Page 227 of Small Town Firsts

EMMY

Something pulls me from a deep,dreamless sleep. My eyes pop open and I bolt upright in my bed, desperately searching the small room for what pulled me from my slumber.

Goose bumps dot my skin, sweat beads my brow, and my heart is thundering in my chest. My body is on high alert; I just don’t know why.

I clutch my stuffed rabbit to my chest and will myself to calm down, breathing deeply.

When that doesn’t help, I count back from one hundred.

By the time I’m down to single digits, my breathing has returned to normal and I’m able to take stock of the situation.

The realization of what has me so out of sorts hits me like a ton of bricks.

I slept well.

No tossing, no turning. No nightmares. No waking up crying with the sheet clutched to my chest.

How sad is it that sleeping through the night is such a foreign concept to my brain and my body that I still woke up terrified?

Baby steps, I suppose.

Rolling to my side, I grab my phone and check the time. It’s five past eight, which is easily the latest I’ve slept in years. Ilisten for sounds of life from Stella, but the suite is quiet. She must still be sleeping.

I fling off the covers and swing my feet over the edge of the bed. First things first: a steaming hot shower.

Some people say their best ideas happen in the shower, but for me, my mind goes totally blank the second I pull the curtain closed. It’s like the water washes my worries right down the drain.

If only they’d stay gone.

Once I’m squeaky clean, I towel off and dress in a pair of cut-off shorts and another thrift store sweatshirt; this one is tie-dye and readsPoor Little Rich Girlin swooping cursive. I love it mostly because my mom loathed it.

I braid my damp hair and slather my face with moisturizer before brushing my teeth and calling it good. It’s easy to be low maintenance when you have no one to impress.

By the time I pad back into the kitchen, Stella is awake and pouring herself a cup of coffee. “Want some?” she asks through a yawn.

“Always.”

She passes me a mug, which I graciously accept. Stella stares wide-eyed as I sip down the piping beverage.

“What?” I ask.

“You just drink it... black?”

“Oh, um, yeah,” I say, looking down into my mug. Mom always said cream and sugar make for thick thighs, so I learned to like it without. “Force of habit, I guess?”

Stella pulls a face as she moves to the fridge and loads her mug with some kind of flavored creamer. She takes a sip and sighs. “Ah, sugary goodness.”

We drink our beverages in silence for a minute, before Stella randomly bursts out laughing.

“What?” I ask, because seriously... who just cracks up out of nowhere?

“I was just thinking. I’m blonde and like lighter coffee. You’re brunette and like dark coffee.” She shrugs and takes another sip. “I don’t know, it just made me laugh.”

“You’re ridiculous,” I tell her. “And I love it.”

“Duh. I’m lovable AF.” She finishes her mug and refills it. “What are your plans today?”

“I need to get my books, but that’s pretty much it.”

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