When we walked into Emelia’s backyard, she actually came out to meet us on the steps. She greeted us and smiled. It wasn’t the strained polite or awkward smiles I was used to. Something—maybe it was the crease of her eyes or how her ears lifted so slightly—but it felt like she was actually pleased to see us. I tried to figure out what changed while I raised a hand to return a greeting. Allison showed no such restraint. She bounded up the stairs to ask how Emelia was doing.

Did she come out of her house as a way to say, “Hey look! I’m not locking myself away inside?”

I guess Allison must have been thinking the same, because she asked, “Hey, is this your first time out of the house?”

I applaud your subtlety, really.

Her eyes opened back up but her smile stayed steady. “No, I go out to the gas station to get stuff. Do you want to come in?”

“Nah, let’s stay outside. You look fragile. You need some vitamin D.”

“I get that from my—” She flicked her eyes over to me, then back to Allison. “I am just naturally like that.”

I felt a familiar twinge of annoyance that she hesitated because of me. It’s not like I would snap if she mentioned her mom—though, I guess the evidence would argue to the contrary.

She stepped down the stairs while Allison dug around her backpack. Emelia slouched and looked around the neighborhood. I understood the reflex to check windows for prying eyes. I was grateful for the line of trees separating the neighbor’s house from this one.

Allison pulled a softball out of her backpack and tossed it to Emelia while she was distracted. She jumped back and faltered, but caught it.

“Hey, good reflexes! Do you play sports?” Allison asked.

She chuckled. “Er, no, I never had the opportunity.”

“What? But you’re tall! Such a waste.”

“Everyone is tall compared to you,” I said.

Allison was right, though. Her slouch and skittish movements gave her a small presence, but if she stood up straight, she might even be taller than I am. Maybe. Since my dad was average-height at best, I always assumed my maternal genes were responsible. I wondered…

“Do you get your height from your mom?” I asked.

Emelia paused after catching a toss Allison must have aimed at her knees. Then she accepted my olive branch by smiling and giving a nod. She held up the ball in question and I lifted my hands to receive her gentle underhanded toss. I might have imagined her shoulders relaxing, but I hoped she would know she didn’t have to censor herself with us here. I still didn’t understand why I got annoyed so quickly yesterday, but the last thing I wanted was for her to be nervous around me.

It struck me that she was scared. She wanted to cling to this illusion as long as she could. Our presence had worsened those fears because we reminded her that the world continued without her. And I took that and held it up to her face.

But that didn’t mean she needed to cut herself off completely.

“Do you have a bike?” I asked.

“Oh, uh, yeah. In there.” She pointed to a shed near the tree line. “It might not work anymore, though.”

“Bikes are sort of a hobby of mine. Can I take a look?”

“Go ahead.”

She led us over to the shed and opened it. A watering can and some planting boxes lined the shelf, along with random trinkets. I wondered if whatever allowed the backdoor to lock was tossed in among those other half-rusted tools. A purple and green bicycle leaned against the side of the shed with a hardening hose tangled around it.

“When’s the last time you used it?” I asked.

“Since summer, at least.”

I knelt and poked around. “Yep, you have a flat.” I pulled the brakes and spun the wheels, filing the information away for later. “Other than that, it’s in solid condition. Cool, just curious. Thanks.”

“Of course.”

I put the bike away and Allison resumed chucking the ball at us until she received a text from her aunt. I happened to spot my name and the words “Better not be.” Allison dismissed my sigh with a smile and said we had to go.

On our way back, Allison cycled up next to me with a grin. “So… That was just pure curiosity about her bike, huh? Anything you wanna say?”

I increased my speed. “Nope.”

“I know what you’re thinking,” she shouted up at me.

“Congrats. What made you a people expert all of a sudden?”

“Ah! You’re wondering how I knew Emelia would be fine around you?”

I tilted my head. I hate to describe it as “expecting,” but, well, I was waiting. After getting frustrated with her that day, I thought she would have entirely folded in on herself, having no more backbone to support herself. I mean, it wasn’t a big deal, but she seemed so hypersensitive. Then she greeted both of us with a smile and even seemed relaxed while talking and playing catch. (Granted, it was less of talking with Emelia and more of Allison talking at her about her terrible Economics teacher while Emelia nodded. But those nods were off-the-charts confident.)

“It’s amazing what you can learn from people by actually talking to them instead of assuming things,” she said. “Before you got to our Halloween party, I asked her if she didn’t like us being there. She said she didn’t hate it. Just didn’t understand why we came. She also mentioned that she doesn’t know how to act around you because she can’t tell what you’re thinking.”

Oh God. Does “actually talking to people” require that many words? If so, count me out.

“So, she responds better to you because you lack a brain-to-mouth filter?”

“Pretty much! And, you know, my irresistible charm.” She shrugged as if I did, in fact, know this irresistible charm of hers. “She’s afraid of you being secretly annoyed and didn’t know how to act to not upset you.”

Ouch. Okay, maybe that wasn’t off base, but it’s probably mostly misread irritation directed at Allison. “So, I confirmed her suspicions. Then why did she seem—I don’t know—lighter?”

“Because even though you got upset, which I’m sure wasn’t fun for her, she probably felt like she knew how to respond because you finally showed emotion. And you came back anyway.”

“But it’s not like that was some real me coming out or whatever. I don’t know why I was annoyed.”

“Then why don’t you show the real you? Look, yes, obviously she’s insecure and tragically shy, but I think she deserves more credit than you give her.”

So, maybe I didn’t know Emelia as well as I thought. When I first saw her, I had written her off as just someone who was not strong enough to handle reality. Being a self-proclaimed realist, I had looked down on her a little for that. I never knew how to respond to her, afraid to say something wrong, and as a result, she didn’t know how to respond to me. I mean, what was I supposed to say to her when I felt that she would probably curl into a defensive ball if I said something wrong?

Who was this “real me” I was supposed to show her? I didn’t have the right to judge her. I didn’t even understand myself very well. I felt less like myself this past month than ever, which made me wonder if I had a grasp on myself in the first place.

#

I woke up at eight on a mid-November Sunday and got ready to leave. The night before, the parents acknowledged my existence with questions like, “How’s school been?” I knew something bad was coming. “Prep your audience for downsides by starting with an enthusiastic endorsement,” is probably how they would advise an ad campaign.

It was an excellent time to get out of the neighborhood. I grabbed a couple toaster pastries, threw them in my backpack and headed out.

When I reached Allison’s road, she propped the door open with her toe and called to me. “Hey! Going to Emelia’s?”

I shrugged my confirmation and asked if she was coming. She had a bowl of cereal in her hand and her hair was in two messy braids. I didn’t want to wait for her to get ready while her aunt glared through the curtains.

She smirked and clutched her shoulder. “This early? It’s freezing!”

Her “freezing” was my “Maybe I’ll need a hoodie.”

I heard a voice from inside. Allison turned around and laughed. “Aunt Marcia sends her warmest to you.”

I’m sure.

I heard another warning tone and decided it was time to go. So I started the trudge up the hill, to show Emelia that the world didn’t continue without her. She was allowed to take part, too.