Placid (Luke Hemmings)

Chapter Four

| emma’s pov |

“We’re proud of you, Emma,” my parents told me, simultaneously. My mother fixed the bow on my white dress, which she willingly picked out for me. My father, on the other hand, grinned, knocking on the door of the Hemmings’ house.

“There’s a doorbell,” I informed, scratching the back of my head. This was why it was embarrassing being with these two, but they were my parents and are admittedly better than most of the mothers and fathers.

He shushed me as my mother laughed, intertwining hands with him. It was amazing how they were still together, after all these years. I’ve never heard them fight or argue, never.

The door opened, revealing Luke, in all his skinny-jean glory. How does he even wear those? He fixed the collar of his white button-down shirt, like he didn’t want to wear it, but he still did.

“Good evening,” he said, opening the door for us. He looked nervous, just like before, but kept a small smile on his face.

My parents were both stunned at his towering height, but still greeted him back as they entered the newly-decorated home. I beamed, amused at their reaction, and nodded at Luke, as an acknowledgement.

"Please follow me." He led us to their dining table, which could fit ten people, oddly. From what I knew, there were only two of them.

I chose to sat on my own, as he helped my parents take a seat at the other end of the table. His eyes quickly looked at me, when he heard me pull out a chair. He looked at me for a few seconds, his eyes squinting. It was as if Luke wanted to say something, but he didn't.

"Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Robinson! It's finally nice to meet you two!" The voice of Liz filled the room, making me and Luke snap out of our little 'staring contest'. "And Luke, sit with Emma, get to know her," she instructed, patting his back encouragingly. "Feel free to eat already!"

He nodded at his mother's request of some sort, taking a seat beside me. He had his hands clasped together, which obviously meant he wasn't comfortable being here. "Hi," he started, pursing his lips together then opening them again, then closing it.

"Hello, yeah?" I replied, tapping on the table to somehow find a way to talk to this boy. What do boys like? "Oh, f**k, right!" I whispered, a little bit loud enough for him to shoot me a worried look. "I mean, uh, you like video games? Like, FIFO!"

Luke cleared his throat, attempting to hide the smile on his face, "You mean FIFA?"

Faking a cough, I nodded, "Yeah, yeah. You know, the basketball one?"

His lips curved upward, and his hands finally let loose. He placed his arm on the table and his hand on his nape, "It's actually... football, Emma."

"How'd you know my name?" I asked, suddenly. My hands reached for two plates, which were near us, to somehow avert my attention and not seem so focused on him, though I was.

Luke's hand went to his hair, like he did the first time we saw, as he stuttered out a reply. "I-I... From my mum," he answered, at such a fast pace.

"Right, right. Sorry about that." I handed him a plate with a smile, and he nodded, seemingly losing the will to converse any further.

I was just being too suspicious. Of course his mother would tell him my name. Why wouldn't she?

But then, why do I feel like something's wrong? As if there was something more to that?