To Walk in His Shoes

August 1st.

Emma's here.

We picked her up an hour ago from the all too familiar packed airport. She still has those same long, frizzy curls. Her hair is still chestnut brown and her eyes are still that dull, dusty gray. The only difference between my last encounter with Emma is her tan. It's hot in southern California near the beach and the boys. Here, it's rainy and covered in green fir trees. Hence why my skin is never more than a pasty white.

Emma's bags are bright pink and covered in sparkles. I roll my eyes at how girly she's become, but nevertheless help her out. The cases are so much heavier than I expected as I use all of my strength to lift them up the seemingly never ending stairs.

Emma's exploring my room by the time I set her suitcases down. I wipe the sweat from my brow and rest my hand on my hip. She turns around and smiles at me innocently.

"What?" She asks, her bright glow making me giggle a bit.

"Thanks for helping me out," I say sarcastically, sitting in my wooden chair. Emma just snorts and continues to obnoxiously jump on the bed. When she's done, she sits on my comforter and stares vacantly at me.

"It's the same as I remember," she replies airily.

"Yeah, I haven't really done much to it," I mutter.

"We should decorate it while I'm here!" She squeals, clapping her hands.

I smirk at my animated friend and stifle a laugh. "Maybe," I say. I'm about to ask her about her life when she perks up.

"How have you been without me here?" She queries, laying back against the wall and pulling her knees to her chest.

"Terrible. I'm all alone, Emma."

"You've got Carter... and Keith."

"Oh gosh. Don't even get me started."

"He can't be that bad, Katrina."

My eyes widen. Emma never really got the chance to know Keith. Even though he's been my neighbor for years, we usually hung out at Emma's house. So Keith was never a distraction. Hence why Emma doesn't know Keith like I do. She doesn't realize that he's actually a disgusting pig that can't keep a girl for more than a couple of days because of his lack of manners.

"Try living with a teenage guy who steals all your food and acts like everything he steps on is his. It's not very fun," I retort. Emma holds her hands up in the air to surrender.

"Okay, okay. But don't you ever think it's just a facade? I mean, I don't know him, but there has to be more to him than the typical jerk act," she states. I consider this, but then laugh.

"Whatever you say, Emma," I chuckle. Emma grins and drags me downstairs into the kitchen.

For the next few hours, we graze through my kitchen and bake hundreds of cookies and brownies. It's suddenly like the old days again, not having a care in the world. I didn't understand how much I've missed her until now.

When the last batch of cookies are in the oven, Emma and I sit at the island table and lick the batter off our spoons.

"How has California been?" I ask, raising my eyebrows at her. She smiles and takes another lick at the raw dough.

"My parents have been gone most of the time, so it's really just me. I mean, I've met a couple of people, but none of them are as fantastic as you," she compliments childishly, smiling widely. I blush and roll my eyes, jumping off the chair and putting the dirty dishes in the washer.

"Of course, because I'm just so wonderful," I say dramatically, resting a hand over my chest. As if on cue, Keith walks through the front door and smirks.

"Oh, I wouldn't go that far, Kitty-Kat," he taunts, sauntering over to the kitchen and taking a brownie off the counter. I scoff, narrowing my eyes at him. But before I can get any words out, Keith starts up again. "And this must be Emma, right?"

Emma blushes and I shake my head. Of course she'd fall for his fake charm. Every girl does.

"Yes. Nice to meet you, Keith," she states, holding out her hand for him to shake. He swallows his last bite and takes her fingers in his, kissing her hand delicately. Emma giggles and now I know she's fallen in his trap.

"My pleasure," Keith says, almost sounding like a gentleman. I groan loudly.

The oven beeps then, and I quickly grab my mitts and pull out the cookies. I turn off the timer and set the cookies on a cooling rack. When I'm done, I clean up my mess and glare at Keith.

"Well, I think we're done here. Nice seeing you, Keith," I say sarcastically, pulling Emma up the stairs. She looks confused, but waves to Keith and follows me anyway. He takes several more cookies and watches us leave.

"What was that about?" she asks when we're in my room. I pull out a lightweight tee-shirt and a pair of old pajama shorts.

"I think I should be asking you the same thing," I reply with distaste in my voice. I strip off my clothes and change into the ones I've set on my bed. Emma looks up at me with a vacant look.

"He seems like a gentleman, Kat," she says absentmindedly, twirling her curly hair between her fingers.

"Yeah, that's about as true as your hair being platinum blonde and stick straight, Ems," I rebuttal coldly, walking into the bathroom to brush my teeth. When I walk back in, Emma is pulling on an old white tank top over her skinny torso. I haven't realized how tiny she's become since now. It almost scares me, but I don't interfere.

"I'm sorry, Katrina," she says when she notices I'm back. Her eyes are full of liveliness, and I know she really does feel bad. "I don't know him like you do. I just think there's more to him than you think."

She does have a point. But I don't care to learn about Keith. We're on two completely different sides of the earth. He hates me and I hate him.

And that's just how it's always going to be.

~~*~~

I don't remember falling asleep that night, or even getting into bed. I do remember, however, Carter running into my room and shaking us awake. I scream at him and slap his shoulder, making him jump back and wince. He shakes his head and turns on the light, looking pale. I notice beads of sweat on his forehead and sit up, wondering what's going on.

"The house across the street is on fire!" He shouts, pulling me out of bed. Emma wakes up then, and I tell her to follow me. She does, and before I know it, we're all outside, the cold air nipping at our bare skin.

Neighbors are crowded on the street, bickering and yelling and asking nosy questions. No one has any idea what's going on or who started it.

But the minute Keith walks over to us, I know he has something to do with it.