"How many pancakes would you like?" Mrs. Grant asked. "One is perfect," I said, taking a seat. She slid me a pancake and I reached over across Michelle and stole the syrup. "Did you girls have fun last night?" Mrs. Grant asked. "As much fun as you can at a soccer game," Michelle answered, taking a bite of her pancake. "Were there any cute boys?" she asked. "It was a boys soccer game," Michelle said, with a laugh. "We managed to find two." Mrs. Grant laughed, taking her coffee and leaving the kitchen. "So are you still a member of Gold's Gym?" I asked Michelle, as we munched on our pancakes. She gave me a look out of the corner of her eye. "Do not look at me like that." "Like what?" "Like I'm broken." "I don't think you're broken." I took another bite of my pancake, the silence stretching between us. "And to answer your question, yes I'm still a member at Gold's," Michelle said, looking over at me. "Why?" "Because I was thinking about rejoining." I took another bite of my pancake. "I'm supposed to keep active, it's healthy." "I don't disagree," Michelle said, fully turning to face me. "But as your best friend, it's my duty to be honest with you." I knew this was coming. And I knew she'd be a lot easier to deal with than Emmett. "Hit me." "You just got back a week ago," she reminded me. "Instead of starting with a gym membership, you should start with something smaller." That was not nearly as bad as I thought it would be. I nodded, absorbing her advice. "Like what?" "Instead of joining the gym, why don't you come as my guest a couple of times a week to start off with?" "Well you're my best friend, and I trust you. So if you think that's a good idea, then I'm game." She sipped her orange juice, smiling at me. "Now you have to tell Emmett." ~*~ "What kind of dressing is that?" Emmett asked, reaching over and taking a bite of my salad. "Hush," Ms. Calvary ordered, glaring at the two of us. "It's Italian," I informed him, taking a bite of my own salad. "There is no talking in lunch detention," she informed us. Emmett rolled his eyes. We sat in silence for about a minute. "It was so peaceful in the apartment this morning," Emmett informed me. "Why's that?" I asked, with a laugh. "Because there wasn't any arguing." Well that wasn't going to be a problem. I didn't plan on talking to Parker Adams for the rest of my life. "What's up with that look on your face?" Emmett asked, using his spoon to circle my face. "No talking!" Mrs. Calvary ordered. Emmett sighed, slumping down in his seat. I made it through most of my salad before Mrs. Calvary wandered off to the opposite side of the room, observing a painting on the wall. "Why did you look like you ate a lemon when I mentioned Parker?" Emmett asked me. "Because I don't like him?" "Well I know that, but you usually reserve that look for extreme occasions." I finished off my salad, avoiding the question. I didn't want to tell Emmett about what happened at the game last night. I don't imagine him taking it well. "Emily Winston, what are you keeping from me?" "Parker and I just got into a disagreement." "Don't you do that daily?" "If you two do not stop talking, I will put you both in ISS," Mrs. Calvary informed us, returning to our table. Emmett let out a sigh. I sipped on my water, staring at the clock. Lunch always seemed ten times longer in lunch detention. Emmett twirled his spoon around on his fingers. "You're dismissed," Mrs. Calvary informed us, letting us go 3 minutes early. I couldn't be more grateful. "What kind of disagreement?" Emmett asked me, as we left the classroom. Oh right. "It was just about London." Emmett stopped, grabbing my arm and forcing me to stop as well. "Ow," I complained, jerking my arm away from him. "What about London?" "Emmett, you're making a big deal of nothing." "Emily, I know when you're hiding something." He tilted his head to side-to-side. "Most of the time." Okay, ouch. "Parker just poked some fun at me about London, and I might have snapped and told him I was in rehab for Anorexia and told him that he's a dumbass. Not that he didn't deserve it, because he did. And I'm not sorry for it or anything." Emmett stared at me, wordlessly. "So you won't have to worry about our daily arguments anymore," I said, placing my hands on my hips. "Because I will never speak with him again." ~*~ By the time I got home, Emmett was already at work and Parker was gone. It was a beautiful silence. I pulled out a Beatles vinyl, playing it on the record player as I started on my homework. Michelle had asked me if I'd wanted to join her at the gym this afternoon, and I did more than anything. But I hadn't had the chance to talk to Emmett about it yet, and I didn't want to do anything behind his back. He already had enough reasons not to trust me; I didn't want to give him another one. So I declined Michelle's offer, and I now I'm glad that I had. I love relaxing evenings with just me and a vinyl. Preferably Grease, but I don't mind the Beatles either. As I retook my seat after switching the vinyl to the opposite side, the song Hard Day's Night now blaring through the speakers, the door opened. I hoped it was Emmett, but I knew it was too early for him to be home from work. Parker came in, texting on his phone. He stopped short when he heard the music, and his eyes flickered over to me, where I was typing my English paper on the couch. "Hey," Parker said, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. I ignored him, starting a new paragraph on my paper. I was almost finished. "Can we talk?" I opened up a new tab on Google Chrome, searching for another article to add to my Works Cited. Parker walked over to the record player and turned off my Beatles vinyl. "Hey!" I protested, looking up at him. "Well you said something to me," he pointed out. "Put my music back on." "Hear me out first." "Kiss my ass." He opened his mouth to snap something at me, but then quickly shut it again. He was probably going to comment on the fact that I didn't have one, like he did the other day, but then decided not to. He was treating me differently, just like everybody else. I shook my head, rolling my eyes as I found another article to add to my paper. "I'm sorry." "Good to know." "I didn't know." "Obviously." He sighed. "Does it bother you when I comment on the fact that you lack an ass?" I looked up at him. He was probably expecting me to give him a smartass reply. "No." He seemed taken aback by the fact I'd given him an actual answer. "You were the only person that didn't treat me differently," I said, looking back down at my computer screen. "Until now." "I'm sorry about the way that we came around to it," he said. "But I'm not sorry that I found out." "I am," I said, looking back at him. "I have enough people in my life that treat me like I'm diseased. I don't need to add you to my list." He threw his hands up in the air in mock surrender. "You're the one judging me." I rolled my eyes, but I didn't have anything to say to that. Because he was right. Just the thought of that made me shudder. Parker Adams was right about something. "Look, I don't really care why you were in London," he said, after a few moments of silence. "An eating disorder, drug rehab, special ed classes, whatever." I rolled my eyes. Typical Parker Adams. "But if you're just going to sit there and ignore me it's going to make living together kind of awkward." "It's already awkward," I mumbled. "I asked your brother if we could kick you out," Parker informed me. "He said no." I looked up at him in disbelief. He shrugged, no sign of an apology on his face. "So the point is that we're both stuck here." "You could leave." "No can do Princess." "Don't call me that." He smiled at me. "Does it bug you?" "Yes!" His smile widened. "Duly noted Princess." Okay, I walked myself right into that one. "So let's just make the best of the situation?" Parker suggested. "I won't treat you like you're diseased, and you just pretend like you don't hate me." "Why does it matter whether I hate you?" "Because your brother might actually kill me next time." I let out a groan. "What did that idiot do?" "Doesn't matter," he said, with a shrug. "Just do it for the greater good." "The greater good? You're calling yourself the greater good?" "I'm calling us having to live together the greater good," he corrected. "It's only for the rest of my Senior year, I think we can manage." I let out a sigh. "So do we have a deal?" Parker asked. "I guess," I agreed. He turned around and restarted my vinyl before heading back to his bedroom. "Oh," he said, peeking out from the hallway. "It's your night to make dinner. And try not to make it taste like road kill this time."