I walk toward Emma with butterflies in my stomach. My hand shakes at my side.
“Hey,” I say. My voice is too high, and I feel like a little kid all over again.
Her eyes peer over at me briefly. “Hi.”
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” She closes her locker and hikes her backpack on her shoulder. Then turns to walk away.
Anger bubbles in my chest. How can she ignore me after yesterday? I drove hours to find her and bring her home.
I take off after her. I grab her wrist and pull her back toward me. “Talk to me.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m worried about you.”
She swallows, eyes on her feet. “You don’t need to be.” Then she yanks my hand off and starts walking again.
“No,” I say. I run in front of her and stand in her way. “I’m sick and tired of you pushing me away!”
I don’t know what I expected. I’ve never raised my voice with her before, but her lack of reaction irritates me even more.
She doesn’t look up.
“I just want to talk to you. Is that so wrong?”
She shifts her weight, tugging on the strap of her backpack. “I’m already running late.”
“To where?”
I get the smallest rise out of her. Her eyes meet mine. “Is this an interrogation?"
For a moment, I spot her playfulness. I don’t know why, but my pulse quickens as she looks at me. “It’s just a question.”
“Mrs. Meyers fell yesterday while we were gone, and Mallory and I are going to go visit her,” she says.
That’s actually a good reason to be trying to leave. “Is she okay?”
Emma nods. “Yeah, but she’ll be sore for a while.”
It’s strange having a conversation with her. It should be easy and yet it still feels so forced. She’s talking but not the way she should. She used to light up whenever she told me something. Right now, her light is dim and timid.
Even though she isn’t crying, I can still see the remnants of the girl I saw yesterday. I can’t tear that memory out of my mind. It shouldn’t bother me so much after all this time, but it does.
In some ways she reminds me of myself. I think maybe we aren’t so different after all. I pushed my mom away because I didn’t think she’d understand me, and I was wrong about that. What if I was wrong about Emma too?
I want to be wrong. Maybe she didn’t push me away because she changed. Maybe she pushed me away because she was hurting.
I have to find out the truth. If I don’t, I’ll never stop wondering about what went wrong between us.
“Will you meet me at the tree house at sunset?”
Her brow furrows. “The tree house?”
“Will you?”
Nerves ripple through my arms as I wait for her to answer.
