The kitchen was quiet, filled with the soft sounds of Emma chewing and the rustle of her father's newspaper pages. A shaft of pale morning light cut across the room, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air.
Her father sat at the head of the table, his face half-hidden behind the sports section, the aroma of his freshly brewed coffee filling the space. It was the familiar, predictable calm of their mornings, but Emma could feel a tension in the silence, a coldness that had settled in since the dinner with Blake.
"Are you excited for your first day back to school? This year will be different from previous years, now that you're out of all your extracurriculars except violin," Emma's father asked, his voice steady but his eyes still on the paper.
She was chewing on the last bite of her granola bar, sitting at the kitchen table and waiting for Blake to pick her up. Her mother had already left for work before Emma even woke up, a trend that had become a silent statement.
"Honestly, I'm feeling a mix of emotions," she said, setting her empty wrapper down with a soft crinkle. "I'm nervous because it's the first day, excited because I'll have more free time after school, and anxious because of my new classes. I know I'll have math, and I'm not thrilled about it because I'm not the best at math." Emma had always excelled academically, but math was her one perpetual weakness.
Her father lowered the newspaper, sighing softly. "Well, just try to relax. Remember, it's just high school, not college. Just do your best—that's what your mother would say."
The mention of her mother's absent advice stung. She stood, tossing the wrapper into the trash with more force than necessary. As she pulled her bookbag onto her shoulder, she turned back to her father.
"Do you think she's coming around...?"
He raised a brow, his gaze finally meeting hers, confused by the sudden question. "To what specifically?"
She shrugged, leaning back against the cool wall. "I don't know... with me dating Blake, with me dropping all the stuff she put me into.
She seems mad at me over all this. She hasn't had a full conversation with me since the dinner we had with Blake days ago." Emma had never been that close to her mother, and they rarely had long conversations in the first place, but she could still notice the subtle, chilling change. The cold shoulder her mother was giving her felt like a physical weight.
"She'll come around, Emma. I'm sure of it. Just give it some time," he said, his voice flat with finality before picking the newspaper back up, the paper-thin shield hiding his face. He was obviously trying to avoid the conversation surrounding her mother.
"I'm just saying, it would be nice if Mother would actually try to support my decisions instead of acting like she doesn't even remember my existence," she said with a huff, pushing herself off the wall. Before her father could respond, a car horn beeped outside. She walked to the front door, letting it slam shut behind her—a small but satisfying punctuation mark on her frustration.
Her hand was clenched so tightly around her bookbag strap that her knuckles were white. She saw Blake leaning back against his Mustang, the morning sun glinting off the polished chrome.
He was wearing his school uniform, but the top few buttons of his shirt were casually undone, and the sleeves were pushed up his forearms—a subtle rebellion against the school’s dress code. His usual collection of decorated rings adorned his fingers, catching the light as he noticed her upset expression. He tilted his head slightly, his gaze soft. She pressed her lips together, praying he wouldn't ask her what was the matter. She didn't have the energy to talk about it, to put the hurt into words.
He walked around the car, opening the door for her. She climbed inside, the familiar scent of his car—a mix of leather and engine oil—immediately calming her. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice barely audible. She leaned her head against the cool glass of the window as he ran around to his side of the car.
On the whole ride to school, he didn't press her on what was wrong, which she was grateful for. He simply reached across the center console and took her hand, his fingers lacing with hers in a gesture of silent support. The rumble of the engine was a steady comfort, a rhythm against the anxiety in her chest.
He wanted to know what was upsetting her, she knew, but he also respected her enough to understand that some feelings needed to be felt in quiet. He knew that when she was ready to talk, she would, and he would be there to listen.
YOU ARE READING
It Started With Hello
Romance***** Emma Pear knew she wasn't the most popular girl in high school. Her nose was usually buried in a textbook, and her grades were as spotless as her reputation for always following the rules. "Nerd" was a label she'd long since embraced. Her pare...
