Saving Emery Clarke

E M E R Y · 0 1

E D I T E D : J U L Y  2 8 ,  2 0 1 7

•°•°•

"Emery Blaire Clarke! Get your ass down here!" My mother yells up the stairs.

My eyes widen, and I grab my bag and run down. "Yes Mom?"

"Don't pretence to be so innocent," she snarls. "I know you did something with my alcohol!"

"I didn't do anything to your alcohol, Mom," I say reasonably. I try not to show how scared I am that she's going hit me, once again.

"Bullshit! Tell me the truth right now young lady!" She grabs me by the hair, pulling at my scalp.

I yelp in pain. "You drank it! You drank it all! I didn't do anything!"

"We'll finish this later, Emery. You have school. But first," she pulled out her pocket knife, and I scoot away. "This is for lying to me." She slices a thin cut along my arm, then turns away.

It stings, but it isn't as bad as some of the things she's done to me. As usual though, my eyes well up with tears as I leave the old, dirty house.

I walk to school everyday. So about halfway there, I stop and sit on the sidewalk, cleaning and dressing the cut. Then I slip on my hoodie, as usual, to hide old bruises and scars.

When I get to school, I quickly go to my locker and put away the books I wouldn't need for a while. I hurry to my next class, wincing when someone would bump into my already bruised body.

I make the mistake of looking up and my eyes lock with the most popular guy in school's- Seth Finley. He was said to be very nice, with a charming personality.

When his blue eyes lock with my pale green ones, I know my life isn't about to let me have a break.

He smiles, waving. I quickly look down, shuffling faster to get to my class. I don't even know Seth, and yet he waved at me?

•°•°•

At this school, we're separated into what we call 'The Cliques'. There's the nerds (like I apparently am, although my grades are terrible), the averages, the stoners/freaks, the jocks, the queen bee and her cronies, and last but not least, the king of the school, Seth Finley.

At lunch, we're separated out, too. The middle tables are for the populars and the jocks. The average sit around them, and the nerds and freaks sit at the back tables, farthest away from everyone else.

So I sit at my usual seat, in the back corner, where trash won't get dumped on you and nobody bothers you. I change the bandage on my arm, realizing I haven't done that yet.

"What happened?" A male voice asks. I swear I jump ten feet in the air.

I look up, finding those familiar blue eyes. He's leaning on the table, his chin on his hand, brown hair brushing his forehead.

I stutter for a response. I can't exactly tell him what happened, can I? But luckily, Seth takes my stuttering for confusion.

"I haven't introduced myself, now have I?" He laughs. "Sorry about that. I'm Seth Finley."

"I-I know who you a-are," the words stumble out of my mouth. "But why are you talking to me?"

"Why wouldn't I?" Seth asks, his face morphing into confusion. "What's your name?"

"Emery Clarke," I say, still baffled that he was talking to me.

"Pretty name," Seth tells me, flashing another charming smile.