Depature.

Zomg, zomg, zomg, BREATHE. Relax, Luna. Just act cool. Stay cool. Don't be an idiot. "So what do you think?" He smiled straight at me. I froze and managed to prove my idiocracy but mumbling some nonsense that even I had no idea what it meant. He just smiled some more, probably trying not to laugh at me. "Miss Emma?" He turned to Emma, who looked like someone had stuck a carrot up her nose, judging by the look of pain (and confusion) on her face. Hey! Back off! He's mine! Look at me again!

"Er, well . . ." Emma said slowly, turning to look at my mom instead of him.

"I think it may be a good thing to get the two of you out of this house," my mom said. "Lord knows you've both been stuck inside far too long. And I trust the principal to care for you."

"Please, ma'am, Mister Timblewood is not a prinicipal, he's a--"

"It's up to Emma and Luna. They have my permission to go." Go? Wait, where are we going? Crap, I wasn't listening to what he had actually been saying, just that he had been speaking in the most amazing voice EVER. And that he had the most amazing eyes EVER. And zomg, zomg, zomg. BREATHE.

"Misses Emma and Luna?" The beautiful boy said, awaiting our repsonses. I think I managed to open my mouth, but it just hung open like the retarded mouth it was. "Miss Luna, are you feeling well?" He looked thoroughly concerned. Zomg, he looked even more amazing like that. Then he looked at Emma and he looked even more concerned. Hey, no, don't look at her! Look at me! But the look on his face made me look at her too. Crap, she looked even paler than usual and was holding onto her head tightly, a green glow surrounding her hands. "Miss Emma? Miss Emma! Why, you don't look so well either!" She groaned painfully. My mom looked at me suddenly.

"Luna, go to my room," she said, looking slightly horrified. There was no way I could argue with her and quickly got out of the room.

I sat down on the foot of my mom's bed and sighed. What was up with Emma? And what had made my mom look so horrified and send me here? I waited only a few minutes before my mom came in, looking slightly less horrified now.

"Emma's okay now," my mom reassured me. "She just had a headache. She's getting her things right now and I'm going to drive her to the school." So that's what he had been talking about. . . . Wait, she's leaving?!? "I'll be back in a few days. There's plenty of leftovers so you and Franklin won't starve." My head suddenly hurt. Leaving . . . again . . . Hadn't we already been through the whole I-don't-exactly-do-well-with-Emma-leaving thing already? "If you need me while I'm gone, I'm taking Franklin's cell phone with me." She kept going on and on as if there was no question that Emma was leaving, but I didn't hear anything else she said. I was too busy trying to process the idea of Emma leaving. Again. Just the other day, she was acting like she would rather shoot herself than be away from me, and now she was disapearing all over again. Like I'd stay here while she went off to some weird place with that creepy guy. He was probably a rapist. No way I was letting her go off anywhere without me.

"I'm going too," I announced, standing up. My mom looked confused for a moment.

"Why? It's just a long car ride. It won't be any fun."

"I meant to the school. You said it was up to me and Emma if we wanted to go. I want to go." She gaped at me. Clearly, she hadn't been listening to my mind at all. Which, I decided, was a good thing. I liked my thoughts being just that: mine. She opened her mouth to argue, closed it, repeat.

"You can't," she said finally.

"Tough luck. I'm going. You said I could, so I'm going." Her face went cold suddenly.

"You only want to go because the two of you are attached to each other way too much. You both need to learn how to be apart. You can't spend forever with her!" She was standing up now too, looking way serious and scary. I had forgotten how scary she could get. Then, just to make the situation even more *insert adjective here*, Emma and the boy walked in. Okay, he wasn't really a boy. He was probably 16 or 17. Older than me, that's for sure. He had his hand on her shoulder and Emma's face was screwed up in pain.

"What in the world are you two screaming about?" Emma groaned. Jeeze, she looked terrible. And why was he touching her like that? Ugh. Stay away from her!

"Why don't you go finish getting your things, Emma," my mom said in a suddenly kind voice.

"Ma'am, Miss Emma has already gotten her things. She is prepared for departure," the boy said in that amazing voice of his. Zomg, zomg, zomg. BREATHE. Okay, can you say mood swings? What was with me? One minute, I'm all pissy at my mom, then I'm getting ultra jealous, then I'm turning into a giddy little girl over some guy who I had just decided was probably a rapist.

"Let me just finish saying goodbye to my daughter."

"I'm going," I announced. Emma smiled slightly through her look of pain. The boy looked pleased.

"Very well then. We can all go together," the boy said (in his amazing voice). My mom scowled, but didn't argue.