Page 27 of The Emma Special

James sipped his coffee.

Emma pointed a delicate finger at him. “You’re doing the thing.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“Peaches and pixies, this is how you get them to talk. You just do the thing with the face and the witness melts and all the secrets pop out.”

James set his mug on the counter and leaned against it, keeping his gaze on Emma’s exasperated face.

“You’re telling me it was you behind the spotlight while I sang and danced my heart out night after night? You were up there when I got yelled at by Mrs. Granger three times during set week? Why weren’t we friends? Why didn’t I know you?”

This was not going to be the night he told Emma that he’d waited outside the dressing room with flowers to tell her congratulations on opening night only to have her breeze past him without a glance heading to a group of her girlfriends. Maybe he’d been a coward then. Did it make him a coward now to keep it to himself?

“James Lincoln Moore, Jr., say something,” she demanded.

He gave her a pointed glare. “You snooped into my file for my middle name exactly for this, didn’t you?”

“I literally file your check stubs. I have access to so much information I could topple this company from the inside out. Now I sound like a maniac. But I could snag your social and steal your identity without any trouble.” She snapped her fingers in front of his face. “Like that.”

The phone in his back pocket rang, and he dove for it like a starving man stealing a dinner roll. He’d even answer a telemarketing call to get out of this conversation.

Chapter 9

Emma Is Sorry

Each day revealed a new layer of the man on the phone across the copy room. James was lost in an important conversation, and she couldn’t do anything until he gave her instructions. No way he needed twelve copies of that whole stack. That should be illegal.

Emma picked up a pen and handed it to James. He took it and immediately flicked it at her. It bounced off her black tights and rolled under the copier.

So, he wasn’t as invested in the conversation as he appeared.

Why wouldn’t he answer her questions about high school? His mom believed they’d been friends because they’d both been in theater club. Emma had co-starred in Charlie Brown her freshman year, but James had been there too? How could she have missed a guy like him? Obviously he’d changed physically, but she didn’t remember James from school at all.

The twisty unease of a lost friendship had her finding a safe place to put her coffee. Had she overlooked a sweet boy so completely that he hadn’t even existed to her?

High school had its trials of course, but theater had been her life. Between acting, singing, and hanging out with her Kiss and Tell girls, that chapter of her life had been filled with good times… for the most part.

Yet, here was proof she’d been self-centered and short-sighted. Who else had she missed a chance to connect with? She was a nothing and a nobody, and the thought that she may have alienated James years ago gripped her like an iron fist.

Then it got worse! Not only had she overlooked him, but James Moore had operated the spotlight that shone on her. He’d been there for all of it? As she’d skipped and laughed through every practice, oblivious to others making things happen in the background. He’d been there—working on set and whatever went into the technical side of production.

She wasn’t ignorant that it took dozens of people to put on a show, but she’d never concerned herself beyond the footlights. Had she been rude to him all those years ago?

After graduating, James went on to college, stayed the course, and became a fantastic attorney, while Emma was a walking example of someone who peaked in high school.

Her mother was right about a lot of things, even when Emma tried to convince herself she wasn’t. Sure, she could act. But it was fake. Her greatest achievements were in pretending to be someone she wasn’t. Even off the stage she was barely keeping up a good front.

Why don’t you dump that piece of trash? The words hit her full force all over again. They’d been slung by some loser with a smirk and head toss to keep his too-long hair out of his eyes. Her boyfriend at the time hadn’t defended her.

She’d waited for her boyfriend, Aaron, to say something—anything—to counter the insult. When he didn’t, she’d left him, yet the words chased her. She could run from snobby men, but what good was she really?

James was doing important work. All she’d ever done was twirl around in a tutu.

James caught her gaze across the room and held up a finger while mouthing, “Sorry, almost done.”

She pulled up the Kiss and Tell chat on her phone.

Emma: SOS! Feeling the weight of shame and I know it’s from the devil.