Beastly (The Ever After Collection) (9 page)

CHAPTER SEVEN

Heath: Do you want to work on our project again this weekend?

Emma: Sure! Same time and place?

Heath: Okay.

It was Saturday again, the time on Emma’s phone reading nearly noon. She stared at the small exchange of texts for what had to have been the hundredth time since her cell had beeped Friday night and first informed her that she had a message from Heath.

She’d been stupidly delighted. Although they’d been friendly with each other since she’d followed him out to his car on Thursday and invited him to sit with her in the cafeteria – well, as friendly as Heath got, anyway – neither had bothered to bring up the subject of their project. She’d about resigned herself to having to bother him about working on it again when he’d taken the initiative and texted her.

Since their conversation – if the exchange of texts could be called that – however, Emma found herself second guessing suggesting her house as their meeting place. Mostly because she’d completely forgotten that her dad had the weekend off from work.

Miles was currently lounging on the opposite side of the sofa as Emma, watching some documentary or another on the Discovery channel as he dug into his second pork chop. Despite the cold, he’d grilled them a half an hour ago in the back yard – the only form of cooking he had ever bothered to master. As succulent as Emma’s pork chop had been, however, it hadn’t been enough to take her mind off of Heath’s impending visit. (Sawyer, though, was completely enraptured by his own portion of meat that her dad had been suckered into making for him and was still scarfing it down where Miles had set it on the floor.)

Her dad was such a pushover.

And way too trusting, really.

Emma had had the house to herself nearly every night since she’d turned twelve. For all her dad knew, she could being throwing keggars or sneaking boys into the place every other night. Emma wasn’t, of course, but that was beside the point. If she were any other seventeen-year-old, she probably would be. But she never had. Except, of course, that she
had
invited a boy over today as her dad was about to find out in two minutes-

Knock. Knock.

Scratch that, he was about to find out now.

“I’ll get it!” Emma shot up out of her seat and hurried towards the door before her dad could move a muscle. Sawyer, of course, didn’t even bother to look up from his pork chop at the sudden noise. He was completely useless as the guard dog he was originally intended for really.

“Hey,” Emma said, an involuntary smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as she pulled open the front door and took in Heath.

“Hey.” He looked much more at ease than he had the first time he’d shown up at her house. His shoulders were relaxed and his hands were loose at his sides, one holding onto the worn copy of
To Kill a Mockingbird
she’d loaned him last weekend.

“Who’s this?”

Heath immediately stiffened, and Emma had to fight the unreasonable urge to turn and scowl at her father, who’d gotten up out of his seat. He was staring Heath down, a perplexed frown on his mouth as he probably attempted to work out who he was and why his daughter seemed so familiar with him.

“Dad,” Emma said, a distinct warning to be nice in her tone, “this is my friend Heath.” “Friend” was a good a word as any to describe their odd relationship. “We’re partners for a literature project that's due at the end of the semester. I hope you don’t mind, but I invited him over to work on it this afternoon.”

Miles raised an eyebrow at that explanation, probably curious as to why she hadn’t mentioned the fact that Heath was coming over sooner.

Because she was stupidly nervous about introducing him to her father, that’s why.

“Of course I don’t mind,” he finally said, eyes zeroing back in on Heath who was standing as straight as Emma had ever seen him. “It’s nice to meet you, Heath.”

Emma tensed when he offered Heath his hand.

She released an inward sigh of relief, however, when Heath took his hand, accepting the firm shake instead of freaking out. Apparently that particular reaction was reserved for only when she touched him.

“It’s nice to meet you too, sir.”

Miles released Heath’s hand, and Emma ushered him inside as soon as her father stepped out of the way. Her dad didn’t let them in very far, however, before addressing Heath again. “I don’t think Emma’s ever mentioned you before, Heath. In fact, last I checked, Emma’s only ever had two real friends.”

“Dad!” Emma’s face burned in humiliation. As if Heath needed a reminder of what a friendless loser she was.

“What?” Miles asked. “You keep to yourself and rarely let anyone in is all I’m saying.” He glanced back at Heath, who looked like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to laugh or not. “Anyway, are you new in town?”

That
wiped the ghost of a grin off his face. He crossed his arms over his chest in obvious discomfort. “Yeah,” he mumbled, not divulging anything more.

Her father frowned but seemed to take the hint. “Alright, I suppose I should let you kids get on with it then.”

Thank God.

“I think we’re going to work in my room,” Emma informed her father as she ushered Heath in the direction of the stairs, “so just call if you need me, okay?”

“Sure,” he agreed, taking a step towards the coach before abruptly stopping and swinging back around. He rubbed the back of his neck in discomfort, a pink flush (Emma had inherited the damnable ability to blush at the drop of a hat from him) climbing up his face. “Just… make sure to keep your door open, alright?”

“Dad! We’re not going to be doing anything in there except for working!”

Miles sighed. “Just humor me, alright?”

“Fine,” Emma agreed shortly, fighting the urge to grab Heath by the collar of his jacket and pull him the rest of the way up the stairs before her father could do or say anything
else
embarrassing.

“I’m sorry,” Emma apologized to Heath as soon as they reached her bedroom. It wasn’t an overly large room, and besides a large bookshelf in one corner and a decrepit desk in the other, her bed took up most of the space. “I didn’t realize he’d be home when I suggested we work at my place.”

“It’s fine,” Heath assured her, glancing around her room and looking particularly amused at the overflowing bookshelf. His blue eyes found her brown ones again. “He seems… nice.”

“Yeah,” Emma agreed dumbly after a moment.
That was one word for it.
“You can… sit on the bed, if you want.” There really wasn’t anywhere else he could sit.

