TASTE OF YOU . . . percabeth

sixteen

EMMY HAD FORGOTTEN about her angst regarding Annabeth Chase until interior design class the next day.

In her defense, she was tired. She'd barely gotten any sleep last night as she'd tossed and turned in bed until eventually she'd gotten tired of it and gone to work on the things she'd neglected to ride on Blackjack with Percy.

Which, totally worth it, by the way. If Emmy closed her eyes for long enough, she could feel the wind blowing through her hair, the cold air ripping through her jacket. The feel of her arms around Percy's waist, his smirk alighting nerves in her she didn't know she had, the kiss they shared right before he'd left her.

Ugh. She shouldn't think of that. It meant nothing anyway. He just wanted to be a better kisser. And why not practice through Emerson Sinclair? She is a great kisser. She knows it, and now he knows it, and—

"Hey, you awake over there?" a voice appeared out of literally nowhere.

Realistically, Emmy should've known better. But she wasn't thinking straight. Her mind was too sleep-addled after not getting a wink of sleep in the last twenty-four hours or something. She flinched, and would've probably screamed of fright if her brain didn't know that she was in school. At least it could do one thing right.

"Sorry." Annabeth sat next to her, slower than usual. "Did you get any sleep last night?"

Emmy relaxed when she realized it was Annabeth. "No, I was . . ." her mind wandered, then she forgot what the question was. "I, uh . . ."
   
"Don't tell me you were overworking yourself." Annabeth set her backpack down, concern clear in her eyes as she examined Emmy. "You know better."

"Says you," Emmy instantly retorted as if she was a child. She felt like one. She always got more whiny when she was running on no sleep.

But maybe she wanted to be a child. For all her talk of turning sixteen, she was dreading getting older. Sixteen felt like adulthood. She'd grown up faster than she probably should have. Then she'd slave her life away to be the CEO of the Sinclair company and then move on to become a politician.

She wanted that life. She knew it, everyone else knew it. She just didn't expect it to creep up so quickly.

It's her fault that it is, though. If she hadn't killed her mother . . .

"Hey." Annabeth's voice cut in just as Emmy started spiraling, pulling her out of the dark hole of her mind at just the right time. "Sleep on me. Come on."

"Buy me dinner first, why don't you," Emmy muttered, ducking her head to scratch at the back of her neck. Sleep did sound really good right about now . . .

"Not what I meant, Em. You need sleep," insisted Annabeth. "And, besides, I've paid for your dinner multiple times since we've known each other. Come on. Put your head on my shoulder."

Of course Emmy relented. How could she not? It was Annabeth.

"You'd better wake me up," muttered Emmy.

"I thought you knew me better than that," replied Annabeth, sliding Emmy's laptop to her — probably to play the Sims, as per usual. She could've said something else, but Emmy fell asleep before she could register anything else.

When she woke up, it was to not-so-gentle shaking. She forced her eyes open, blinked at her surroundings, and sat up straight.

"I forgot how long it takes for you to wake up," commented Annabeth, closing Emmy's laptop and sliding it back to her. "Especially when you're sleep deprived. You should get more sleep."

"I try." Emmy grabbed her laptop and shoved it in her bag. If it was broken, she'd deal with the consequences later.

"Then try harder."