As soon as the bell rang, the school burst with noise. Shoes scampered and squeaked across the roughly-polished tile, and like a tipped glass of milk the students began spilling through the doors and spreading about the courtyard.
Buses tooted and chuffed, cars rattled and puttered, whistles shrilled and tweeted, the Patrols hailed and directed. There were last-minute card trades under the pressure of time as a ploy of leverage. There were hurried arrangements of sleepovers and weekend get-togethers. There was the excitement of the freedom to come, especially without the dread of a looming standardized test just on the horizon.
Over the course of fifteen minutes, the commotion died down. Once the buses sucked in their breaths and chugged along, and all but the last few to be picked up by late parents impatiently paced, the courtyard became almost eerily quiet.
Emeral was used to this transition. Even before staying late to wait for Ket to study for the promotional exams, they would bide their time so that no one saw them walk home together. Even though she had no real reason to, for she was alone this afternoon, she delayed her journey.
Maybe doing so was akin to muscle-memory.
Through the cafeteria window, she spotted her best friend pacing along the sidewalk. She dashed toward the door, nearly throwing her balance off entirely with her backpack, and hailed her friend as she passed into the humid air.
Lyza paused, looking up. “Hey, Emmy.” She said, sounding anxious to get home under her breath.
”I'm glad I caught you.” The tigress said, pacing with her friend.
She looked out to the street. “What's up?” She asked, consciously trying to keep herself from sounding distant.
”Rini was looking for you during recess,” the tigress folded her arms. “I actually didn't know where you were, but even if I did I wouldn't have told her.” She spoke with reassurance. “So... where were you, exactly?”
The rabbit shrugged. “Um... I was in the computer room.” She admitted.
”Really?” Emeral scratched her neck. “I didn't think that was open.”
Lyza lowered her eyelids. “it's not, actually. Don't... Don't tell anyone, okay?”
The tigress grinned. “Oh my gosh... did you sneak in there?” She nudged her friend.
The rabbit shook her head, “No, I asked. It's just... Mrs. Kinbrook doesn't want anyone else to ask and for it to blow up into a thing.”
”I get it,” Emeral nodded. “Well, anyway. Rini didn't find you, did she?” A head shake. “Good. You know if she ever bothers you,” she brought her hands up and smacked one fist to the other. “A girl is allowed to hit another girl.”
They both looked out as a car-horn let off a nose-honk. It was her brother, turning into the school's lane.
Lyza straightened her backpack. “You're jumping to conclusions.” She replied curtly.
Emeral's posture eased into confusion. “About what?”
”She was looking for me cuz she wanted to give something back.”
”Hey... I didn't really mean it.” The tigress insisted. “You know I'd never hurt anyone, right?”
She adjusted her backpack again out of agitation. “For future reference, you don't have to do anything.” She grumbled.
The tires of the car came to a gritty stop, as if to put decisiveness in her statement with no room for argument.
”Hello, sissy. Hey, Emmy.”
”Hi, Kavl,” the tigress waved limply, her attitude a bit fizzled by her friend's responses.
”You need a ride home—or are you gonna walk, like Ket?”
”Like Ket?” She asked rhetorically.
”Yeah. He waited with you... It was last Friday, right?” He asked to his sister, who shrugged.
”I'll um... I'll just walk home. I have some chores to do, anyway, so I'll take my time to put them off.” She grinned.
”Sure,” he said, “Hey, wait,” he admonished his sister, about to shut the door. “We all should do something to celebrate you guys taking the test. I'm thinking ice-skating again and then maybe some ice cream tomorrow. Whaddaya say? Chill-out now that it's all done?”
”Um... Ket's actually sick, so he probably won't be able to tomorrow.”
”Oh, that's a shame... Well, we'll figure something out, when he gets better.” He gave her the phone-gesture. “Call me when you get home.”
She waved with a nod as Lyza finally shut the door, and the car rolled along.
* * *
Emeral sighed with relief as she stepped into her home, locking the muggy air that hung on her shoulders the whole walk home outside. The alarm beeped its threat until she typed in the code to calm it down. It tweeted and quieted its ruckus, content.
As if to greet her like Alfred to Bruce Wayne, the air-conditioner crackled to life.
She dropped her backpack and tugged off her stuffy, smothering shoes to leave at the door. Reaching up on her tip-toes, she pressed the button to arm the alarm, and it happily poised to red-alert for her like an attentive guard-dog.
Despite the air-conditioning, she still felt sticky and greasy, especially her neck. She made her way to the bathroom to wash her face. She plucked a hair-tie, gathering her bleach-white locks into a crude pony-tail. In the hallway, she peeled off her socks as she walked, and dropped them into the open hamper. She would start the laundry later.
She took in a breath. Now that she had dealt with those annoyances, she was beginning to hear the silence. It settled like the pollen outside; finding its way into every nook and cranny, and covering everything. She turned the TV on in the living room. It blasted her with volume, making her start and half hide behind the couch. She turned it down to a moderate droll and turned it to a court-show.
