Props and Mayhem

Emme hadn’t realized how quiet her conversation with Jaime had been until she got on the plane, crying.
“Hey,” cooed Jayne, fluttering around her like a mama bird. “It’ll be all right. It’s not going to be forever.” She sat down sharply when she saw the flight attendant and then leaned her shoulder against Emme’s comfortingly. “You’re so busy anyway—you’ll barely miss him. You can make this work.”
Emme smiled through her tears. “Thanks for the pep talk—“
Jayne nodded and smiled in return.
“—But I’m crying because he broke up with me,” wailed Emme. “I feel so used.”
Jayne’s eyes grew wide. “He what? I didn’t even hear it, and I was a few feet away.” She brought her knees up to her chest and bit her lip.
Emme was having a déjà vu moment. This had happened before, except she hadn’t gone all the way to London for the last stupid boy. “He even let me kiss him and then broke up with me.” Emme tore off his sweatshirt and balled it up angrily in her lap. Men. What was wrong with them?
Jayne’s eyes fell upon the sweatshirt. “That’s… bizarre,” she said, clearly searching for something to say. The situation was so sudden—Emme herself had barely been able to comprehend it, and she’d been there. She’d been a part of it.
The plane hit a turbulent patch of air, and it jostled the girls. The sweatshirt slid from Emme’s lap and onto the floor.
Emme pulled out her earbuds and locked eyes with Jayne. “I just need to forget about him.”
Jayne bit her lip sympathetically and nodded.
Clicking through her iPod, Emme settled on Count Choculitis by Motionless In White. Chris’ anger might just help her heal, and she knew she could at least relate to the song. It would be a while, though, before she could listen to Pierce the Veil again.

For the next few days, Emme moped around the house, unable to keep herself from snapping at Mary and Jacob. Her aunt tried to do something nice and take them out to Friendly’s, and all she could think of was their ice cream date. She almost deleted her Twitter, but instead, feeling juvenile, she unfollowed Jaime and everything Pierce the Veil related. Emme had even taken to blasting Single Ladies. Hers was a bad case. And the whole time, Jaime’s sweatshirt remained where it was, draped over a chair at the kitchen table.
Her mother told her several times to stop being so moody and that she didn’t understand what was wrong.
Emme didn’t want her to understand. She wasn’t just upset, she was embarrassed. She felt humiliated for giving him the opportunity to take advantage of her. The whole situation wasn’t really something she wanted to discuss with her mother.
But she would discuss it with Jayne. She texted her whenever she felt she needed to talk, and the redhead tried her best to say something helpful. And finally, Jayne put her foot down and told Emme that she was coming over.
She arrived unscathed in her old white Buick, or as she had named her, Viridian.
“Did you get lost?” Emme teased when she opened the door. Jayne wasn’t very good at finding her way around, and they both knew it.
Jayne shook her head emphatically. “I know how to get here. I’ve only actually gotten lost that time I was going to the doctor’s office.”
Emme laughed as Jayne followed her inside. Her mother said hello as they made their way past her to Emme’s room.
“Was that Jaime’s sweatshirt?” asked Jayne sharply, pointing into the other room.
Emme threw herself onto the bed and mumbled into the pillow. “Yes. I don’t know what to do with it.”
“Well, obviously you should get rid of it,” Jayne said sensibly. “It probably reminds you him more, and that won’t help you get over everything.” She settled onto the bed beside Emme, nudging her legs to get her to move over. “Bring it to Goodwill?” she mused.
“Anyone would get more use out of it than I am,” Emme agreed. She wondered, though, if Jaime would be upset with her for giving it away. She had to remind herself that she didn’t care how he felt. He obviously didn’t care how she felt.
“Or”—and here Jayne smirked—“we could have a bonfire.”
Emme sat up. Now that sounded like a way to lift the weight of the entire situation off her mind.

They built a fire in Emme’s own backyard, pulling up a circle of dead grass and digging a shallow pit with their hands.
Emme’s nose was red before they had even lit the flames, and she buttoned up her coat. Massachusetts winters were bone-chilling. Emme disliked the cold, but not nearly as much as Jayne did.
Jayne put on some weird folk metal that reminded Emme of King Richard’s Faire, and Emme stood still for a moment, just listening. It was a far cry from Single Ladies, thank goodness.
Emme wasn’t sure what started it or who started it, but the two of them ended up dancing around the leaping flames, doing some sort of tribal dance—or at least what Emme imagined a tribal dance would look like. Jayne had the sweatshirt in her arms, and she tossed it to Emme, letting it arc gracefully, in a flash of white, over the fire. “Let’s get rid of it once and for all, shall we?” she boomed in an announcer’s voice.
Emme buried her nose in the fabric one more time, to smell him one last time. She could hate the guy, or feel betrayed, but it still wasn’t easy to let go. And plus, it still smelled like him. Jaime had always smelled good. “Wait,” she responded, holding up one finger. She cocked her head, listening to the music, and her blond hair cascaded over one shoulder. As soon as the vocalist began to scream, Emme whirled, casting the bundle of fabric into the fire.
Jayne moved closer, and both girls watched silently as the music shrieked in the background. They could even see the metal zipper turning red, then orange, then white hot. “Feel better?” asked Jayne solemnly, looking up at Emme over the flames.
“Mhmm.” Emme did feel better. It was funny how destruction made people feel empowered. She would forget Jaime. She was perfectly fine without him. Jaime who?