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That morning dragged her out of bed like a punishment. Tabitha had slipped in the window only a few hours earlier, her sneakers barely thudding against the shed roof before she slid back inside. Her stepmom had thought it was “practical” to put the shed right under Tabitha’s window, “easy access for the gardening tools.” What it really was: a ladder. A perfect, blessed ladder for sneaking in and out. And last night, when the house was asleep, she’d needed it.
Her room wasn’t even the one she’d wanted. Rebecca had beaten her by seconds, barreling into the doorway with that smug little smile, suitcase wheels squeaking across the floor. Tabitha had gotten stuck with the smaller one, the one with the weird closet that smelled faintly like mothballs. She still hadn’t forgiven it. Or Rebecca.
She stood in front of her mirror now, heavy eyed and dragging. Not a morning person. Never had been. The irony? Mornings were her favorite time when she was running. Out on the backroads, sneakers thudding, air sharp in her lungs. that, she could do. But dragging herself to school like this? Brutal.
She leaned over her CD player and hit play. The Killers cracked through the speakers. Somebody Told Me. She pulled on eyeliner in the reflection of her mirror, heavy and uneven, the way she liked it. Mascara next.
God, you look alive, she muttered to herself with a half smirk, brushing through her hair.
By the time she threw herself into the car, she was already late. Still, she felt that little kick of pride sliding the key into the ignition. Her car. Her car. She’d worked doubles at the diner for it, rolled her tips into a shoebox under her bed, counting bills over and over until she hit the number. Sure, her dad had arranged it, calling in some favor through his friend. And yeah, the buddy’s son had handed her the keys laughing, saying, “This thing’s more duct tape than engine.” But Tabitha hadn’t cared. She’d held those keys tight, like they meant freedom.
And for a while, they had.
Now, halfway to school, the hood started to smoke and the whole thing shuddered to a stop.
You’ve got to be kidding me,” she hissed, slamming it into park and shoving the door open. She yanked the hood up like maybe, just maybe, it’d magically fix itself if she glared hard enough. Steam hissed back at her, hot and sour. She folded her arms across her chest, tapping her boot against the gravel shoulder.
That’s when she saw the truck. Emerson’s. Of course.
He slowed, pulled over, leaned across the passenger seat, and pushed the door open. No words. Just that look, part amused, part figures.
Tabitha squinted at him, hand on her hip. “Don’t even say it.”
She climbed in, slamming the door. The ac buzzed, rattling faintly like it was one bad turn away from dying too. The air smelled faintly of gas and soap. Tabitha leaned against the window, cheek pressed to the glass, the blur of trees sliding past.
She tilted her head toward him, messy strands of hair falling in her face. “ You’re dying to laugh, huh? Go ahead. Hilarious.”
Tabitha rolled her eyes and looked back out the window. “Whatever. It’s still mine. And that’s worth something.”
When they pulled into the school lot, the early bell had already rung. Both of them headed straight for detention, trudging side by side but not together. The room smelled like pencil shavings and moldy carpet, sunlight slicing in thin, dusty stripes.
She dropped into a seat two seats behind him. A sigh escaped her before she caught it. She didn’t want him hearing her sound tired.
Every so often, their eyes met. Quick glances, nothing more. Just enough to say, yep, this tracks. She shivered when the radiator clicked on annd she realized she was under the vent. Without a word, Emerson tugged his jacket off and tossed it back at her. It landed across her desk, heavier than she expected. She looked at it, then at him, and smirked faintly. “Chivalry’s not dead yet, huh?” She said in a whisper.
She pulled the jacket on anyway. It smelled like his truck, muggy air, motor oil, something clean underneath. She kept it on, her fingers curled tight in the sleeves.
Detention wasn’t new for Tabitha. If anything, it felt like a standing appointment at this point. This time it was because she’d been late to history again. And in her defense, it really wasn’t her fault. Who in their right mind scheduled history right after lunch? That was prime gas station hour. The one place you could escape school, even for ten minutes, grab a fountain drink and a bag of chips, con the man working out of some cigarettes. It was practically self care.
