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MidReal Story
My Secret Crush
Scenario:[write from Hayley's point of view...]
hayley's story of all time
Hayley, a shy, artistic Hello Kitty fan girl, struggles to fit into school. She doesn't really speak with words that much due to anxiety so she draws. Bullies like Jessica and Molly (the popular girls) make their way to tease her, and this makes Hayley not even want to go to school, but she forces herself to. 3 weeks after the first term at school, a new boy joins the school. His name is Em (short for Emilio, but he likes Em more) and he doesn't speak English well, so his Spanish helps him out. He sees Hayley looking all upset after getting bullied by Jessica and Molly, so he helps out. They eventually become friends, and Hayley learns that Em plays guitar and sings well, plays soccer and likes playing games. Though he secretly likes Hello Kitty and Cinnamoroll, just like Hayley, but he keeps it to himself and doesn't tell her.
Create my version of this story
Hayley
She is a shy, anxious teenager starting school in a new town. She is creative, introverted, and vulnerable. Hayley struggles with bullies like Jessica and Molly, who mock her for being quiet and drawing instead of speaking. She finds solace in art and fantasy worlds, inspired by Hello Kitty and Cinnamoroll. Her life changes when she meets Em, a new student who becomes her friend. Em helps her during the day, while she dreams of a more exciting life, full of adventure and romance.
Em (Emilio)
He is an introverted teenager from Spain, starting a new life in a unfamiliar town. He is adventurous, friendly, and talented. Em faces challenges adapting to a new school without speaking English fluently. He meets Hayley and forms a friendship, helping her during the day while she dreams of an ideal world. Em shares his passion for music and plays guitar. He keeps secrets about liking Hello Kitty and Cinnamoroll, but the two become inseparable friends, exploring their shared interests and imagination together.
Jessica
She is a popular teenager at school and Hayley's classmate. She is meanspirited, confrontational, and social. Jessica frequently bullies Hayley by teasing her for being quiet and different. She often gathers her friends to join in on the taunting. Despite her attempts to intimidate Hayley, Jessica fails to realize the depth of Hayley's vulnerability. Her behavior creates tension between her and Hayley, but she eventually loses interest when more interesting targets become available, leaving Hayley to face the ordeal alone.
Starting school was not easy for me.
I had just moved into a new town with my family, so I knew no one.
I was shy and I didn't speak much, which made it harder for me to make friends.
I did have a way of talking that people didn't understand, which was through art.
I loved to draw and I would draw pictures of my favorite characters, Hello Kitty and Cinnamoroll.
I kept my drawings in a book that I carried with me everywhere I went.
At school, there were bullies.
There are bullies everywhere, but they seemed worse in this new town.
Two popular girls, Jessica and Molly, loved to make fun of me because I was quiet and drew pictures instead of talking.
They would call me "stupid" and "weird" and they loved to gather all of their friends around to listen while they teased me.
They thought it was funny, but it was not funny at all.
It made me not want to go to school.
One day, while I was sitting on the steps outside of the school, crying because Jessica and Molly had just teased me in front of all of their friends, a new student saw me.
He sat down next to me and asked if I was okay in Spanish, "Estas bien?"
I didn't answer because I didn't understand what he said at first.
I wipe my tears away with my sleeve and try to hide my face from this strange boy.
I don't know why he is sitting next to me, but his presence makes me nervous.
He doesn't say anything else, just sits there quietly, waiting for me to respond.
My sketchbook feels heavy in my lap.
After a moment, I slowly open it to the last drawing I did this morning - Hello Kitty wearing a rainbow dress and holding a paintbrush.
I turn the book towards him, so he can see the picture.
His eyes light up and he leans closer to get a better look at the detailed lines and colors.
I watch his face carefully, ready to snap the book shut if I see any sign of mockery or teasing.
But instead, his expression is full of wonder and excitement. He points at the drawing and says something in Spanish that sounds happy.
"That's amazing!" he exclaims, switching to English with a thick accent.
I blink in surprise and manage a small smile, "You really think so?"
He nods enthusiastically, "Yes! I draw too, but not as good as you."
He sits beside me on the steps, his backpack covered in patches of his favorite soccer team.
His dark hair is messy and he has a kind smile.
My hands still tremble slightly as I clutch my sketchbook, but with him next to me, I feel a little safer.
He pulls out his own notebook from his backpack, its cover worn and dog-eared from constant use.
We trade books hesitantly, both of us unsure about showing our work to someone new.
