Chapter 13
MYLES
I don't know what happened. I let her get under my skin, which only made my day a thousand times harder than it already was. I should’ve ignored her and let her get in trouble for attacking me with paint, but the second her hand brushed across my face I snapped.
Something came over me and I couldn’t control myself.
My heart practically beat out of my chest and my mind went blank.
Now, I’m paying the price, scrubbing the floor until my knuckles turn white. I’m angry at her, myself, and the world.
There’s sweat on my forehead. I’m determined to get out of here as soon as possible. Mrs. Humphrey always leaves the classroom during lunch, and if she’s as forgetful as yesterday, there’s a chance she left the classroom unlocked again.
I stand and open the window closest to us, letting in a soft breeze to cool me down. Then I notice some paint on the windowsill and follow the trail with my eyes. As if scrubbing the floor and walls weren’t enough, we managed to get paint on the ceiling too.
“Great,” I mumble, scratching the back of my head. “I’ll try and find a ladder.”
Emma cranes her neck. “Oh come on, you don’t need a ladder.” She proceeds to pick up a chair and stack it on a table.
“Absolutely not.”
Emma raises a brow and the tension on her face eases. “You scared?”
This is just like her, always suggesting ways to get us killed and needing a voice of reason to tame her wild ideas.
“That’s not safe.”
“Fine,” she says, climbing onto the table. “I’ll do it.”
I grab her arm. “Do not go up there.”
She shakes me off like a defiant child. “It’s not even that high, and there isn’t that much paint up there. It’ll take me two seconds.”
“I want to do it,” I say, knowing it’s the only way to stop her.
Emma’s face scrunches up and she gives me a look of disbelief. “You do?”
I nod. No matter how frustrated I am with her, for some reason I can’t let her get hurt. My annoying habit of protecting her resurfaces, but just because I don’t want her to fall doesn’t mean I hate her any less.
“Okay,” Emma says, stepping back. She gestures toward the chair. “It’s all yours.”
I rest my hands on the desk and climb up. I know this is a bad idea, but I step onto the chair anyway. A shiver runs down my spine as it wobbles slightly. “Hold the legs.”
“No, I don’t want—”
“Just do it.” I know she isn’t particularly fond of being helpful, but I’d like to believe there’s a smidge of reasonableness in her brain. Even if she doesn’t want to admit it, it’s obvious this isn’t safe. The least she could do is steady the chair.
She groans. “Fine.” Her hands land on my legs, not the chair’s.
I swallow, shocked by her confusion and thrown off by how gentle her touch is compared to her aggression of the last two days.
I clear my throat. “The chair.”
“What?”
“The chair’s legs. Not mine.”
“Oh.” She jerks her hands away and wipes them on her skirt like I made her hands dirty. Her face burns red. “Right. I knew that.”
She didn’t, but I don’t argue. I wait for her to hold the chair’s legs. Then I reach up to scrub the paint off the ceiling.
“Do you hear that?”
The only sound is the hum of Ms. Simon’s computer. “What are you talking about?”
“Hush. Listen.”
I ignore her and keep scrubbing. As usual, she’s being dramatic. Thankfully, the paint comes off easily and doesn’t take too much elbow grease. I flip over the rag to get the last spot when I freeze. I hear it.
A faint buzzing sound zips past me.
“There’s a bee,” she says.
My pulse spikes and my eyes widen. “Where?”
“I don’t know,” she says, spinning around as her eyes dart around the room. “I don’t hear it anymore.”
That’s because it isn’t flying. It’s walking, its tiny feet working their way from my hair to my forehead.
My blood drains, and I force myself to breathe slowly even though I want to freak out. I want to swipe it off me, but I know better. What if it stings me?
Her eyes lock on to me. “Don’t move.”
I swallow. How? How does this day keep getting worse? I close my eyes, trying not to let the memory of my swollen throat overtake me. The way I couldn’t breathe no matter how hard I tried.
“Do you have your EpiPen?”
“In my locker,” I mumble, barely moving my lips.
Emma nods. “Okay. Should I get it?”
“No.” The bee makes its way over my eye and down my cheek. “Please get it off me.”
“You’re going to have to bend down,” she says.
I know that’s what I need to do, and other than the slight shake of my hand, I can’t move. “I don’t think I can.”
“Yes, you can. Just open your eyes.”
“I can’t.”
She touches my leg again, but this time it isn’t initiated by confusion. It’s a deliberate choice to touch me.
“Look at me, remember,” she says.
Did she just say what I think she did? My heart plummets in a second, aching for our past. All from one reference to the friendship we used to have. Every time I was scared, that’s what she’d tell me.
Look at me.
I open my eyes.
Emma’s hand is outstretched, tempting me to come down to her. There’s something oddly comforting about the confidence on her face. The same confidence I hate now was once something I admired, and it’s what convinces me to trust her.
I take her hand and lower myself, careful not to make any sudden movements that might agitate the bee. I step off the chair and sit down on the desk.
Emma comes closer, eyes intently on my face, watching the bee move. She grazes my cheek with her finger, and my heart does the unthinkable.
It flutters.
It flutters the same way it used to every time she came near.
I stop breathing.
Growing up, Emma was my favorite part of the day.
I’d wake up early to run next door, waiting at our tree house, excited for every adventure she’d come up with.
