Free Take a Chance on Me by Susan Donovan Page A

several households, so why bother? She didn't cry the time they got evicted from the best apartment they ever managed to get.
    Not when she had to transfer schools three times in fifth grade. Not when her mom got herself killed riding in some second-rate TV actor's car.
    Leelee didn't even cry the day she got her butt dragged cross-country to live here in Soybean World.
    What would crying accomplish? What had it ever accomplished for her mom? Nothing, that's what.

    So it was a total shock to realize that she'd apparently picked right then to start. What was so overwhelming about walking out of the community college auditorium between Emma and Beckett, holding her trophy, heading out to the Waffle House?
    The food there wasn't that bad.
    So why cry now?
    It felt weird the way the water trickled hot down her cheeks. She could taste her own tears as they pooled in the corner of her mouth—saltier than she imagined, like the Pacific Ocean off Malibu .
    The real bad part was now that it had started, she was pretty sure it was never going to stop. Her knees felt shaky and her stomach felt heavy, like it had fallen too low in her belly. She thought she might choke.
    Or hurl. All she knew was she had to get away. Get away from everyone, everything…
    The next thing she knew she was in the middle of the parking lot, on her hands and knees, feeling the burn and sting of gravel under her palms and the skin of her knees. She was shaking. She couldn't stop sobbing. She'd dropped the trophy and it lay broken a few feet in front of her. The ugly flowers were spilled in an arc around her.
    Then she heard a high-pitched scream—several long seconds of piercing sound coming out of her that she hadn't even known she could produce. Somewhere in the back of her head she knew it was the sound of not being able to stuff it down anymore.
    "Oh, sweetie… " Leelee felt Emma's arms go around her and lift her to her feet. She gave in. She let Emma protect her, hide her, stroke her hair and mumble soft words that she couldn't really hear because of the buzzing in her own ears. Then Leelee sensed that Emma was leading her to the Montero, getting her buckled in the back seat and sitting next to her.
    Leelee sobbed and sobbed as Beckett drove them home. After what seemed like forever, she looked up into Emma's face and was greeted with a handful of Kleenex and a smile she couldn't quite read.
    "I'm sorry for acting like a complete diva." She wiped off her face and blew her nose.
    "Oh, honey, there's nothing to be sorry about."
    "I don't know what happened."
    "I do."
    Leelee took a quick gulp of air and shook her head.
    "You're bleeding, Lee."
    She brushed off her knees with annoyance. Her stomach hurt something fierce but she tried not to cry anymore. "It's okay. It's nothing. Just a scrape."
    She felt Emma's fingers come under her chin and lift up her face. "Not there, sweetheart." Emma's voice was low enough that Beckett wouldn't hear. "You've just started your period."

    * * *
Thomas could feel the caffeine kicking his brain into overdrive, yet it wasn't quite enough to burn off the fog of the all-nighter. And no amount of coffee would ever mask the truth that he'd behaved like a complete jerk.
    He'd been such a jerk to Emma Jenkins.
    And she didn't deserve it. That was the hell of it—she didn't deserve to be hurt. In fact, she may have been the first legitimately decent, nice—even special—person Thomas had met in a very long time.
    And he'd been an idiot. A jerk. An ass.
    Thomas sat at the conference table and watched the rest of the team straggle in. He could hear Stephano out in the hallway, his machine-gun laugh ricocheting down the uncarpeted hallways of the second floor of the Maryland State Police Headquarters. Paulie Fletcher was already at the other end of the table, clutching a cell phone to his cheek, apologizing profusely to his wife.
    Thomas knew these Saturday morning get-togethers interfered with ballet recitals, peewee football