As I open his book, I notice that some of the pages have Spanish words written in the margins.
I see words like "amigo" and "familia," which I recognize from my own Spanish classes.
The drawings inside are rougher than mine, but they are full of energy and movement.
Most of them depict Cinnamoroll playing soccer with his friends. I point at one of the drawings, "Cinnamoroll is my favorite too!"
The boy smiles even wider, "Mine too! He's so cool."
He flips through my sketchbook, stopping at a page where Hello Kitty is surrounded by cats.
He points at the drawing and whispers "muy bonito," which means "very pretty."
I blush a little at the compliment.
Then he shows me how he draws Cinnamoroll's whiskers differently than I draw Hello Kitty's whiskers.
I watch closely as he demonstrates on a blank page in his notebook, then I try tracing over his lines with my finger so I can remember them later.
I close my sketchbook and gather the courage to look at him directly.
My voice comes out barely above a whisper, "Who are you?"
He straightens up, adjusts his worn soccer jersey, and says "Me llamo Em... uh, Emilio, but Em is better."
He stumbles over the English words, but he keeps looking at me with those big brown eyes.
When he gestures questioningly toward me, I clutch my sketchbook tighter and manage to say, "I'm Hayley."
Em repeats my name carefully, breaking it into two distinct syllables: "Hay-ley."
I nod and he grins, pointing between our sketchbooks.
His smile fades a little as he asks, "Why you cry before?"
I look down at the concrete steps, my fingers tracing the edges of my sketchbook.
The words come out slowly, "Some girls in my class... they don't like me. They say mean things."
Em's brow furrows, his eyes filled with concern.
I take a deep breath and continue, "They call me names because I don't talk much. And they tear pages from my sketchbook."
My voice cracks as I remember today's incident, "They called me 'mute freak' at lunch."
Em listens intently, his lips pressed together.
Without warning, he places a hand on my shoulder.
His touch is warm and gentle, surprising me.
But it feels good, like a reassuring weight that keeps me grounded.
"No good," he says firmly in broken English.
The final bell rings, and I gather my things while Em waits by my desk.
Jessica and Molly linger near the classroom door, whispering and pointing at us.
Em positions himself between me and them, his broad shoulders forming a protective barrier.
I clutch my sketchbook tightly to my chest, feeling a mix of relief and apprehension.
Em gestures toward the hallway, his eyes locked on mine.
He mimes walking with his fingers, then points at me and himself.
I understand what he's asking without needing words: He wants to walk me home.
I nod, a small smile tugging at the corners of my mouth.
As we head for the exit, Jessica steps forward to block our path.
Her eyes narrow at Em, but he stands taller, meeting her gaze unflinchingly.
He says something in Spanish, his voice firm but controlled.
Jessica's expression falters, confusion etched on her face.
Em takes my hand, and together we walk past her, leaving the whispers behind.
I clutch my sketchbook tighter, and our footsteps fall into sync as we exit the school grounds.
The weight of his hand in mine feels strange but reassuring.
We walk in silence, the only sound being the crunch of leaves beneath our feet.
As we approach the corner store, Em releases my hand to point at the colorful display in the window.
He fumbles with his wallet, pulling out crumpled bills, and gestures for me to wait.
Inside, he buys two strawberry lollipops and hands one to me with a shy smile.
I unwrap mine slowly, the sweet scent mingling with the autumn air.
We continue walking, and Em finally breaks the silence, "In my old school, I was alone too."
I glance at him, surprised by his admission, "Really? But you seem so... confident."
He shrugs, looking down at his lollipop, "Confidence is just practice. Inside, sometimes still scared."
I squeeze his hand gently, and he looks up, his fingers tightening around mine.
A small smile crosses his face.
The late afternoon sun casts long shadows across the sidewalk, and the sound of our footsteps mingles with the distant hum of traffic.
Em pulls out his phone and types something into a translation app.
He shows me the screen: "Friends protect each other."
I nod, feeling tears prick at the corners of my eyes.
Without letting go of my hand, he reaches into his pocket and offers me another strawberry lollipop.
I unwrap it while he guides me toward the small park near my house.
The metal taste of the wrapper lingers on my fingers as I tuck it into my pocket.
Em points at the empty swings, and we sit side by side, our feet dragging in the wood chips.
Through a mix of his translation app and broken English, he tells me about growing up in Madrid, playing soccer in the streets with his cousins, and how he misses the warmth of his hometown.
