Saving Emery Clarke

S E T H · 0 4

E D I T E D : J U L Y  2 9 ,  2 0 1 7

•°•°•

I know that's not what happened to her.

But I'm not going to push her to tell me, I mean she obviously barely trusts me as it is.

"Alright guys, sprints! Twenty each!" Coach yells out, standing with his hands behind his back.

Everyone on the soccer team groans, but starts sprinting. As I run my sprints, I start to think.

What secret is Emery hiding from everyone?

Seth, stop it. You're Seth Matthew Finley. You don't think about this kind of stuff, and you don't pry.

That's right. The normal me wouldn't think about this stuff.

So why am I still doing it?

•°•°•

After soccer practice is over, I strip off my sweaty shin guards, socks, and cleats, and shoved them into my bag.

I decided to take a shower at home, so I put on my tennis shoes and walk out of the locker room after saying goodbye to a couple friends. As I'm walking to my truck, I'm slammed against another car.

"What the hell?" I say, looking at Stephanie.

"You know why I'm here," she snaps, looking me dead in the eye.

"Quite frankly, no. I don't."

"Does the name Emery ring a bell to you?" Stephanie snarls. "It should. She's the girl you left our table for the other day and the girl you drove to school today!"

"What about her?" I ask cautiously, raising an eyebrow.

"I want you to stay away from her! You are mine," she growls, narrowing her eyes.

"Stephanie, I am not a piece of meat. I am myself thank you," I say, grabbing her shoulders and moving her away from me so I can walk away.

"You're going to regret this!"

"What, ever dating you? I'm starting to think I do."

Stephanie screams in frustration, stomping her heel clad foot on the ground. I walk away to my truck. I get in, whistling a random tune, pissing my ex off even more.

It was then that I notice I wasn't alone in the truck- Emery was sitting there, tapping around on an old BlackBerry phone.

"You leave the spare key taped over the tires," she mutters, closing her phone up.

I gape like a fish. "What? How did you know that?"

"A lot of people do," Emery says vaguely, looking out the window.

I start the drive to her house. I told her today at lunch that I would drive her home. And, that if she went home herself, I'd pick her up, drive back to school, then go to her house.

I'm guessing she chose the easy way, even though she had to wait for an hour because I had practice. "Sorry if I stink, practice made me sweat."

She laughs a little. "It's okay," Emery says. "Stop here!"

I slam on the brakes. This is where I picked her up this morning. "Why?"

"My-my mom has a phobia of strangers. Even just the cars scare her, so I'll just get out here."

Another lie.

I don't know how I know, but it's clear. Good lie though.

Quit encouraging lying, Seth.

Right. My bad.

"Okay. I guess so. Be safe. If you need help, just call me," I say, playing along for her sake. Maybe she has a good reason to lie.

"I don't have your number," Emery says, halfway out of the car. I tug her phone out of her back pocket and type my number in.

"Now you do." I hand it back to her, watching as she stuffs it in her pocket gets the the rest of the way out of the truck.

"Thanks. I'll see you later." Emery leaves, limping the rest of the way to her house.

•°•°•

"How's it going with that Emery girl?" Mom asks, cutting her chicken.

"Mom. There is nothing going on between us," I assure her, stuffing my mouth with the mushroom sauce covered pasta. At the last minute, I shove a piece of chicken in.

She makes a look of disgust at my eating habits. "You boys are so disgusting," Mom comments.

"But you love me!" I say, my mouth still half full.

"Sadly. But back to Emery! What's she like?" Mom inquires, taking a dainty bite of chicken.

"She's pretty. Has long brown hair, green eyes. Tan skin, 5'5. And no Mom, I did not measure her, she told me herself. When she could barely get into my truck," I inform her, rolling my eyes. "Called me a giraffe." I pout.

"But you are!" Mom says, sprinkling some parmesan cheese on her own pasta. "And she sounds lovely."

I roll my eyes. "Mhmm." I shove another fork full of pasta into my mouth. "She's hiding something, though," I blurt out, not even thinking.

My jaw drops when I realize what I said. "Son, shut your mouth. That's gross," Mom complains, lifting my jaw with her fingertips. "And what do you mean?"

I swallow my food slowly, trying to stall a little. I did not mean to say that, at all. "It's just that Emery is pretty secretive, and she's been lying. About little things, like how she tripped over a rug and broke her pinkie, cut her forehead, and bruised her leg, and why I can't drop her off in front of her house. But I'm positive she has a good reason."

Mom frowns for a moment, then responds. "I guess she probably does. If it's about little things like that, it probably isn't as bad as she thinks it it."

For the rest of the night, I sit in my room, tossing an old soccer ball to myself, thinking about what Emery might be hiding.

Did her parents divorce?

Did her dad die?

Did something happen in the past that makes her want to hide everything?

I guess I won't know until she tells me, I think as I drift off to sleep.

•°•°•