I Go To School. . .With The Vanoss Crew

Part Four

Johnathan
After all of that, we all decide to go back to Evan's house. Even Emma, who sticks close to Brock and I as we make our way down the street. Tyler called Scotty and told him to meet us there, so he'll be joining us too. I look over at Emma every once and awhile to make she's still there. I cringe everytime I do, because she's still there, but her eyes are pale and distant, her skin completely drained of its little bit of color. Brock notices to, and wraps his arm across Emma's back to steady her. Her breathing is light and shaky, and Brock whispers comforting words in her ear.
Soon, we come across a group of four boys. One with brown, wavy hair whistles at Emma, saying, "dang shorty can I get your number?" His friends laugh, and I can't help it, I turn and punch him right in the face.
"Back off play boy," Emma mutters, causing me to turn towards her. "I ain't got time for your crap." The boy whistles.
"Well," he says, gliding up in front of Emma and blocking her path, "fiesty aren't we? I like it." The boy moves closer, his lips puckered. Before I can move, Emma's fist hits the boy square in the kisser, then she sweep kicks him, knocking him to the ground. He looks up at her in shock.
"I said," Emma growls, stepping around the boy, "I ain't got time." She walks on ahead, and the others and I follow.
"That was awesome Emma," Evan exclaims. "I didn't know you knew how to fight." Emma just responds with a small nod and a grunt. Then, she closes her eyes and continues walking. My friends and I look at each other, then shrug and watch as Emma walks blindly- yet perfectly- down the street. It's like she memorized it. Probably has, I think. I walk quietly up to Emma and walk next to her. She's breathing deeply and easily, almost like she's. . .practicing. I don't blame her, she might have an anxiety attack if she doesn't. Poor girl's been through a lot today. Evan comes up on Emma's other side. He's about to say something to her, but I quickly motion for him not to say anything.
"Evan. John," Emma says, her eyes still closed, "what are you doing?" I jump in shock, and I see Evan bite his bottom lip. Niether one of us is willing to answer first.
"They're just making sure you don't fall in the street. Which is probably what your going to do with your eyes closed like that, dummy," Tyler says. Gee, thanks Ty, I think, way to go. Emma whips around and glares at Tyler. Then, she takes a deep breath and turns to Evan.
"How much longer?," she asks him kindly. Evan pats her shoulder gently.
"Not much, it's right in that neighborhood up ahead," Evan says, nodding at the houses slowly cresting into view. Emma takes another deep breath, and I link my arm with hers to steady her.
"Emma, are you okay?," Brock asks. "You don't look so good." Emma nods.
"Fine," she says, "just. . .going through an anxiety attack." Our eyes widen.
"Wow Em," Craig says, "you handle them surprisingly well."
"Actually," Emma says, her voice sounding a bit strained, "I've been. . .holding it back. If I let it out, you guy's will think I'm crazy." We all shake our heads quickly.
"Emma you can't hold stuff like this inside, it'll make you sick. Then what will you do?," Marcel asks. Emma's beginning to tremble.
"I don't know," she says, her voice cracking.
"That's it," Tyler says. He looks at Evan, Brock and I. "She seems to trust you guys the most." He points at the woods behind us. "Bring her in there and don't come out until the anxiety attack has passed and it's out of her system. We'll wait here." We nod and grab Emma. She doesn't even fight us as we drag her deep into the forest. Soon, we stop and set Emma down on the floor.
"Okay Em," Evan says softly, pushing her hair behind her ear. "It's okay. Go ahead let it out." Emma let's out a soft, short, high pitched cry, making me cringe with pity for her. I watch as she slowly unfolds.

Emma
Suddenly, before I can stop it, I'm screaming and crying hysterically on the forest floor. My body shakes with the force raging through my body. Suddenly, three pairs of arms hold me close to three bodies as I cry and scream. "Shh," I hear Evan coo softly. "It's okay. It'll all be over soon." With that, my screams are automatically replaced with low, quiet moans. "There you go," Evan says, stroking my hair. "Deep breaths Emma. Deep breaths." I turn my quick, shallow breathes into slow, deep ones. I don't know what it is about him, but something about Evan calms me. "It's almost over," he whispers. "It's okay. Brock, John and I are here for you. It's okay." I sniff and start to feel a bit tired. Finally, the anxiety attack is over, and I sigh calmly as the aches and throbs all over my body slowly begin to fade. I feel a bit tired, but before I can say anything, Brock helps me up and slings me over his shoulder. The slow movement of Brock somehow relaxes me even more and before I can ask him to set me down, I fall asleep.
When I wake up, I'm lying on a couch in a random house. Across from me, Evan is asleep on another couch, his feet on the armrest and a baseball cap pulled over his eyes. Confused, I turn my back to him, facing the back of the couch I'm on. Suddenly, I hear the couch behind me rustle, and I hear Evan whisper my name. "Emma," he whispers. I turn around and face him. He smiles and sits up. "You're awake," he says, his voice groggy and tired. I nod, my voice feeling to weak to use.
"Where am I Evan?," I ask. I take a deep breath because, like I said, my voice is weak. That one little sentence took a lot of effort.
"My house," Evan replies.
"And your parents are okay with this?," I ask.
"They're out of town for the weekend," he says. "It doesn't matter what they say." I laugh weakly, and he stands up. He grabs my hand and pulls me up off the couch and pulls me up some stairs. "Come on," he says, "we'll go up to my room." We go up the stairs and he pulls open a door about two feet away from the staircase. A light flicks on, and it reveals a bed with black covers and white pillows. Directly in front of the bed is a wooden wardrobe with a 75 inch flat screen in a big archway. Below that archway is a small shelf, which contains a PS3, PS4 and an Xbox 360 along with some controllers. In the back right corner, right next to the wardrobe, is a big, polished, wooden desk, which holds a silver, Windows brand computer, along with a wifi box and monitors, amongst other pieces of equipment and jumbles of wires. In the back left corner, next to the bed, is both an acoustic and an electric guitar. The walls of the room are black. There's one window on the left side of the bed, while another one lies in between the guitars and the desk, just above a black couch. The carpet on the floor is a fluffy white carpet that tickles my feet.
I realize that my jaw is practically unhinged from the rest of my mouth, and quickly snap it closed. I turn to Evan. "Ho-ly crap," I say to him. He laughs, still a bit tired.
"It's nothing special," he says.
"Are you trying to tell me. . .that all of this," I wave my arms wildly around at our surroundings, "is just like a regular grocery list item?" Evan laughs.
"No," he chuckles. I roll my eyes.
"Okay whatever rich guy." He laughs again and leads me further into the room. He grabs two controllers off of the shelf beneath the flat screen. He pushes one towards me.
"Want to play?," he asks me. I'm about to refuse, saying that I've never really played video games and therefore wasn't exactly the best partner. Then I realize that he'll just make me do it anyway, so I shrug and grab the controller from him. He smiles and fires up the Xbox. We sit on the edge of Evan's bed and, smiling at each other, begin to play.