I listen intently, nodding along and asking questions whenever I can.
The sky slowly darkens, painting a canvas of deep blues and purples above us.
As we continue talking, I find myself opening up to him about my own interests—how I've loved drawing since I was five and how Hello Kitty has always been my favorite character.
Em's eyes light up with curiosity.
He pulls out his phone again and types something into the translation app before showing it to me: "Can you draw Hello Kitty now?"
I hesitate for a moment but then nod, pulling out my sketchbook from my backpack.
With quick strokes of my pencil, I bring Hello Kitty to life on the page. Em watches intently, a smile on his face.
When I'm done, he takes the sketchbook from me and flips through the pages, admiring my other drawings.
He points at one of them—a picture of Hello Kitty holding a Cinnamoroll plush—and says something in Spanish that sounds like excitement.
Then he pulls out his phone again and starts typing furiously on the screen before handing it to me: "I have Cinnamoroll too."
My eyes widen in surprise as I read his message.
He nods enthusiastically and starts scrolling through his phone's photo gallery until he finds what he's looking for.
It's a picture of him when he was younger, clutching a worn Cinnamoroll plush tightly against his chest.
I grip Em's arm tightly, my sketchbook falling from my lap and landing with a soft thud on the wood chips beneath the swings.
The sound came from behind the park bathroom building—a loud crash followed by the unmistakable shattering of glass.
Em steps slightly in front of me, shielding me with his body as he pulls out his phone and turns on the flashlight app.
The beam cuts through the growing darkness, casting an eerie glow over the deserted park.
My heart races as we stand there frozen, our eyes fixed on the shadows dancing near the bathroom building.
A low murmur escapes Em's lips, something in Spanish that sounds like a mix of fear and disbelief.
He slowly bends down to retrieve my fallen sketchbook, his gaze never leaving the spot where the noise originated.
With my sketchbook safely back in his hand, Em takes a cautious step forward.
I hold my breath, my fingers clutching the hem of his jacket.
Suddenly, another crash echoes through the night air, this time closer than before.
It's as if whatever is making those noises is moving towards us. Em grabs my hand firmly and starts tugging me toward the park exit.
But my feet feel heavy, rooted to the spot as if I'm paralyzed by fear.
Just as we're about to make a run for it, a figure emerges from behind the bathroom building.
I stumble backward, my eyes fixed on the shadowy form that has stepped into the beam of Em's flashlight.
The figure is tall and imposing, its face hidden beneath a dark hoodie.
My heart races as I realize we're not alone in the park anymore.
Em's hand tightens around mine, his voice barely above a whisper as he says something in Spanish that sounds urgent.
Then he pulls me toward him, his lips brushing against my ear as he whispers a single word: "Corre."
Run.
My legs feel like lead, but Em's grip on my hand gives me the strength to move.
We leave my sketchbook lying on the ground as we dash past the swing sets and toward the streetlights that line the sidewalk outside the park.
The figure starts moving faster too, its footsteps crunching through the dead leaves scattered across the grass.
I can't see its face, but I can sense its gaze on us, following our every step. Em leads us toward the street where lights from houses and passing cars illuminate our path.
We're almost there when I trip over a raised tree root jutting out of the ground.
I feel myself falling, but before I can hit the dirt, Em catches me by the elbow and steadies me without breaking stride.
His grip is firm and reassuring as we keep running toward safety.
The sound of our footsteps echoes through the night air, mingling with the distant hum of traffic and the rustling of leaves beneath our feet.
But then there's another sound—a heavy thud followed by a low grunt that seems to come from behind us.
It's as if whatever was chasing us has tripped too, momentarily losing its footing in pursuit.
Em glances back over his shoulder for a split second before refocusing on our escape route.
His breathing becomes more labored, but he keeps pulling me forward with determination. We're getting closer to the iron gates that mark the entrance of our neighborhood park, and I can see people walking their dogs or returning from evening strolls in the distance.
But just when I think we've finally escaped danger, I hear it again—the sound of footsteps closing in on us from behind.
"Em, what do we do?" I gasp, my voice barely audible over the pounding of my heart.
"We keep running," he replies, his tone steady despite the fear in his eyes.
"But what if—" I start, but he cuts me off, his grip on my hand tightening as he whispers urgently, "Trust me."
I sprint alongside Em, my lungs burning as we reach the park gates.
A metallic clatter rings out behind us, making me glance over my shoulder.