Aside from CSI or other crime shows, she strangely enough enjoyed the dramatized shows like Judge Judy. It was a little fact she even hid from Ket; a sort of guilty pleasure brought on from her dad's stories of weird court cases he had taken part in.
Plus, they served as unobtrusive white-noise.
Feeling less encroached by the lack of sound and strange in her own home, she found another annoyance to deal with. Her stomach was a bit growly. She went back into the kitchen, noticing this time how pleasantly cool the tile was, and pulled open the door to the fridge.
She thought maybe to warm up some Insta-Mac, but even that felt like too much trouble. Yogurt it was. Besides, the probiotics would help with her tummy rumbles if she ate it more often. She broke off a raspberry yogurt and retrieved a spoon.
The people in the court show began talking louder over one another. Their inflections, words, and arguing were always comically-unnecessarily intense. More like a couple of kids trying to blame the other for breaking the old antique lamp.
She scraped the spoon all along the sides and bottom of the plastic cup, intent on leaving not a dollop behind. Even while she collected the last little bit and slid the spoon between her lips, her pocket vibrated. The insistent buzzing was more felt than heard, as her phone was still on silent. Holding the spoon up by her teeth, she held the cherry-colored phone up to see the screen. The spoon twitched up as she smiled. She flipped the hinge up with her thumb, while at the same time slipping the spoon free and holding it against the yogurt cup in the other hand.
”You should be sleepin'.” She greeted.
”An' yo'o shou'be home, right?”
His voice had that peculiar tone that came with a heavy tongue weighed by some kind of antihistamine.
She giggled. “I'm home,” she reassured. “The alarm's on. But, what do you think you're doing all the way downstairs? You sound like you're about to fall over.”
”I'mm'uh'stairs.” He slurred. “Mom mov'zuh v'unn u'stairs from zuh kishen.”
”Quickwhat'stwoplustwo!?”
”Ngh? ...Buhn'nuhn'uh...”
She tried to stifle her laugh, but when he started to chuckle she couldn't help it. When she was able to calm down, she went to turn the sink on and wash the yogurt cup out.
”Iss'nuss infegsh'n, li'gya thaw't,” he told her.
”Yeah? Doc give you anything?”
”Mm-hmm. Smeh'z fuhny... Tay'ss' li'g san'.”
She took in a breath. “Ooo, is it Amoxicillin? I bet it is; I love that smell!” She said with a bit of envy. “It's like, kinda rainy, right?”
”Huhh... nuh, ih'sunny,” he replied, confused.
She giggled. “Aww, why don't we talk when you're more awake. Okay?”
He let out a sigh, like he didn't really want to agree, but the suggestion was nonetheless a good one. “Kay...”
She let out a soft hum, setting the spoon in the sink and cutting the water off. “Thanks for checkin' up on me.”
”Wel'gum.”
”No fever-dreams, got it?”
”Yuhn.” He replied, practically asleep already.
”Bye,” she chimed.
”Wai'eh'...” He muttered.
She heard a noise like he was turning over.
”Love you.”
The words were mustered; brought up from the antihistamine-induced bog of sleepiness with enough effort to be clear and conscious.
She smiled. “Love you, too.” She whispered. “Bye.” With a pang of sadness, she hit the end-call button.
Clasping her phone to her chest, she looked toward the kitchen window. The leaves of a potted plant her mom had hanging outside swayed in the gentle breeze.
Love you.
He made it clear. Even with a fever and taking who-knows-what other medicines, he was able to make it clear.
Maybe she was still just keen on his way of thinking; still picking up on little details like he does. Maybe she was putting more thought into it than really necessary.
She looked at her phone.
Those rusty gears felt like they were about to move earlier. It was like when he showed her to use colored markers to make math problems easier; something so obvious once she thought about it, but until then she suffered in her stubbornness.
Love.
A subject she wished they taught in school. She had held off on it. She didn't want to bother him while he was so focused on the RSBTs. After they had gotten back, the last thing she wanted to do was be a part in stressing him out like he was before.
Sure, the counselors had given some talks to her classes in the past about the thrill of The Chase, and what kind of actions were appropriate at school and all that. But it was... almost discouraged in that way. She had never thought about it that much, either. But, night after night, for the last several weeks, she found little else to ponder before falling off to sleep.
A dark blur whipped past the window, setting her to flinch. The potted plant pitched and swiveled, disturbed. Just a bird. She slid the phone back into her pocket and padded back toward the living room, but then paused.
She began to think again, a small debate happening behind her eyes. As it tossed back and forth, she turned, and folded her arms, shuffling down the hallway.
She wandered down it slowly, the advertisements that played on the TV taking on a slight echo. She paused at the door to her room, and reached for the knob. She held it a moment before turning it and pushing the door ajar. As it settled open just a few inches, she merely gazed into the rift.
