"Hey!" I called out, as Parker and Emmett walked in the door.

Parker slung his backpack across the room and stormed back to his room, slamming his bedroom door behind him.

"He's a little pissed off," Emmett explained, with a tight smile.

"What happened?" I asked, furrowing my eyebrows.

"Coach sent him to the trainer before practice for his arm," Emmett explained, while pouring himself a glass of Gatorade, using up the rest of the two-liter. "And he ended up having to get stitches."

I didn't think it had been that bad in the elevator. But then again, I was pretty distracted.

"Oh."

"Yeah," Emmett agreed. "Trainer said he can't play for at least 3 days with the stitches, meaning that he's going to miss tomorrow night's game."

"So I guess he's not taking it well?"

Emmett gestured back towards Parker's bedroom. "What do you think?"

"Sounds like he was fun to ride home with."

Emmett rolled his eyes. "Glad I wasn't in that elevator."

My eyes flickered towards the ceiling, trying to keep my composure.

I'm sure glad Emmett wasn't in the elevator either.

"How'd it happen anyways?" he asked.

"I don't know," I confessed. "The lights went dark, the elevator lurched to a stop. I stumbled a bit; Parker must've ripped his arm against some metal."

He tensed up at that. "Damn."

It'd looked nasty in the elevator, but I'd figured he'd just clean it up with some warm water and soap. Not stitches.

"So we probably need to talk about next week," Emmett pointed out.

"I'm perfectly fine if we don't."

He laughed at that. "We're meeting mom and dad at the Gaylord Palms ballroom."

I nodded in agreement.

"Parker and Lee are supposed to join us," Emmett added.

My eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Parker's brother Lee is joining us?"

"Yeah," Emmett agreed. "What? Did you think he'd spend Thanksgiving alone?"

"No," I defended. "I guess I just didn't think about it."

"Yeah, well he's not finished with classes until Tuesday afternoon. So Parker's picking him up on Wednesday."

"Cutting it close there."

Emmett nodded in agreement.

Parker came back out into the kitchen area, dressed in jeans and a nicer t-shirt.

"I'm going out," he informed us, before slamming the apartment door behind him.

"Well okay then," Emmett agreed. "What do you want for dinner?"

~*~

"How do you think they're going to do without Parker?" Michelle asked me, as the Mustangs lined up on the field.

Jason, a benchwarmer, was playing in Parker's position.

They were playing the Hawks, who were worthy opponents. They'd only lost one game this season.

But the Mustangs were undefeated.

"I really hope, for Jason's sake, that they pull this one out," I said, with a laugh.

Parker was standing on the sideline, his hands on his hips as he conversed with the Coach.

He was still clearly put out by the fact that he'd been benched.

Parker and I's eyes met momentarily, but we both quickly looked away due to the awkward tension.

We hadn't said much to each other since the night in the elevator. I mean, what do you say after heavily making out with someone in a dark elevator?

Hey, how's the weather?

"Something happened in that elevator," Michelle said to me.

"Yeah, Parker sliced his arm open. We already discussed this."

"No. Besides that. The awkward tension I'm feeling is too much for that."

"You can't feel any awkward tension," I informed her. "He's behind that fence and across the field."

"And the fact that I can still feel the awkward tension means you guys must have practically had sex."

"Shut up."

"You didn't deny it."

"We didn't not practically have sex."

"Did you guys kiss?"

The ref blew the whistle, signaling the start of the game.

The Mustangs had kick-off, and Jason passed it off to Emmett.

"Did you?" Michelle repeated.

"Kind of."

"What?" she hissed. "How do you kind of kiss someone? Again might I add?"

Emmett worked his way down the field with his fancy footwork before doing a pass-and-go with the right midfielder.

"Emily Marie Winston," she hissed.

"Wait," I ordered, as the midfielder crossed the ball into the center.

The pass was caught by the goalie.

"Okay, what?" I asked, looking over at her.

"The kind of kiss with Parker? Explain, now."

"We just kind of made out in the elevator."

"Kissing and making out are two very different things with two very different meanings."

"It doesn't matter."

"And why's that?"