Under the yellow glow of the streetlight, something shiny tumbles from the hooded figure's grasp.
The object rolls across the pavement, catching the light with each turn.
Em tugs my arm, urging me forward, but I can't tear my eyes away from the gleaming item.
The figure scrambles to retrieve it, their hood slipping back slightly.
A flash of recognition hits me as the streetlight reveals a familiar face beneath the hood.
I stumble to a stop, yanking Em's sleeve and causing him to turn back.
The metallic object glints under the streetlight - a silver pendant necklace.
The hooded figure lunges for it, but Em is quicker.
He snatches it up while I grab his backpack strap to steady myself.
Our pursuer freezes, hood slipping further to reveal Jessica's face, twisted with rage.
My fingers tremble as I point at her, while Em holds the necklace high.
"Stay back," I manage to say, my voice stronger than expected.
Em positions himself between us, necklace extended like a shield.
Jessica takes a step forward, but Em shouts "No más!" so forcefully she retreats a step.
Jessica's eyes narrow, but she hesitates, and in that moment of uncertainty, Em and I turn and run, leaving the park and its shadows behind.
I grip Em's sleeve as we weave through the evening shoppers, my legs shaking from the exertion of running.
The silver necklace dangles from Em's tight fist, catching glints from streetlights as we move.
We duck into a busy coffee shop, sliding into a corner booth where I can keep an eye on the entrance.
Em places the necklace on the table between us.
It's an expensive-looking charm bracelet with Hello Kitty pendants, each one intricately detailed.
My hands tremble as I reach for it, recognizing the custom piece Jessica always wears.
Em orders us hot chocolate in broken English, keeping his body angled to block anyone's view of me.
The door swings open, and I brace myself, but it's just a couple of teenagers laughing as they enter, oblivious to the storm we've left behind.
I stare at my empty pockets, realizing I have no money to pay.
Em catches my gaze and waves it off, pulling out his wallet.
My cheeks flush as he pays for our drinks.
We sit in silence, sipping our hot chocolate until it's almost gone.
The realization hits me - my keys are still in my desk at school.
I have no way into my house.
Panic rises in my throat as I glance at the time on the coffee shop's wall clock.
My parents won't be home for hours.
Em notices my distress and pulls out his phone, typing something into the translator app.
He hands it to me, the screen displaying a single sentence: "Mi casa es tu casa."
I hesitate, unsure if I should trust this stranger enough to go to his place.
But what other choice do I have?
I nod slowly, and Em smiles, relief evident on his face. He gestures for me to follow him outside.
As we exit the coffee shop, I clutch Jessica's bracelet tightly in my hand.
The streetlights flicker overhead, casting long shadows across the sidewalk.
Em leads the way, occasionally glancing over his shoulder as if checking we're not being followed.
After a few blocks of walking in silence, we reach an apartment complex two blocks away from mine.
Em points at the building and then at himself, explaining that he lives here with his family.
"Are you sure it's okay?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
Em nods, his expression earnest. "My mamá loves guests, especially if they bring stories."
I manage a small smile, the tension in my chest easing slightly.
I follow Em up three flights of stairs to his apartment, clutching the bracelet tightly in my sweaty palm.
He unlocks the door, and immediately a wave of warm air rushes out, carrying the scent of yeast and butter.
Inside, Spanish music plays softly from the kitchen.
Em's mother appears in the doorway, wearing a flour-dusted apron and a bun with curls escaping.
She greets Em with rapid Spanish and a kiss on the cheek before noticing me standing awkwardly in the doorway.
Her eyes crinkle at the corners as she smiles, gesturing for me to come in.
Em translates her welcome while she pulls fresh bread from the oven.
I step inside, feeling the warmth of their home wrap around me like a promise of safety.
I watch as Em's mom gathers her things, stuffing a lunch container into her bag while humming along to the Spanish tune playing in the background.
She kisses Em goodbye and squeezes my shoulder before heading out the door.
The apartment feels different without her warmth.
Em looks at me, concern etched on his face.
"You look tired," he says softly, leading me down a narrow hallway lined with family photos.
We stop at a doorway, and he flips on the light, revealing a room that screams of his personality.
Soccer posters plaster the walls, and a collection of medals hangs from a corner shelf.
But what catches my attention is the small Cinnamoroll plush hiding among his pillows.
I reach for it, my fingers brushing against its soft blue fur.
Its floppy ears are so familiar, and I can't help but wonder why Em has this.