It could be considered cheating. Taking the easy route. She had thought about it a few times before, but was always reluctant. Maybe it was because she had a moment of solitude, that up until now she had not had for a while. Maybe it was just the need to have something to go off of. Maybe she had actually been afraid of what she would find—or wouldn't.
Letting go of the knob, she walked further down the hall.
The office was quiet. She pushed the door open with the back of her hand. It only started to creak near the end of its swing. The blinded curtains to the left were mostly shut, letting through a gentle glow that spread in a semi-circle aslant the adjacent wall.
In almost a trance she walked to the computer chair, resting her hand on it. The rough texture was never pleasant to sit on, and she wished they would get a new one. Nevertheless, she climbed in and pulled the lever. The chair rose with an airy huff.
She clicked the mouse button. The fan whirred to life in that familiar way, and the ticking sounds followed like the click of typewriter keys at super speed. A moment later, the monitor light went from orange to blue, and the screen suddenly came to life.
A jarring mass of text showed up on the screen. No doubt her dad's homework. She minimized the document, and was greeted by the underwater scene that someone had picked as the desktop background for the time being.
Still in her half-trance, she wiggled the mouse until the arrow whizzed by her eyes. Locking onto it, she followed it to the left. She hovered the arrow over the browser for a moment, as if hesitant. She was reluctant to; it felt like cheating, she reminded herself again. Plus, what if she got caught or found out? She glanced back, the door half-shut behind her.
Looking back toward the screen, she replaced the cursor over the browser icon, and double-clicked.
It would be a start. A way to help him help her, she rationalized.
When the search engine came up, she reached for the keyboard. She ticked the keys deliberately, letting each one take its time.
What is...
...the meaning of life; ...the mass of the earth; …love; ...Victoria's secret
She felt a bit of relief. At least she wasn't the only one. She hit the arrow keys to select her search, and rested her pinkie on the enter key. Licking her lips, she depressed it.
The page instantly changed. The results of her embarrassing, yet genuine, query delivered to her very eyes.
One of the first results was of a video. She smiled, an idea of what it was in her mind. She clicked it. The tell-tale rush of a symbol being grazed came to her ears, then silence. At first, she thought the audio had broken, and looked over to the speakers. And then felt a shock as the words boomed through like a slap of cold wind to her face.
”What is love? Baby don't hurt me—Don't hurt me, no more.”
She quickly reached over and turned the volume down, a rush of embarrassment setting her hands and fingers afumble. Her heart pounded rapidly from the shock and punch of the loud music, but calmed over the instrumentals before the lyrics started again.
Her gaze was cocked away as she watched the cheesy music video, but even still she started to smile and laugh. When the chorus hit again, she couldn't help but bang her head. Resting her elbow on the desk, she clapped her palm to her forehead, silently giggling.
That's enough, she thought, closing the tab. But it certainly changed her mood; that was for sure. Now, as she looked at the other entries, she was certainly less intimidated and embarrassed. She selected the first thing she found underneath all of the music-related stuff.
A bit of dread came to her as she saw the text, but then what else was she expecting? Steeling herself and preparing for lots of apples grow on trees but grapes grow on leaves chants, she started to read.
The article was actually a few little articles all mixed together.
One talked about love being neurological and chemical. It sounded a little more like how the mothership-version of Ket would explain it, and as she reached the middle what charm it had reached its end.
Another separated love into several Latin-sounding words she could barely begin to pronounce. Ludus, Pragma, Agape, Philautia, and Eros. While promising, the descriptions were too generic. Maybe if they had examples or something.
After the first sentence of the third little article, she closed the page. Its way of talking was too... floaty. Too philosophical.
There was another article that talked about love being something you can't control or influence. That you just have to let it happen. When it started talking about more racy things, she closed the tab. That certainly didn't help. All it basically told her was she had no control and was entirely helpless.
Way to make me feel better.
The next few sources all started off the same, which quickly turned her down. Frustrated, she tried a new search term: Understand love. This is what she really wanted. Maybe love was hard to define, sure. Maybe you couldn't even control it, whatever.
But certainly it could be understood. Right?
And yet, these articles kept saying the same things. Some went as far as to give examples, but only of what love wasn't. She wiggled the mouse with agitation, lifting it and clapping it down a couple times.
This was why she was reluctant. Somehow, she knew this was going to leave her worse off than when she started. Heck, she could barely find five credible resources for all those dreadful research projects she had done at least twice a year since second grade. What made her think she'd find a credible source on this?
She went back, and found the video. She let it play again. Sitting back, tapping her foot against the side of the desk to the rhythm.
She thought back to that moment. That moment where he had yelled at her, and made her cry. Each time she remembered it, she felt like what she recalled was different from what had happened.
”What is love? Baby don't hurt me—Don't hurt me, no more...”
She smiled. Somehow, despite the scantily-clad vampire, the gaudy Gothic setting, and the incredibly dated music-style; she felt like this was telling her more than anything else.
And it didn't even try to answer the very question it asked.
