28
I am so dead.
That was the only coherent thought running through my mind as I watched Emma’s face contort from a half-smirk to something much more dangerous. I swear, in the span of two seconds, she went from smug to full-on dragon about to breathe fire.
Her eyes widened in slow motion, her mouth forming a silent "Whaaa—" like her brain needed time to process what I'd just blurted out. And her nose—my God—her nose actually flared. I’m not exaggerating when I say I half-expected smoke to puff out of it.
This is it. My final hour. Goodnight, world.
My instincts screamed at me to flee—bolt through the door, climb out a window, dig a tunnel to safety—anything to escape the sheer wrath radiating off Emma. My legs twitched with the urge to run, and I was just about to do it when I heard her voice.
Low. Dangerous. Controlled in that terrifying way that meant it was the calm before the storm.
"What did you just say?"
I froze. Every muscle in my body locked up as if obeying some survival instinct older than civilization. Don't move. Don't breathe. Maybe if you’re really still, she won’t see you.
Too late for that though, because I’d already said it. Asked it, really. But still.
I stood there facing the other direction, praying for divine intervention, the second coming, or at the very least, a spontaneous power outage.
But none came.
I inhaled, regretting it instantly because now my breath was loud, and it sounded like guilt. Slowly, slowly, I turned around.
Emma was red. And not the kind of red that meant she was flustered or mildly annoyed. No, this was rage red. The kind that travels up your neck, stains your cheeks, burns your ears, and makes your whole face look like a pressure cooker seconds from bursting.
"I. Am. Jealous???"
Oh no. Oh no no no. I poked the dragon, and now she was awake.
Her eyes narrowed into slits, and her eyebrows drew together with such intensity they could have started a forest fire. She looked like a completely different person—someone I definitely shouldn’t have joked with. And now she was walking toward me in slow, deliberate steps.
Naturally, I took a step back.
Wrong move.
Her eyes sparked like lightning, and I swear I heard her growl under her breath.
“E-Emma, I-I d-didn’t—”
"You didn’t what, Jenny?"
My whole body was trembling. Palms sweaty, heart pounding in my throat, underarms soaked—honestly, it was a biological betrayal on all fronts. The girl I liked was advancing on me like I just insulted her ancestors and set her dog on fire.
We stared at each other—her radiating fury and me radiating pure fear. I was seconds from peeing myself.
"Why would you say that I’m jealous?" she demanded.
"I—I didn’t say you were jealous, I-I just asked if you—"
"It’s the same thing, Jenny. You wouldn't ask unless you thought I was."
My back hit something hard. The doorknob.
Trapped.
She kept walking toward me, determined, fierce, eyes locked on mine like a predator. My breath caught in my chest. A few more steps and there would be no space left between us. No escape route. Just her and me, and this air heavy with everything unsaid between us.
And then, just when I thought she might actually back me into the wall and throttle me, she stopped. Half a meter away. So close I could see the little flecks of gold in her hazel eyes, the subtle rise and fall of her chest.
"Do you think I’m jealous of that… that flirt?" she hissed. "Do you think I didn’t notice what she was trying to do the entire time? That I’m blind or stupid? Let me tell you something, Jenny, I would never be jealous over a cheap, desperate trick like that!"
Her words were sharp, but underneath the venom, I heard it. The crack in her voice. The pain trying to claw its way out of her chest.
I should have kept my mouth shut. Should have nodded, apologized, offered her a cookie, something. But I was frozen in place, mesmerized.
And then she kept going.
"Just because you cooked for her once doesn’t mean I care. So what if you were best friends before? If you did all your little routines, your inside jokes, your innocent touches. You think that matters to me? That I’d waste time being jealous over her? We’re just… friends."
That pause. That tiny breath of hesitation between "just" and "friends."
It hit me like a punch to the chest.
She didn’t believe that.
She didn’t want that.
Her voice had changed. No longer angry. No longer sharp. Just soft. Sad.
It was the sadness that cracked something open in me, something I’d been burying under all this confusion and denial.
Was that what she really thought? That she had to pretend not to care? That she had to watch me stumble around with Kate and say nothing because she had no right to?
And suddenly the fear that had paralyzed me before… disappeared.
It was replaced by something warmer. Something fluttering in my chest and prickling at my skin.
Hope.
I looked at her differently now. Not like a ticking time bomb, but like someone I wanted to get closer to. Someone whose pain I wanted to erase. Someone I might be falling for.
And when I glanced down at her lips, I noticed something else.
She was already looking at mine.
And then—God help me—she licked her lips. Just a quick flick of her tongue, probably subconscious, but it set every nerve in my body on fire.
I felt heat flush my skin, throb through my chest, pulse low in my belly.
Oh no.
“Emma?” I asked, voice low.
She blinked slowly, like she was still caught in the space between fight and flight.
"Hmm?" she replied, barely audible.
I swallowed. The words trembled on my tongue but came out anyway.
"Do you… want me to kiss you?"
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