He shifts nervously beside me, his cheeks turning pink as I hold the plush up to my face.
The translator app on his phone beeps, and he hands it to me.
"I got it from my abuela before we moved here," the screen reads.
"She said it would bring me luck."
I glance at the plush again, noticing its white fur is slightly discolored from being hugged too much.
One of its ears is bent a little, like it's been squeezed too tightly.
I turn the plush over and spot a small name tag sewn into its foot, reading "Cielo" in elegant cursive.
I look back at Em, who's watching me with a mix of embarrassment and fondness.
"What does that mean?"
I ask softly, handing him the phone.
He types something quickly, his cheeks flushing deeper.
The screen flickers with his response: "It means sky."
My heart skips a beat as I clutch the plush closer to my chest.
Em clears his throat, breaking the silence.
"She always said I should aim high, like the sky," he explains, his voice barely above a whisper.
I nod, feeling a strange connection to this boy who seems to carry the weight of dreams in his hands.
I carefully set Cielo on Em's pillow, smoothing its crooked ears one last time.
Em watches from his desk chair, fidgeting with his phone's translation app.
The plush sits among his other treasures - worn soccer medals, family photos, and a small Spanish flag tucked between the wall and the window.
When I step back, Em picks up Cielo and demonstrates how he makes the plush dance, just like his grandmother used to do.
The worn stuffed animal bounces in his hands while he hums a Spanish lullaby.
His performance makes me giggle, breaking the tension that clings to us from the park.
I sit cross-legged on Em's bed, and he carefully places Cielo back on the pillow.
His fingers linger on the plush's worn ears before he turns to face me.
The lullaby fades from his lips, and the only sound left is the kitchen radio playing softly in the distance.
We both reach to straighten Cielo's crooked bow, our hands touching briefly.
Em's warm brown eyes meet mine, and his smile turns shy.
He quickly looks down at our hands, still touching near the plush.
Neither of us moves away.
The silver bracelet in my pocket feels heavy, as if it's weighing me down.
I watch Em adjust Cielo's bow one more time, his fingers brushing against the plush's fabric.
His gaze drifts to the plush's belly, and he frowns.
He presses gently against Cielo's belly, as if feeling for something.
His fingers move in small circles, and I notice a slight change in the plush's texture.
The stuffing feels different in one spot.
Em turns Cielo over, revealing a small seam I hadn't noticed before.
His fingers work at the stitching until it opens, revealing a small compartment inside the plush.
He pulls out what looks like a letter - a yellowed envelope tucked away in the stuffing.
Em's hands tremble as he holds it up, the paper creased and delicate.
Spanish words cover the page in faded blue ink.
Em's fingers tremble as he unfolds the paper.
The words spill out in a soft, unsteady voice.
Though I don't understand the language, his expression shifts between smiles and tears.
He translates bits for me, his voice catching on the words.
His grandmother wrote about believing in his dreams, even when others doubt him.
She mentions their shared love of Cinnamoroll and how she sewed the plush herself.
Em pauses at one part, his voice faltering.
He grips the letter tightly, then shows me a small drawing at the bottom - Cinnamoroll with its signature tail and wings.
I watch as Em folds the letter back up, his movements gentle and reverent.
Each fold is precise, as if he's handling something fragile and precious.
His fingers smooth out the creases before sliding the paper back into Cielo's belly compartment.
When he presses the seam closed, his touch lingers on the worn fur.
The afternoon sun streams through his bedroom window, casting a warm glow over us.
Dust particles dance in the air, illuminated by the sunlight.
Em picks up a needle and thread from his desk drawer.
He threads the needle with care, his movements deliberate and focused.
Then, with small, precise stitches, he closes the opening in Cielo's belly.
His brow furrows in concentration, reminding me of how he looks when he draws - completely absorbed in his art.
"Do you think she knew I'd find it one day?" Em asks, his voice barely above a whisper.
I nod, watching his fingers work. "She must have known you'd need it when the time was right."
Em's eyes meet mine, a new determination in them. "Then I can't let her down, can I?"
Em opens his closet and pulls out a stack of folded clothes.
He hands them to me, explaining they belong to his mother.
I hesitate at first, but the soft fabric feels comforting against my skin after the frightening events of the evening.
Standing awkwardly with the pajamas in my arms, I wait as Em rummages through a drawer for a fresh towel.
He points down the hallway to the bathroom and demonstrates how to work the shower handle with a series of gestures.
