Almond Boy

Almond Boy - 9

The next time Emma comes, she takes up most of the bench. She sets her bag on the ground and pulls her cart to her left side - it seems to stand taller than she does. She makes sure the tubes from the cart don't get tangled around the metal stand, and pulls off the oxygen tank, setting it on the bench to her left. 

Elliot is staring at a drawing in his sketchbook, but he hears a whirring that reminds him of his humidifier back at home, and he immediately lifts up his head, wondering where the Hell he is. 

Then he sees Emma and her oxygen tank, and he nearly drops his sketchbook. 

"Emma?" he asks, his voice wavering. She looks very different, in just a span of a few days. Her face is pale 

"Please stop looking at me like that," she says immediately. She hasn't even glanced at him, she hasn't looked away from the Tennis courts, but she knows the exact look on Elliot's face. His big brown eyes wide with his dark eyebrows up, and his blotchy red face getting redder just looking at her, just hearing the click and whoosh and whir of her oxygen tank, just hearing her breathe. 

"Sorry. I know it sucks." 

"Do you?" 

Elliot tenses up for a moment, ready to shoot a comment right back, but takes a deep breath and relaxes. It's just her being frustrated, don't take it personally, he reminds himself. 

"Emma, trust me. I've been on this bench longer than you have, I get it," he says. 

Emma smiles for a moment and drops her head, resting it in her hands. "Sorry, I know. I'm just a little done, is all." 

"Don't say that."

"Huh?"

"You're not done. You're upset, but you're not done."

"What difference does it make?"

Elliot turns over to his bag of almonds and grabs a handful, dropping them in her hand one by one. 

"Done gives the idea that you're finished. That there is nothing left, and that's not true." 

Emma smiles and looks down at her hand, filled with little teardrop shaped nuts. 

"Why'd you give me almonds, Almond-Boy?"

"You say you're hungry, and they're good for protein, too. And that's what you need, right?" 

"How do you know that?"

Elliot frowns and puts his hand on her shoulder. 

"Ms. Shipman explained your condition after the incident."

"Oh." Elliot can watch as Emma recedes, crouching lower and lower over her knees. "I wish she wouldn't have done that," Emma whispers, dropping her head.

"So you know."

"Yup." 

"Everyone does?"

Elliot lets out a sigh and nudges her with his elbow, hoping this is somewhat good enough as a reassurance, or a condolence, he isn't sure which. 

"Yup." 

"That's why I got the pity party when I first came in. Funny how no one's dared said the words yet, though." 

"Cystic Fibrosis," Elliot says bluntly. Emma smiles at first, but laughs and soon it's a big grin with her white teeth shining behind her red mouth. 

"Well, everyone except you." 

"Emma?" Emma hears her name being called and looks up to see Claire, whose black hair is up in a ponytail, her bright pink clothes showing brightly on her slightly, naturally tanned skin.