She wasn’t just my friend. I’d had friends before, but Emma was different.
I was in awe of how colorful the world seemed around her, and every moment was an adventure. She made me happy. She made me laugh.
But she didn’t always make my heart flutter. That came later, and she didn’t do anything different. She was the same girl I grew up with, wild hair, running barefoot in her backyard, but then when I was thirteen, I found myself thinking she was pretty.
I remember it as clear as day.
We were sitting on the plush pink rug next to her bed like we had done so many times before.
I was resting against the wall, and she was supposed to be studying, but instead she was folding her homework sheet into an intricate airplane.
She folded it in a way that weighed down the front and then she tore two sections, one on either wing, to form flaps.
“We’ve been here for an hour and you’ve hardly done anything,” I’d said.
She scowled, holding the plane up with both hands like it was on a pedestal. “You call this nothing? It’s a masterpiece.”
“You know what I mean,” I said, tucking my textbook closer. I didn’t want to be studying either, but Mom would’ve flipped out if I came home without it done.
Emma tilted the plane up. “This is my best one yet. I think I’ve perfected the design. Watch.” She threw it into the air as she had done with other countless planes around her room.
But this time it flew straight toward me and directly into my eye. “Emma!” I yelled, covering my eye. I didn’t expect the tip of the plane to be such a weapon, but my eye burned, watering right away. I regretted wearing my contacts that day.
“Sorry! I really thought that was the one!” She rushed over, kneeling in front of me. She struggled to pull back my hands. “Just let me see.”
I stopped wrestling and let her look.
She put one hand on my cheek and she used the other to wipe the tears from my eye. She was so close I could feel her breath on my skin.
The sun was shining on her face, and for the first time I noticed how pink her lips were and how her long lashes curled up toward the outward corner of her eyes.
My heart leaped, and I jerked away, turning my head toward the wall.
“What’s wrong?” She held her hands up in surrender.
“I—I need to go—there’s this—” I stammered. This was Emma. Emma wasn’t just anyone. She was my friend and it felt wrong to let my mind wander down that path.
I stood, running into her dresser and stubbing my toe. I winced as I struggled to tuck my homework under my arm.
She scurried after me. “Let me help you—”
“No!” I yelled, afraid of what would happen if she touched me again.
She stepped back, tilting her head to the side, causing her hair to dip over her shoulder. “Are you okay?”
I peeked up, heat rushing to my cheeks again. “Yes—I think so—I have to feed Duke.”
She chuckled. “Feed your dog?”
“Yeah. I forgot this morning,” I said, immediately regretting it.
Emma closed her door, blocking my way out, and crossed her arms. “Look at me.”
I lifted my eyes, embarrassed and confused.
“Myles, why are you lying to me?”
“I’m lying?”
The look in her eyes teetered between anger and amusement. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”
How was I supposed to explain to her the way she was looking at me made it hard to breathe all of a sudden?
It made me want to keep looking at her. But this wasn’t the way I’d looked at her before.
It was more than me just admiring her. It was me wanting to memorize her face enough that I could picture it when I closed my eyes.
I couldn’t tell her that. I didn’t even fully understand it myself.
“I’m sorry.” Beads of sweat pooled at the top of my brow and I pulled her out of the way so I could bolt through the door and into the safety of the hallway.
I ran, thinking I could leave those feelings in the room with her, but they followed me, sinking their claws into me. From that day forward, I couldn’t see Emma the same way. Every time she was close, her touch was fire and her smile sent my mind into a spiral. I couldn’t focus on anything else.
But it made me feel awful that I couldn’t control it, because what if she didn’t feel the same way? So I kept it a secret.
I thought one day I’d end up telling her, but I never did.
My lungs tighten from the lack of air, pulling my thoughts back to the moment. I take a breath as Emma steps back, the bee on her finger.
She smiles. “I got it.”
I should be relieved, but I’m confused by my racing heart. What’s wrong with me? This is Emma. No one has ever hurt me as badly as she did. I hate her, so why is my mind wandering back to the past?
She walks to the window and waits for the bee to fly away before closing it.
“I need to—” To clear my head. To focus. “I need to run to the bathroom. Tell Ms. Simon I’ll be back soon.”
I scramble away, stumbling over my feet. As soon as I duck into the hallway, I rest my hands on my knees to catch my breath.
Nothing about what just happened makes sense. She attacked me yesterday, shoved me to the ground, kicked me black and blue. Why am I thinking about who she used to be?
I shake my head and continue down the hallway. I don’t know where I’m going, but I need to get away from Emma and the memories of us.
I turn the corner and my focus is pulled back to my top priority. The door to Mrs. Humphrey’s room is propped open and as I walk by, it’s empty.
My head is swimming in overdrive, but this is my opportunity to get the answers to the test. Who knows if I’ll get another chance today, so despite my rattled brain, I check over my shoulder. No one is around, and I step into the room.
I rush over to the file cabinet, pulling it open. I grab the fourth period binder and set it on the desk.
My breath is shaky and I’m on pins and needles, expecting someone to walk in any second.
I flip to the section Mallory told me she needed, scanning the questions to make sure it’s the right test. It seems to be covering the right information, and the answers are written in pen underneath.
I pat my pockets, searching for my phone so I can take a picture. It’s the easiest way to copy the answers without being noticed.
But I don’t have it.