Before leaving me alone, he places the pajamas and towel on the counter.
As he steps out, he says "buenas noches" softly.
I stand there, feeling the weight of his trust and the warmth of his kindness.
I stand in Em's bathroom doorway, wearing his mother's pajamas.
My damp hair clings to my shoulders, and I run a hand through it, feeling the water droplets fall onto the floor.
Em hesitates at the end of the hall, his hand resting on the doorframe.
The light from the hallway spills around him, creating a warm glow.
He turns back to face me, his brown eyes meeting mine.
For a moment, we just look at each other.
His gaze holds a mix of curiosity and something else I can't quite place.
Then, he smiles gently and opens his mouth as if to say something.
Instead, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out another strawberry lollipop.
He walks towards me, placing it carefully in my palm.
I lean against the bathroom doorframe, carefully unwrapping the strawberry lollipop Em just gave me.
The plastic crinkles between my fingers as I work it loose.
The familiar candy scent fills my senses, reminding me of our walk home earlier, before everything went wrong at the park.
Em watches me place the lollipop in my mouth, his eyes soft and patient.
The sweet taste spreads across my tongue as I slide down to sit on the floor, my damp hair leaving wet marks on the wall behind me.
Em joins me, sitting cross-legged nearby as we share this quiet moment.
"Did you ever think we'd end up here, like this?" Em asks, his voice carrying a hint of disbelief.
I shake my head slowly, the lollipop stick shifting between my lips. "Not in a million years, but maybe that's what makes it feel right."
Em chuckles softly, leaning back against the wall. "Then I guess it's time we figure out what comes next."
I sit on Em's bedroom floor as he brings out extra blankets and pillows from the closet.
The clock reads 11 PM, but neither of us mentions sleep.
Em arranges the blankets into a cozy nest beside his bed, smoothing each layer with care.
When he notices me shivering, he wraps a fleece blanket around my shoulders.
Using his translator app, he suggests I take his bed while he sleeps on the floor.
I shake my head and pat the space next to me on our makeshift bed.
Em hesitates for a moment, then nods and settles down beside me, the unspoken promise of safety lingering in the quiet room.
I fidget with the edge of the blanket while gathering the courage to speak.
"Actually..."
My voice comes out barely above a whisper.
"Would you mind sleeping up there? I feel safer when someone's next to me."
Em looks at me, his eyes filled with understanding, and then nods slowly.
He climbs onto his twin bed, careful to leave enough space between us.
The mattress dips slightly as he settles in.
We lie there facing each other, neither speaking, while the distant sound of traffic filters through his window.
Em breaks the silence first, his voice gentle. "You know, I never told anyone what really happened at the park."
I turn my head slightly to meet his gaze. "What do you mean? I thought it was just a misunderstanding."
Em sighs, looking up at the ceiling. "It was more than that; I saw someone I recognized, someone who shouldn't have been there."
I pull my knees to my chest, watching as Em struggles to find the right words in English.
He reaches for his phone, but I place a hand on his arm, stopping him.
"Please, I want to hear it from you."
Em nods, his eyes searching mine.
"I saw Molly hiding behind trees. Then Jessica came, taking pictures of us with her phone."
His hands move expressively as he speaks.
"I didn't understand what they were saying, but I heard them whispering to each other. Then Jessica said something into her phone... 'perfect timing.'"
His face darkens at the memory.
I grip the silver bracelet in my pocket tighter, remembering how it fell during our frantic chase through the park.
Em's voice grows quieter.
"I think they were planning something, something that involved us."
My heart skips a beat as I process his words. "But why would they do that? What could they possibly want from us?"
Em shrugs, his expression troubled. "I don't know, but it can't be good."
I bite my lip, feeling the weight of the situation settle over us. "We need to figure this out before they make their next move."
Em nods, determination replacing the uncertainty in his eyes. "We'll do it together, no matter what."
I lie awake in Em's bed, unable to sleep.
The moonlight filters through his window, casting a silver glow over the room.
The silver bracelet feels heavy in my pajama pocket, a constant reminder of Molly and Jessica's mysterious scheme.
Em shifts beside me, his breathing steady but not asleep.
When I turn to face him, his eyes meet mine in the darkness.
Without using his translator app, he reaches for my hand resting between us.
His fingers intertwine with mine, warm and steady.
"We'll protect each other, always," he whispers in careful English.
I squeeze his hand, feeling the truth of his words settle deep within me.