The Iceberg Tipping

“Emma!” James called, whispering an almost silent ‘there you are’ as he approached her. Emma’s body tensed up, waiting for the too warm, too strong, too visible arms to ensnare and control her. A tight hold on her shoulders, the squeezing of her eyes.
indent It was too much, she just couldn’t spit it out in time.
indent Emma’s lips glued themselves shut, and an icy pain flowed through her stiff muscles that dared her to move. She wouldn’t; no way, no how.
indent Images flashed behind her eyelids, the bubbling of a scream rising in her paralyzed throat. In her mind, it rang out so loud that it crossed the oceans to Antarctica and Poland. In reality, she eased her muscles a little and let her eyes flicker open just a little wider.
indent She wouldn’t smile, laugh, cry; she couldn’t fight back or give in. Neutrality took over, leaving her utterly numb.
indent The hall went silent. In his short time back, James had already regained his footing on the slippery slope sides of popularity’s pyramid, re-digging his old hand holds to the top. Every person in hearing distance stopped, spying on Emma in a way that never used to bother her.
indent This time it was different.
indent Did I actually scream?
indent She saw the anticipation in some of their eyes, blatant dislike in a majority, and horror in the others. Her eyes swept the hallway quickly, James’ arms and greedy hands not breaking contact. Slowly making his way towards them was Rory, his anger not hidden in any way, shape, or form.
indent Emma’s heart fluttered, her eyes lit up and the weight of James that encompassed her seemed to lighten. She shouldn’t feel this way; happy was a forbidden emotion she kept locked up for secret, stolen moments at the pond.
indent “What did I tell you about staying away from Emma?” Rory asked, voice quiet but eyes flaming, the people closed in around us as they took in his words, sensing a fight that was bound to happen.
indent James laughed haughtily. “Why would someone like me listen to someone like you?”
indent Emma flinched with how close he was. “Don’t cause a scene, Rory,” she whispered, looking warily out at the growing crowd. Rory’s green eyes flickered towards her, the anger dying down enough to show the underlying worry for just a second before it was brought back tenfold.
indent Rory thought a moment; James’ cocky sneer, Emma’s fear, his own anger. The crowd at his back seemed to be breathing down his neck. Emma liked her shadows, he know, and this was most definitely the spotlight. It would be so easy to bring James’ ego down a notch with a group of onlookers this size.
indent His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides, internal battle between what would really be best for Emma and what could ruin their already fragile relationship.
indent Fragile.
indent It was a good word for Emma.
indent Rory opened his mouth to spew a witty way to postpone the scene that Emma so badly didn’t want, but across the hall a teacher came into the picture.
indent “Break it up,“ he called, pushing through the crowd. “Don’t you have a class to get to?”
indent Rory hadn’t thought about teachers, he could tell by the fear dawning in Emma’s eyes that she hadn’t either. 

indent “Hit me, loser, I dare you,” James chuckled lowly.
indent Rory glared at him. “Trust me, I will.”
indent “Break it up,” the teacher hollered, coming to the front of the crowd. He stood a foot away from Emma and James, Rory off to the side. It must have looked suspicious because the next words out of his mouth were, “all of you, detention.”