*trigger warning- homophobia*

The man standing in front of us isn't alone. He is holding the hand of a girl I assume is his girlfriend. She looks embarrassed to be here and she's standing a couple steps behind him, hiding her face by letting her blonde hair fall in front of it.

The man takes off his reflective sunglasses which makes him only slightly less intimidating. "You're that Way kid, right?" he asks, placing his sunglasses on top of his head and narrowing his dark eyes at me. His Jersey accent is thick.

"Um, yes?" My nervous reply comes out sounding more like a question than a definitive answer. But, of course, I am that "Way kid" he's speaking of. I make eye contact with Em, and by the expression on her face, she's just as nervous as I am.

I don't get recognized in public. I mean, I have on the odd, rare occasion, but generally people take no notice of me. When those articles about me first started being released, people wanted to interview me. They even invited me to interviews with the whole band. I didn't go for any of them. They'd only be interested in my past and how I ended up with Gerard, and, of course, why I was in the hospital. After that, their attention would simply go back to the band. I'm not interested in spilling my life story to a bunch of strangers and sitting through one uncomfortable question after another.

"I liked that band, My Chemical Romance?" he says and I note the way he uses the word "liked" and not "like".

The girl who's hand he's holding then mumbles, "C'mon, let's just leave them alone." She tries to pull him away, but he stays put, only holding on tighter.

"Oh, yeah?" Is the only thing I can get to leave my mouth.

"Yeah." He nods. His gaze flits to Emerald and back so quickly I might've imagined it."But now that I know that guy has a daughter like... like you..."

At first I don't understand what he means.

But then I do.

My emotions go from nervous, to confused, to dawning, to anger, but Emerald is the one to act. She stands up and the legs of her chair screech on the wooden floor. People in the vicinity's heads shoot up. She might've scraped the floorboards. "Oh yeah?" She echoes me, only when I said it my voice was small and anxious sounding. Her's is laced with venom.

The man, who's a good twelve inches taller than her, laughs in her face. "Oh, I got her mad, babe."

"Yeah, now let's just leave." His girlfriend tries to pull him away again, but to no avail.

"I agree with her," Emerald says calmly. "I think you should just leave." Her jaw is set, her hands are balled into fists at her sides. It's not the first time she's had to stand up for herself in this way.

"Me?" The man laughs again. "You're the one going to Hell, you fucking fa—"

"Hey!" This time it's my turn to stand up, and when I do, my chair actually falls over. If people weren't staring before, they definitely are now. "Don't you dare finish that sentence."

He rounds on me. "What are you gonna do about it if I do?"

"I'll..." I've been privileged enough to have never been in a situation quite like this before, but I thought about what I might do if it arises. Now that it's happening, I've drawn a blank. All I know is I'm angry at this guy, and I know that maybe I shouldn't do it, but I have the power to piss him off even more.

Before I can completely think through my decision, I'm leaning over the table, cupping Emerald's cheeks in my hands, and kissing her on the lips.

I don't know what kind of reaction I was expecting, but it definitely wasn't what I got. I gasp and pull away as the sensation of a cold, sticky, strawberry smoothie being dumped over my head makes a chill go up my spine.

What happens next goes too quickly for me to even take it all in, but with a clatter of silverware coming from nearly every table in the room comes a chorus of angry customers. And they're all angry at the fucker who just wasted almost an entire smoothie.

Ryan, the barista, just about leaps over the counter and grabs the man by the arm, tugging him away from us. Someone else comes over and takes his other arm and the two drag the guy out the door, his girlfriend trailing behind. He barely puts up a fight. Before crossing the threshold, though, she whips her head around at Em and I and mouths an unmistakable, "I'm so sorry."

I find myself feeling bad for her.

Up until now I've just been standing in one spot, my drink dripping from my hair and onto the floor. I might've only been like this for seconds, but it could be minutes by now.

I'm just trying to fully grasp what the hell just happened.

As I replay the moment I stood up from my chair in my head, Em pulls me back to present time. "Hey, Evie?" She places a delicate hand on my shoulder. "You kinda need to move." She gestures in the direction of a worker coming our way with a mop and bucket.

"Oh!" I step aside, almost slipping, but as always, Emerald catches me.

If she hadn't been here, I don't think I'd have had the courage to stand up to that guy. Not that my courage lasted very long. Well, let's face it, I was pathetic.

"He won't be coming back here," Ryan affirms as he walks over to where Em and I are standing, rubbing his hands on his apron. We're kind of at a loss of what to do. At least she didn't get splashed with any of my smoothie.

"I'm so sorry," I say. I look down and see my chair is still knocked over, but I can't pick it up because the worker with the mop is still cleaning up around it. I quickly look away.

"Don't apologize," Ryan reassures. I still feel like it's somehow my fault, though. "In fact, your order is on the house."

He goes off behind the counter again before I can object.

• • •

Emerald and I walk back to my house in miserable silence. Our hands brush together a couple times, but we don't hold on.

Somehow, the crisp air, the birds chirping, and the fall-coloured leaves aren't as mesmerizing as they were earlier today. It feels like the life has been sucked out of everything, including Em and I. All of my focus is on the stone I'm kicking as I go, and how the hell I'm going to explain to Gerard why I'm walking into the house covered from head to toe (but mostly head) in a strawberry smoothie. Also, I forgot to get his fucking coffee.

"Fuck," I swear under my breath, but Em doesn't hear me. If she did, she doesn't acknowledge me.

I decide to keep it that way, realizing that neither of us are really in a talking mood.

Once we get outside the house, we just stop at the path and look up at it like kids in a horror movie looking up at a haunted house, or something. Emerald speaks first. "I'm just gonna call my mom to pick me up." She sounds tired and, quite frankly, miserable.

"Okay." I try to keep the disappointment from seeping into my voice. "Were you gonna come in while you wait, or..?"

"I think I'll just keep walking towards home. She'll find me."

"Are you sure? You can totally come—"

"No, Eve, it's fine." She cuts me off, probably more forcefully than she intended. I don't blame her, though. "You need to get cleaned up and stuff, right? So I'll let you do that."

"Right. Okay."

I watch as she pulls her phone from her pocket and dials her mom's number. She gives me a little wave goodbye, trying and failing to give me a smile with it, as she puts her phone up to her ear. I wave in return, but it's too late: She's already started walking away.

I start putting one foot in front of the other again until I get to the front door, feeling a weird urge to knock. Almost like I suddenly feel unwelcome here, and everywhere else. Of course, I don't. This is my house. So instead, I open the door as slowly and quietly as I can manage. When I slip through the crack, though, my hope of going straight up to my room without being seen is immediately shattered.

"Hey, Kid." Frank stands in the hallway, leaning against the wall much like Gerard was before we left. It feels like ages ago.

I close my eyes, silently cursing myself for being so inattentive. I hadn't even noticed a car that wasn't ours parked outside. "Hey." I step forward, shutting the door behind me.

"What happened to you? Are- are you okay?" he asks with concern, looking me up and down. I must look like an absolute mess.

And instead of using my words, I just start crying.