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03: The Perfect Picture of Idiocy

03: The Perfect Picture of Idiocy

When I woke up to my alarm clock the next morning, I grinned and quickly organized my space. I grabbed a banana from their counter and went into the locker room to shower.

Afterward, I had about an hour left until six. Teachers would be getting there by six thirty or seven, so I had time.

I got completely ready. My hair went into a French braid and I left the school through the gym.

Since I had so much time, I went into a donut shop and grabbed a coffee and a croissant. The man smiled and handed me my meal.

The school was not a bad place to stay, really. The only downside was getting up extra early to cut out before people were there, but that wasn't even much of a problem. It had hot water, food, and I would have money since I didn't have to pay bills and such.

Maybe I could even have a phone with all of the money I'd save.

At lunchtime that day, I sat down and ate a lunch that I'd paid for happily. It wasn't much, since I didn't even have a significant amount of money difference, but I spent it in confidence.

Suddenly, a tray clanked down noisily next to me and I looked over. "What are you doing?" I asked Emmett in confusion.

"Sitting?" he said unsurely. "You looked far too happy over here. Had to come over and sour your mood."

"Thanks," I said dryly.

It went silent and I quickly finished my apple—okay, so it wasn't a big lunch—before sitting quietly. "So, um..." He trailed off uncertainly and I knew what question was on the tip of his tongue before he even asked it.

"Yes, I figured it out," I sighed. "Everything is fine."

"What did you do?"

"That's my business," I said. No one could know I was in the school teachers' lounge. It was humiliating, and I could probably get into serious trouble for it.

He let out a breath and kept at his tray. "It must be pretty stressful," he suddenly said. "Being on your own, I mean."

"Pretty stressful is an understatement," I said with wide eyes. "Next time your parents say you have to obey them because you're living under their roof, just obey them. It's better than this." He laughed along with me and I threw my apple core away at the trashcans close to me.

"I'm sorry. I mean, about your parents. I don't think I told you while you were sober," he said sadly. I nodded and leaned on my hand, my elbow on the table.

"It's been a long time." Implying that it didn't hurt was hard. Especially when time did absolutely nothing to help.

Whoever made that up was absolutely silly.

"It's probably still hard," he pressed.

Nodding, I looked over at him. "It is."

"You don't have to pretend you've moved on. I can't imagine it," he continued.

"If you say it ought to hurt so much, why do you insist on talking about it?" I sighed wearily. It didn't sound snappy, but I was over this conversation about two milliseconds in.

He looked down and took the last bite of his lunch. "Sorry. I'm just.. I don't know. I guess I'm just curious."

"You shouldn't be," I said irritably. "You got more out of me in less than an hour than someone else would have learned within months. I'd say you ought to be satisfied with what you have."