"Because we both agreed that it never happened."

"Ew, gross. Why would you agree to that?"

"Because it was a mistake," I informed her, my eyes flickering over to the field.

Our defense had taken control of the ball.

"You don't mistakenly make out with a hot soccer captain."

"You do if you're in a dark elevator together after he says a couple of nice things about you. Things just escalated too quickly."

Michelle giggled.

"What?"

"You mean things elevated too quickly?"

"Funny."

"All I'm saying is that you guys can't just pretend this didn't happen," she informed me, as the left midfielder streaked up the side of the field with the ball. "You two made out. That sexual tension is always going to be there."

The left midfielder crossed the ball into the goalie box, and Emmett headed the ball into the goal.

I jumped out of my seat, cheering at the top of my lungs.

I briefly connected eyes with Parker, before we both looked away again.

"Always," Michelle repeated.

~*~

"I don't feel so hot," I informed Michelle.

"You're probably just nervous about your parents coming to town," she said, with a sympathetic smile.

Probably.

I sighed, letting the next episode of Dawson's Creek play on Netflix while we stretched out across the couch, totally mesmerized.

This show is addicting.

Partway into the episode Parker came stumbling out of the back, his eyes bloodshot and his hair ruffled.

"Party a little too hard last night?" I teased, pausing our Netflix.

I knew for a fact that he hadn't come home until early this morning.

He ignored me, making his way over to the medicine cabinet.

Michelle and I exchanged knowing glances. We both knew the magical effects of Tylenol on a hangover headache.

But Parker pulled the anti-nausea medicine out of the cabinet.

"Are you sick?" I asked Parker.

"You've seriously been that into your show?" he asked, his voice hoarse. "I've been puking my guts up for at least 30 minutes."

I exchanged disgusted glances with Michelle.

"Gross," I confirmed.

"Yeah, well tell that to the contents of my stomach that are now in the sewage system," he muttered, before gulping down the anti-nausea medicine.

He wrinkled his nose at the taste and then put it back up in the medicine cabinet.

When I take that stuff, I always have to eat crackers or drink coke afterwards to rid myself of the taste. It was awful.

But Parker just headed back to his bedroom, shutting off the hallway lights in the process.

"Can I get you anything?" I called after him.

He didn't answer.

"I'll take that as a no," I muttered, restarting our episode of Dawson's Creek.

~*~

"You can't seriously expect to still go," Emmett said to Parker.

"The kid can't spend Thanksgiving alone," Parker argued, as he gulped down another spoonful of the anti-nausea medicine.

My stomach clenched for him. I seriously hate that stuff.

And then I realized that my stomach wasn't clenching for him.

I practically sprinted back to the bathroom, sliding in my on my knees before emptying the contents of my stomach into the toilet.

I was going to murder Parker Adams.

"Well shit," I heard Emmett say, once I'd finished.

I lied out on the bathroom floor, pressing my face to the cool floor.

"And on that note, I'm out of here," Parker informed us.

"Dude, you can't make it to Miami," Emmett argued.

"Can you guys take this somewhere else?" I groaned.

"Yeah, we'll take it all the way out to my car, and then Emmett can call me while I drive to Miami," Parker said, before heading towards the apartment door.

"Idiot," Emmett clarified. "You're a fucking idiot."

Parker saluted him before leaving the apartment.

"Well great," Emmett said, with a sigh. "Now you've got this thing. I swear to God, if I get it too I'm going to murder the both of you."

I had a feeling that Emmett wasn't at as high of a risk as getting it as I was, unless he'd spent any of his recent days making out with Parker Adams. And for some reason I highly doubted that.

"I'll make you some soup," Emmett said, with a smile. "And bring you the anti-nausea." He sighed. "Between you and Parker we're going to need a new bottle before the end of the week."

Lucky me.

~*~

"That was Parker," Emmett informed me, hanging up his cell phone.

"I figured."

"He's not making it back."

"I figured that as well."

"He said he and Lee will probably spend Thanksgiving in a hotel room with some takeout."

I'd much rather prefer to spend my Thanksgiving like that. I was sick and miserable, and I didn't want to be anywhere around my family, especially since most of them will just be there to judge me.

