Page 49 of Make the Play
“I don’t have anything to wear,” Emerson blurts.
Of all the things Jason expects to hear, that isn’t it.
“You can wear anything,” Jason tries.
Emerson lifts his face from his knees to look at Jason. “What are you wearing?”
“A suit,” Jason answers.
Emerson sighs so heavily Jason feels it in his gut.
“To be fully transparent, this is the same suit I’ve worn to the last three homecoming dances. It’s not new or anything.”
Despite this clarifying information, Emerson doesn’t relax.
“You would look handsome in a suit. My aunt always dressed me up for church in these itchy, stiff ones that made me feel like I was choking. I used to sneak to the bathroom and try to take it off, but I’d get in trouble. It didn’t matter that I told her I hated them. Then at holidays, she always dressed me and Landon in matching suits for family photos for the holiday cards even though the ones with me in them never made it on the card because I always took the suit jacket off or undid the buttons, and they said I ruined the photos.”
A flare of white hot anger pierces Jason. He’s never hated anyone, but he hates Emerson’s family. He can’t fathom how anyone could make a child feel unloved or unwanted, especially someone as precious and special as Emerson. The desire to protect Emerson now, to show him what it’s like to have people who care about you and appreciate you, is staggering.
It makes Jason think of his own parents. He hasn’t talked to them this week, and he makes a mental note to call them later and see if he can finagle a way to get Emerson invited to a family dinner, or maybe Thanksgiving. Well, if Emerson wants. He’ll have to ask him first, but now isn’t the right time. Jason’s family would love Emerson, he knows it. The fact that his own family so easily disregarded his needs makes Jason feel upset and helpless so he focuses on the now, on something tangible he can fix.
“You know you don't have to wear a suit,” Jason points out, not wanting to dwell on his thoughts to the point of ignoring Emerson. “There’s no official dress code or anything.”
“Yes, I do,” Emerson protests. “Or at least, something nice but dress shirts are a sensory nightmare. That stiff cotton doesn’t move and when I’m uncomfortable, I get snappish. And then I’ll snap at you, and you’ll hate me.”
Oh.Oh.
“Emmy.”
“I’ve never been to a school dance, ever. No one invited me, why would they?”
Jason’s natural inclination is to interrupt and try to fix, but there’s no fixing what’s already happened, so he bites his tongue and waits, sensing Emerson’s need to get this out.
“Then you came along with your smile and your kind words, and you did what no one in my life had done—you invited me. You didn’t tell me I couldn’t handle it before I tried, or try to get me to not go because you didn’t wanna deal with it. But I panicked and snapped at you, and I’ve been too embarrassed to bring it up since. Now Mr. Caldwell wants me to take his place as chaperone, and I’m going to be out of sorts and cranky and you’re going to see—see the real me.”
Leaning so far forward he nearly falls out of his chair, Jason rests his hand on the arms of Emerson’s chair. “I want you to listen to me. I’m not going to run away if you get overstimulated or snap at me. I’ve got three brothers, one of whom is an absolute chaos gremlin. Literally nothing you do can scare me off. I don’t want you to tone it down or mask, do you understand?”
“People say that but they don’t mean it,” Emerson whispers, the force of what he’s holding in palpable.
Jason was lucky to grow up in a family where he was loved, every second of every day. He cannot begin to imagine anything else. While he might not be able to relate to Emerson’s trauma he can feel it, has seen his brothers and his students suffer, understands exactly what it means to love someone who questions if they were meant for this world.
“I mean the words I say,” Jason promises, sliding his hands down the arms of the chair. Beneath the hem of his brown trousers, Emerson’s got on a pair of socks with swords on them, and Jason reaches out before he can think twice about it, giving his ankles a gentle squeeze. “I like you, Emmy. You and me, we’re solid. Nothing's gonna change that.”
Emerson’s eyes are focused on where Jason’s hands are wrapped around his ankles. He doesn’t ask if he should move them. Jason has touched him enough to know it’s welcome. Maybe not all friends touch as much as they do, but it works for them. Jason can never resist touching him when he’s near: a reassuring shoulder squeeze, a quick hug, or a long one when he has the chance. The touch always makes Emerson’s tension ease, and it makes Jason feel so good, he’s given up wondering if it’s unusual. It occurs to him that most friends wouldn’t be holding their friend’s ankles, but that’s because Emerson wouldn’t let them.
Sure, Emerson has gotten a little friendlier with some of the other staff, especially Mabel, but no one else is allowed to touch. Only Jason is afforded that privilege. Which is maybe because Emerson knows him, always indulging Jason’s tactile nature. Emerson really is such a good friend. One of the best, ever.
“The way I see it, we have two options,” Jason tells him. “If you don’t want to chaperone, then let me talk to Mr. Caldwell, or even Mabel. We can figure it out. But if you want to go, well I hear there’s this really awesome P.E. teacher, who is also chaperoning. Word on the street is that he knows some really embarrassing dances, and he likes to have fun.”
“I can’t dance.”
“You can stand in the corner and laugh at me,” Jason offers. He smooths his thumb over the arch of Emerson’s ankle, all but on his knees now in his desperation to make Emerson’s smile return. “Or I could teach you to dance. Not to brag, but I’ve been told I’m a great teacher.”
“Why do you make it sound so easy,” Emerson asks.
“I’m either that impressive or that stubborn,” Jason grins. “You don’t have to decide this second but?—”
“I’d like to go.” Emerson’s chest expands with the force of his breath, which he holds for a few seconds before letting it out. “With you. As uh, chaperones. As friends.”
