The Moon Way street smelled of whistling pine and natural vegetative flavors. Emma loved it.

She had been strolling for almost an hour, walking from one block to another, appraising the beautiful bungalowish houses she had been seeing; and she completely liked the fact that she could breathe freely without inhaling a scent of coffee, or perfume, or a mixture of junk and fried foods.

As she strolled down the fifth block, she saw a row chair in front of a pale yellow house, which had the same design as her house a few blocks away; a neater version of hers.

Emma stopped walking, her steps faltering as she mused at the concept of owning her own house at seventeen. What a fast trek, she thought, a faint smile curving her lips as she shook her head slowly.

She thought she would have to wait till twenty-one to live independently, but it seemed fate had something else in stock.

Well, she didn’t care. She had always wanted to live independently, and this was a chance for it.

Fixing some strands of hair which had stealthily crept over her face, Emma took a deep breath and trudged over to the row chair. She had to rest. Her limbs were already protesting in pain, her thighs quivering faintly with each step.

As she sat down, she threw her purse to the other end of the chair and breathed out in relief, her shoulders sagging against the backrest. She wondered how much longer she had to walk before she could see a restaurant. She was terribly hungry; her stomach already growling in protest.

While Emma applied pressure on her kneecap, which seemed to be hurting, a cat scurried past. She shrunk back into the seat, pressing her spine into the wood until the seat shook itself backwards. She hated animals.

Hearing footsteps, she turned aside and saw a little girl, about four  years old, running after the cat. The little girl with bright blonde hair didn’t see her, and even if she had, she didn’t show any indication that she did. Her whole focus was on the big black cat.

Emma wondered why there was no one looking after the girl chasing after a cat.

Although the streets were clean and quiet at this time of the day, she still thought it unsafe for a little girl to run carefreely on the road.

“Doesn’t she have a babysitter?” Her brows knitted together as she tapped her fingers against her thigh, getting annoyed at the thought of a lazy babysitter.

The growing annoyance brought to her remembrance an incident that happened last summer. An incident she would never forget in a hurry. 

Last summer in Florida, she had been put up for a babysitting service by her father for causing havoc in a mall. 

The mall prank still made her grin. 

Three “eligible bachelors” had waltzed in like they owned the place—blocking the line, sneering at the cashier, her classmate. Everyone else pretended not to notice; she didn’t. She plotted instead. Bought paints and ropes and stocked them in the maintenance room of the mall.

The next Tuesday, she baited them into an empty hallway—hair damp, lipstick smudged, shirt half-buttoned. They followed like fools into the maintenance room. She pulled the rope. Buckets of paint poured down. They slipped, cursed, one fell flat on his ass. 

She had doubled over laughing, stomach aching with it.

 But she hadn’t expected the fallout. One of them—Jackson—was her father’s business contact.

Her punishment? Babysitting duty. Johnny. 

Johnny, the two-year-old hurricane with a puppy sidekick. He broke plates, climbed windows, barked louder than the dog. No sitter had survived a week. She lasted a day.

Emma’s eyes twitched uncomfortably as she remembered what happened on that Thursday morning while babysitting Johnny.

She had gone off to the kitchen to take Derren’s call. Derren was her latest boyfriend—Derren with the average lips and wonderful biceps. He was the captain of the football team, and had been chasing her for weeks.

She was giggling, chewing gum, when Johnny screamed.

She had frozen, remembering that she hadn’t locked the front door.

She had dropped the phone and ran out of the kitchen.

Crowd in the street. People gasping. Johnny sprawled on the asphalt, blood streaking his temple, the puppy nudging his tiny chest.

Emma’s stomach had flipped. “Somebody call 911!” she’d screamed, clutching her hair, knees shaking.

He survived. Lucky boy.

Later that evening, she was grounded by her father. Her phone was also confiscated. She had stayed in her room like a prisoner for two weeks without coming out, except when she wanted to eat or use the bathroom. Those days had been the longest days of her life.

A twig broke. Emma stopped thinking and listened, her eyes still closed. She heard some footsteps coming towards her, but she didn’t think it was any of the boys. They couldn’t be done cleaning by now.

Opening her eyes, squinting a little, she saw a tall woman staring at her. A tall, beautiful woman.

Emma had always prided herself on being beautiful, but she knew she didn’t come close to the beauty of this stranger.

She wondered whether this part of the world had a beauty streak rushing through the inhabitants, or whether there was a magic water of beauty. She hoped to drink it daily, if there was.

Sitting up properly, while pushing her red hair back, she muttered a shy hello to the woman.

“Hello,” the woman replied, still staring at her.  “Who are you, and what are you doing there?”