"Alright, cold hard truth time," Emmett informed me.

"Lay it on me."

"You're sick," he stated.

"No shit Sherlock."

"And you're not going to want to eat at lunch today."

Okay, I already saw where this was going.

"Kill me?" I asked. "Just save me from our family and shoot me now."

"Just eat some mashed potatoes," he suggested.

Those were so high in calories. Not that it mattered much anymore, but it was still true.

"And whatever casserole is there. And stay away from the bread because it'll just expand in your stomach and make you feel worse."

"Okay doc," I agreed.

"Just trying to help you out so you don't puke your guts up at the lunch."

"Then I could go from Anorexia to Bulimia," I joked.

"It's not really a joking matter."

"Oh lighten up Emmett."

"It's just not funny to me."

I let out a sigh, nodding in agreement. Too soon, I understand.

"So just smile and act pleasant, yeah?" Emmett teased.

"Shut up."

He picked up his keys. "Then let's hit the road."

"Let's not and say we did."

He rolled his eyes, pointing towards the door.

"We're matching," I pointed out, as we stepped into the elevator.

Emmett was wearing a bright blue Polo shirt and jeans, and I was wearing a blue sundress.

"Why didn't you point that out earlier?" he asked, with a scowl.

Emmett hates it when we match. Our parents used to dress us to match when we were younger, and the pictures are honestly hideous.

"I'm not that bad to match," I teased. "And I just noticed."

We took Emmett's Mercedes over to the Gaylord. Most of my family was already in the ballroom by the time we got there, and they all wanted to talk to me.

And all I wanted to do was curl up on a couch somewhere and sleep.

My parents were across the room, and my mom waved at us while my dad didn't acknowledge our presence.

No surprise there.

"How're you feeling dearie?" one of my aunts asked me, after I'd gotten myself a bottle of water.

"Just fantastic," I answered, with a tight-lipped smile.

None of my cousins had come, of course, meaning that Emmett and I were the only teenagers here.

And meaning that we were the center of my relatives' attention. Lucky us.

Where's Emmett to save me when I need him?

I looked around the room and saw him laughing and talking with dad.

I hate their relationship.

That sounds petty. And that's because it is. I'm honestly just jealous that my dad loves Emmett more than me.

What did he do to deserve more love than me?

"Emily!" Emmett called over.

I made my way over to my dad and Emmett, my head pounding.

I cannot wait to get back to the apartment.

"Are you alright dear?" mom asked, reaching dad and Emmett the same time I did. "You look ill."

Dad narrowed his eyes at me. Like it was my fault that I'd contracted this stomach bug.

Well technically I guess it was. But I didn't know that Parker was sick when he practically attacked me in the elevator.

"She's got a stomach thing," Emmett explained to mom. "Parker passed it along."

I choked on my water. Why would he word it like that?

The three of them stared at me.

"You alright?" Emmett teased, with a smirk. "Forget how to swallow?"

"Shut up."

"If you're not feeling well, why don't you go lay down in our hotel room?" mom suggested.

"It's Thanksgiving," dad argued. "She should be here with the family."

My mom handed me the room key. "Room 403. Go lie down dear. I'll bring you up some mashed potatoes and find you some soup or something."

I nodded in agreement, kissing Emmett's cheek before leaving the ballroom.

And that's how I ended up spending Thanksgiving alone.

***************************************************************************************************************

So what did you guys think about Parker having to get stitches? What about Michelle & Emily's conversation during the soccer game? And then Parker & Emily both getting sick, were you expecting that? What about Parker not making it back with Lee, were you disappointed? And then Emily spending Thanksgiving alone?

Not entirely happy with this chapter. But not sure how to fix it either. So whatever.

The picture off to the right was created by mpapaya15. Check it out! -->

The picture & video on the last chapter have been fixed. Sorry they disappeared, they were there when I posted the chapter yesterday, promise!

It's currently storming outside and I have to leave in 30 minutes. I hate driving in the rain.

Teaser: Emily goes to a party, but things get a little out of control.

Update: Monday