Heath shucked off his jacket and took her up on her offer, settling himself on the mint green comforter that covered her mattress. Emma took a seat next to him.

“Anyway, I finished the book,” he told her, handing her the worn paperback he was still holding in one of his hands.

“Oh.” Emma took the proffered book. “Did you like it?” She hoped he didn’t regret picking it for their report.

Heath shrugged, suddenly looking uncomfortable as he busied himself picking at a loose thread on the cuff of his long-sleeved shirt. ‘It’s… frustrating,” he said after a moment. “Parts of the ending,” he clarified. “I mean, Tom Robinson is convicted of a crime he didn’t commit. The Ewell family is still poor as dirt. Boo Radley isn’t going to get credit for saving Scout and Jem. None of it seems fair.”

Emma bit her lip. “I don’t think it’s all that grim. There’s still hope for most of the characters. I mean, Tom dies, but Bob’s dead by the end of the book too so the Ewell family is better off in that way at least. And as for Boo Radley, I don’t think a recluse like him would like the limelight anyway. Scout and Jem, at least, know that he’s not the scary monster they’d thought him to be when they were younger. He’s a hero.”

Heath took a moment to take in her words before shaking his head in what looked like amused disbelief. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re really too smart for your own good?”

Emma rolled her eyes. “I’ve just read a lot of books. And besides, real life is hardly ever fair. How can a novel accurately mirror reality if everything is tied up with a pretty bow by the end of it? There has to be
some
ambiguity.” She stood and grabbed her laptop from her desk before sitting back down and pulling up a blank document. “Justice and
in
justice are definitely themes of the novel though.” She began typing. “Racism, too, of course. Social inequality.”

“The end of childhood innocence.”

Emma glanced up at Heath, offering him a smile before quickly typing that as well. “And you said that
I’m
smart.”

Emma wasn’t so distracted, however, that she didn’t see the faintest hint of pink crawl up Heath’s neck, a tiny, pleased smile playing at his lips as he stared at his lap.

Instead of feeling satisfaction at his reaction to her comment, however, Emma felt her shoulders droop as a lump of something – sadness, maybe – welled up in her throat. Because Heath clearly wasn’t used to receiving compliments. Emma made a promise to herself right then and there that she would try her hardest to amend that.

* * *

It was Saturday again. And exactly like the previous two Saturdays, Heath showed up at her house to work on their project a little after noon. Unlike the last two Saturdays, however, he arrived with dark bags under his eyes and a shadow cast across his face that spoke of exhaustion. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Emma returned his greeting softly. “What-”

“Nightmares,” Heath offered abruptly before shouldering past her into the house.

Knowing by then that Heath wouldn’t appreciate her prying, Emma didn’t question him further. Instead, she merely followed him in and ushered him towards the coach as she pulled out the large poster board they’d decided to present their book report on. She also grabbed some brightly colored construction paper, two pairs of scissors and some glue.

They worked quietly together as they assembled their poster. Sawyer’s heavy breathing from where he napped on the rug in front of the couch – the lazy dog hadn’t so much as flinched when Heath had knocked on the door – was the only noise that flowed between them.

Emma stealthily glanced over her shoulder at Heath every few minutes, making sure he was okay. She hoped her concern wasn’t as clearly painted on her face as it felt. But then she didn’t have to worry about her face or schooling its expression anymore. Because about half an hour after he’d arrived, Emma peeked beside her and Heath was asleep. A glue stick still held loosely in one hand, his eyes had shut and his head had lolled to the left, resting against one of his broad shoulders.

It was by far the most peaceful Emma had ever seen Heath. His face was completely relaxed – his mouth open just the slightest bit – and Emma couldn't stop affection that wasn’t entirely reluctant from blooming in her chest. She fought off the blush that threatened to rise when she realized she was staring.

Abruptly tearing her eyes from his face, Emma stood. She abandoned her work and as gently as she could, pulled Heath’s legs up onto the half of the couch where she’d been sitting. She maneuvered his upper body so that he was laying down, his head resting against the plush arm of the sofa. She hesitated only a moment before allowing her hand to rest on his forehead. It didn’t feel warm so she let her fingers stray to his hair.

Emma tensed when Heath suddenly shifted, but felt her insides warm when instead of pulling away from her touch, he sleepily stretched his head towards it. She carded her fingers through his caramel-colored hair only once before letting her hand drop back down to her side.

“Sleep well,” she murmured quietly before pulling down the afghan that was lying across the back of the couch and spreading it over Heath’s sleeping form.

After that Emma sat on the floor and got back to work.

And even though Heath clearly didn’t feel comfortable telling her what it was that kept him up at night, it was heartening to know that he at least trusted her enough to let down his guard and rest in her presence.

* * *

Emma had finished putting their poster board together that Saturday afternoon. Which was why despite Heath’s continued presence at the lunch table she shared with Collette and Luca, she was so surprised when her cell phone rang the Friday evening next. And the handheld identified the caller as Heath.

Ignoring the miraculous birth of what felt like a thousand tiny butterflies in her stomach, Emma quickly pressed the “answer” button. “Hello?”

For a moment, silence. And then: “Emma?”

Why did the sound of her name on his lips make her feel so ridiculously giddy?

“This is Emma,” she confirmed. “Heath?”

More silence, and then: “Yeah. I was just wondering… did you want to work on our book report again this weekend?”

A mixture of confusion and, embarrassingly enough, disappointment, rushed through her. “But our report is already finished,” she pointed out. “We put the poster together last weekend,” she reminded him.

The longest silence yet. And then: “Right.”