Finding Emma

zero

"Trouble, nothing but trouble," is the only comprehensible thought running through my mind as I push open the looming metal doors of Pinewood High. It's only the first day of senior year, and I'm already regretting climbing out of bed this morning. Pulling down the inappropriately short skirt of my emerald-green and silver cheer outfit, I walk briskly through the wide halls with my head held high.

"Hey, Emma! Good to see you!"

"Emma! You look so pretty today!"

I nod in response to some of my fellow students trying to catch my attention, smiling as much as I can muster. The last thing I want to do today is walk through these hallways with a happy mask on my face, acting like everything is perfect in my life as these dummies pine after my attention. I have much bigger things to worry about, like finding my locker before I'm late to homeroom.

After a few more glances at my schedule to drill my locker number into my brain, and another couple of absent-minded waves at my classmates, I determine that my locker is downstairs. Lovely, just lovely. I rush down the large staircase as quickly as my toned legs can get me (cheerleading pays off a bit, I guess) and speed-walk to my locker, opening it quickly and shoving my backpack inside. Keeping my phone, earbuds, pencil case, and a small notebook with my schedule stapled to the first page, I slam my locker shut and turn on my heel, making my way to homeroom. I tug on my super-tight, sleek ponytail that keeps my long, wavy light-blonde hair perfectly tucked away from my face, stepping into the classroom just as the tardy bell rings.

"Emma, so glad you could join us," my homeroom teacher for the year, Mrs. Bell, I think her name is, remarks rather sarcastically towards me.

"I was in the room before tardy bell," I remind her as politely as I can, scanning the desks for the neon pink paper with my name on it. Since my last name is Russo, I find my seat at a desk towards the back of the room.

"Indeed you are," Mrs. Bell mutters, rolling her eyes and shuffling through some papers on her desk.

I sigh, already fed up at only 8:30 in the morning. "I can do this," I murmur silently to myself, plugging my sharpie-decorated earbuds into my phone and popping one bud into my right ear. I put on Demi Lovato in hopes of boosting my mood, because, let's face it, she is the epitome of girl-power. As Mrs. Bell begins droning on about class procedures that we've all memorized by this point in our high school career thanks to hearing about them so much, I let myself get lost in the heart-pounding ballad, reminding myself that I can handle today. And the next 180 days of the rest of this school year, give or take.

Once homeroom finishes, I bolt out of class before anyone can stop me and head upstairs to Algebra II Trig. It's just my luck I get math first thing in the morning, but I guess there are pros and cons to it. Mr. Wright is a young, lanky man, most likely in his early twenties, with dark hair and a light beard. His piercing green eyes are what stand out though, along with the sharpness of his jaw. He is certainly handsome, but there's an odd disconnect between the size of his head and the thinness of his body. He manages to keep everyone's attention though, including mine, which is a feat for me when it comes to math. Hopefully this is a good omen for the rest of the year.

Between math and American Sign Language, I stop back at my locker to grab my binder for the class, since it's just down the hall from the classroom. As I'm switching out my books, a pair of large hands falls over my eyes, blocking out the light that lines the deep green and white halls.

"Guess who," someone whispers into my ear, and I bite my lip to keep myself from rolling my eyes under his hands.

"Hey, Bradley," I turn, plastering on a bright, flawless smile with my pink-painted lips. My boyfriend of 8 months peers down at me, twirling a piece of my ponytail around his finger, smirking smugly.