She seemed uncomfortable, not with the apartment but with herself.
Emma sat at one end of the couch.
Chloe took the chair opposite her.
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Then Chloe placed the paper bag on the table.
“I brought your notebook.”
Emma looked surprised.
“My notebook?”
“You left it in the cafeteria. I picked it up.”
Inside was the spiral notebook Emma used for English class.
A corner of the cover was slightly stained.
Emma took it.
“Thanks.”
Chloe folded her hands.
“I also wanted to say I’m sorry.”
“You already texted me.”
“I know.”
Emma waited.
Chloe looked down.
“I should have said it to your face.”
Emma touched the notebook cover.
“You were laughing.”
Chloe closed her eyes.
“I know.”
“You were standing right there.”
“I know.”
Emma’s voice trembled.
“I thought we were friends once.”
Chloe looked up.
“We were.”
“Then why did you act like I didn’t exist?”
Chloe struggled to answer.
She could have blamed Vanessa.
She could have explained that fitting into the popular group was difficult, that students at Westbrook judged one another constantly, that she was afraid of becoming the next target.
All those things were partly true.
But none of them excused what she’d done.
“Because I was scared of losing my place with them,” Chloe admitted.
Emma looked at her.
Chloe wiped her cheek.
“And I let you pay for it.”
The room was quiet.
From the kitchen came the sound of Renee washing a plate.
Emma looked down at her hands.
“I don’t know what you want me to say.”
Chloe nodded.
“You don’t have to say anything.”
She stood.
“I just wanted you to know that I sent Ms. Davis the original video. The one from before Vanessa dumped the food.”
Emma raised her eyes.
“Why?”
“Because you didn’t do anything wrong.”
Chloe swallowed.
“And somebody needed to say that.”
Emma stared at her for a long moment.
“Thank you.”
Chloe gave a small nod.
She moved toward the door.
“Emma?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m not asking you to forgive me.”
Emma said nothing.
Chloe’s voice grew softer.
“I just don’t want to be that person anymore.”
Then she left.
Emma remained on the couch holding her notebook.
Renee came into the living room.
“How are you feeling?”
Emma looked toward the door.
“Confused.”
Renee sat beside her.
“That’s understandable.”
Emma considered Chloe’s apology.
Part of her wanted to believe it.
Another part remembered three years of being ignored.
“Do I have to forgive her?”
Renee shook her head.
“No.”
“Even if she’s sorry?”
“You can believe someone is sorry and still need time.”
Emma leaned against her mother’s shoulder.
They sat quietly for a while.
Then Emma opened the notebook.
On the first page, she had written a sentence during English class several weeks earlier.
Sometimes the bravest thing a person can do is speak when staying quiet would be easier.
She had been answering a question about a story they were studying.
At the time, she hadn’t thought much about it.
Now she read the sentence again.
And she wondered whether she might someday become brave enough to say everything she had been afraid to say.
Monday morning, Renee drove Emma to school in the old family car.
The engine rattled as they turned into the parking lot.
Emma watched students walking toward the entrance.
Some looked at her car.
A few looked toward her.
She felt her stomach tighten.
“Mom?”
Renee kept both hands on the steering wheel.
“Yes?”
“What if everybody talks about it?”
“They probably will.”
Emma looked surprised.
Renee turned toward her.
“I won’t pretend they won’t.”
Emma stared down at her backpack.
“What am I supposed to do?”
“Remember what happened. Remember who was wrong. And remember you don’t have to make other people comfortable by pretending you’re fine.”
Emma swallowed.
Renee reached across the center console.
“We’re going to the meeting together.”
Emma nodded.
As they entered the building, she noticed that the atmosphere had changed.
Students whispered when she passed.
But not every whisper sounded cruel.
One boy near the lockers quietly said, “Sorry about Friday.”
A girl from Emma’s history class gave her a sympathetic smile.
Another student looked away in embarrassment.
Emma didn’t know what to make of any of it.
She was accustomed to being unnoticed.
Sudden attention felt almost as frightening as open ridicule.
Near the cafeteria entrance, Margaret was arranging breakfast trays.
She saw Emma and lifted a hand.
Emma gave a small wave.
Margaret stepped around the counter.
“Good morning.”
“Morning.”
“How was your weekend?”
Emma hesitated.
“Strange.”
Margaret nodded.
“I imagine so.”
Renee approached.
“Thank you again for everything.”
Margaret smiled.
“How are you both?”
“Taking it one day at a time,” Renee said.
Margaret glanced toward the administrative hallway.
