But she wouldn’t talk to me. Not yet.
Maybe never.
“Knock-knock,” I said.
She just sighed but stayed silent.
I knew I was being annoying. I’d punch me if I were her.
“Come on, knock-knock?”
She shook her head and dried her eyes, ignoring me.
I hardened my tone, demanding, “Knock-knock.”
“Come in,” she snapped, cutting off my joke.
I stood frozen for a moment. How did she always do that?
Contrary to popular belief, it’s not often I could be outsmarted, let alone repeatedly.
But that was clever. I broke out into a laugh, and after a moment, I noticed a small smile playing on her lips that she tried to hide.
Releasing her hand, I rounded the bookshelves and approached her, staring down at her bowed head and eyes that still avoided me.
“Look at me,” I repeated.
Slowly, she shook her head, but it seemed more to herself than an answer to me.
“Emory…”
She stared at the floor and then retreated a step, but I grabbed her face, bringing her in close and rubbing my thumbs underneath her eyes. I wiped away the tears, but more just streamed down.
And in that moment, I wanted to do nothing else with my life more than change her world, so she’d never feel like this again. Goddammit.
She tried to pull away, but I couldn’t let go. I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her in, hugging her as she gasped. Sobs wracked through her as she tensed, but I just held her tight, keeping her standing so she didn’t have to even worry about that right now.
I couldn’t stand this. She had to stop crying.
Finally, her arms relaxed, and every fight inside of her melted away. She let her cheek fall into my chest, her arms hanging limply at her sides as she leaned into me, letting me hold her.
People passed behind us, but I didn’t care what they saw as long as they kept going.
I stroked her hair with my hand, my fingers humming at the feel of finally touching her. Such a big mouth and attitude on a person who was really so soft and small.
I dipped my nose into her hair, the scent making my head buzz and the feel of her warming every muscle in my body.
“Let’s go,” I told her, taking her hand in mine and her bag in the other. “We’re getting the fuck out of here.”
I pulled her, not waiting for a reply.
She dug in her heels, suddenly alert. “We can’t.”
“Watch me.”
I pulled her out of the library, leaving my shit on the table because I knew it would still be there later, and walked down the hallway and out of the school, hearing her nervous breaths behind me as she looked around frantically for teachers or surveillance cameras.
For some reason, though, she didn’t protest more.