Emerson Castell loves facts.
Enjoying the how and why of everything, she never fails to let her obsession seep into every aspect of her life, including her relationships - or lack thereof.
Leo Caruso is no stranger to a busy social life, but after...
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Sometimes I wondered why I even set an alarm, considering how many times I woke up during the night, but it felt safe. Comforting. Familiar.
And so very useless.
I sighed and lay in my bed staring at the ceiling for a few minutes, kicking my soft gray sheets off of my body from how stuffy my room felt.
"Coffee." My dad uttered that one simple word as he handed me a giant white mug full of it when I walked into the kitchen later.
I thanked him with a smile and sat down at the table. I took a sip of the burning hot liquid as he sat down on the other side of the table to finish his breakfast, faking to myself that the caffeine could alleviate the effects of persistent lack of sleep.
"So, how do you feel?" he asked me, taking a giant mouthful of nearly burnt toast. He was in a hurry, yet even as late as he could possibly be, he would never miss out on breakfast with me. "My little Emmie is starting her last year of high school."
"Don't call me Emmie," I answered, knowing he was aware that I hated that nickname. "And to answer your question, it feels like every other first day of school. Too soon."
"Trust me, the years will pass by, and before you know it, you'll be forty-eight years old, shoving dry toast in your mouth, and pretending like you don't have a meeting in thirty minutes," he told me, standing up and downing the last of his coffee. He set it down on the table with a thud before realizing there was a little more left and bringing it back to his lips.
"Always keeping things real, Dad," I remarked, looking down at my phone. I already had five texts from my friend, Flynn, complaining about how it should be illegal to be awake before eight in the morning.
"Oh, Emerson, can you make sure to walk Mason to school today?" my dad asked me as he adjusted the top buttons of his collared gray shirt.
"Yeah, no problem," I answered, getting up and giving him a hug. He ruffled the top of my hair when we let go, and I frowned at him since he knew how much l hated that, too.
I was seventeen, not five.
Shortly afterwards my little brother Mason came running into the kitchen at full speed, his Captain America backpack half the size of his body about to fall off his shoulders.
"I'M READY TO GO!" he yelled at the top of his lungs, running around me in circles. I caught onto his arm and made him stop in front of me before he ran right through the backdoor. He looked up at me with huge brown eyes and a gaping smile. I placed my hands on both of his shoulders and looked at him back.
"Hey, kid, I know you're excited to get going already, but we don't need to leave for another twenty minutes."
"But I got up early."
My gaze moved upwards to the sleepy human walking into the room like an actual zombie. "Speaking of early, I can spot someone who's not," I told Max, eyeing his checkered pajama pants and disheveled hair.
