in that space.I look over the fence and into the neighbor's yard at that point because I can hear music playing there. Steve is concentrating while seated on his back porch with a guitar balanced on his leg. His brown hair cascades forward, erecting the wall I had earlier desired between us and shielding his gaze from mine. It's debatable whether or not I should be grateful that his house is a little higher than ours because, if it weren't, the fence would serve as yet another obstruction separating him from me.My initial instinct is that I need him to be kept away from me. Like eve

Steve is leaning against the lockers, Annie Jacobs, the most popular girl in school, with her perfect long blond hair, standing in front of him. She keeps moving closer and closer to him. Steve’s popping gummy bears like they’re going out of style. Is it me or did he just move away? No, why would he? And why do I care?Just then, he looks up, his bright-blue eyes snaring me. When I start to turn away, he calls out, “Emily! About time you got here. You’re late. ” Then he says something to a pissed-off-looking Annie before coming my way.I keep walking and he files in beside me.“Thanks for the save, pottery girl. That chick’s a few cards short, if you know what I’m sayin’. ”It’s never stopped the other guys from caring. That’s what guys like, right? I mean, almost every boy in this school has gone after Annie at some point or another, even Ian on one of our breaks. “Pfft. Like that matters. ”“You go for girls who aren’t playing with a full deck?”I look at him and roll my eyes. “I’m

She says, her shoulders swaying, "Busted." Compared to Steve, she has a more ethnic voice. His voice has a Hispanic lilt, while hers is deeper. "Is there a possibility we can keep this under wraps?" Her cigarette is raised.I can tell it's the same Edwarde as Steve's when she smiles.They appear lighthearted, joyful, and carefree. It makes me want to perform the Edwarde for some reason. “Umm…sure? In any case, I'm not sure who I would inform. Talk about a strange request coming from a mother.“Shh. Steve has the back room and is a light sleeper. My son dislikes tobacco use.Steve, go! Even so, it's odd that she's keeping it from him. I mumble, "Sorry," half intending to giggle at the way she checks behind her to see if Steve is approaching."Don't worry, Mija. You are not at blame. I'm too old to be sneaking cigarettes around, but I'm only smoking one now a day. Not too awful, in my opinion. But my son is a harsh critic.When I look back to that day in the hallway, I want to say, "Yeah