But Mr. Keys never saw it that way. He’d called her name in roll, sighed at her empty desk, and then sighed again when she walked in with condensation dripping down her hand and a cherry Coke fizzing over ice. Tabitha had even tried to make it nice this time, bought a second one just for him. Set it right on his desk with the straw unwrapped, like some kind of peace offering.
He hadn’t smiled. Hadn’t even blinked. Just pushed it back toward her and said, “Disrespectful. Disrespectful. She thought it was thoughtful. Maybe the man just hated Coke.
So now here she was. Morning detention. Fluorescent lights buzzing. Emerson was a couple at up, his head bent like he was asleep or pretending to be. She could still feel the weight of his jacket on her shoulders, s soft and heavy, like a secret she wasn’t supposed to keep.
Tabitha slouched low in her seat, doodling half heartedly in the margin of an old math worksheet she’d dug out of her bag. Her fingers still smelled like fryer grease from the night before, even after three washes. Her pen dragged lazy circles, looping into little cartoon flowers. She tapped her boot against the leg of the desk, trying not to think about how her car was probably still sitting on the side of the road, steaming like a broken kettle.
Every so often, her eyes flicked up. Emerson, still there, still quiet. No one else in the room except some sophomore who looked like he’d been caught smoking behind the gym and the detention monitor, who hadn’t looked up from his newspaper in twenty minutes.
She thought about how much this fit her life lately. Getting in trouble not because she was reckless, well, not always, but because she couldn’t help herself. She’d never be the kind of girl who tiptoed into class early, binder color coded, pencil sharpened.
She smirked to herself, biting on the end of her pen. Maybe it was disrespectful. Maybe she just didn’t care.
Still, she leaned her cheek into her palm and thought, not for the first time, that mornings like this felt like they stretched forever. And that maybe, it mattered that Emerson was in the same stretch of time with her.
The teacher in charge announced he needed to step out for a few minutes, leaving the classroom in an quiet lull. As the door clicked shut behind her, Tabitha’s eyes flicked across the row to Emerson, who was two seats ahead of her. She waited a beat, letting the silence stretch, just to see if he would notice on his own. When nothing happened, she grabbed a pencil, balanced it between her fingers, and flicked it lightly toward him. It skittered across the desktop and came to a stop just short of his hand.
Enough to make Emerson look back, eyes narrowing slightly, like he was weighing whether to act or not. Tabitha gave the faintest nod, so subtle it could have been mistaken for a twitch of her cheek. Let’s get out of here now, her gesture seemed to say. He hesitated, then gave the tiniest tilt of his head in agreement.
Across the room, a third boy had been quietly observing the whole thing. He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, smirking. He clearly found the silent communication amusing, though he made no move to interfere. Tabitha noticed him watching, and she let herself grin just a little,
Tabitha’s pulse quickened; the thrill of the plan made her heart beat faster than usual. She adjusted her backpack on her lap and shifted her gaze back to Emerson, waiting for the perfect moment to move.
Slowly, deliberately, she pushed her chair back, the legs scraping softly against the floor. The smirking boy made a subtle show of adjusting his notebook, pretending to ignore them as they rose. They inched toward the door. Every step felt amplified in the quiet room. Tabitha’s heart pounded with a mix of adrenaline and excitement as she glanced toward the hall, empty. She motioned Emerson forward with the smallest tilt of her head.
Once in the hall, the cool air hit them, a relief after the stuffy classroom. They moved quickly but quietlyy, keeping to the shadows along the lockers, the thrill of being unseen sharpening every sense. Around the corner, the side door loomed. paint chipped and slightly rusty, the perfect escape. Tabitha pushed it open just enough for them to slip through, and a soft squeak of metal echoed behind them, though they barely registered it over the rush of freedom.
Outside, they were met with the backside of the tennis courts. The chain link fences stretched high, green and slightly overgrown at the edges. Beyond the fence, the early morning sunlight glinted off the courts, casting long shadows that made the space feel both vast and secluded. Tabitha took a breath, letting the cool breeze wash over her, feeling the quiet thrill of being somewhere they weren’t supposed to be.
The smirking boy from the classroom, still inside, had no idea the pair had made it this far. For now, they had the backyard of the tennis courts all to themselves.
@benitz786 I’ll add colors and stuff in a bit
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