Chapter Text
“Murphy!” Mbege shouted. “It’s your turn!”
Murphy walked over, his hands shoved into his pockets.
“The fuck do you want now, Mbege?” he said tiredly.
“It’s your turn,” Mbege repeated, shoving a piece of paper at Murphy. “You have to get a girl off the list.”
“Fuck no,” Murphy said, shoving the paper back. “I’m not playing your stupid game.”
“It’s your turn,” Mbege insisted. “It’s a rite of passage in the gang. You do it or you get kicked out.”
Murphy debated internally before he finally said, “Fine, who do I have to get?”
The game was simple. Get a girl to fall in love with you, and then dump her. Points were added for difficulty, personality, skill, and duration. Points were taken away for failed attempts and for any girls that found out about the list. Murphy had hoped to stay the hell out of the game. He thought it was stupid and misogynistic, but these guys were the only ones willing to hang out with him anymore, so he went with it.
“You have to pick yourself,” Mbege said, pointing at the list of names. Murphy let his eyes drift over it, not really reading anythingbefore he said, “Okay, I’m not picking. This game is stupid.”
“Fine,” Mbege said. “I’ll pick for you.”
He snatched the list back from Murphy and scanned it, nudging one of the other boys. Mbege pointed at something, grinning.
“Found the perfect one for you, Murphy,” he said. “Emori Sangeda.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” one of the other boys said. “Dude, he’ll lose.”
“The fuck are you talking about, Dillan?” Murphy snapped.
“She’s the hardest,” Dillan replied. “Nobody has ever gotten her.”
“Who is she?”
Mbege pointed out a girl with curly brown hair sitting at the edge of the cafeteria, by the windows. She was reading a book, her feet up on the table and her left hand tucked into her pocket. Murphy studied her. She was pretty, but not in an in-your-face way like a lot of the girls at school. She was pretty in the way that would sneak up on you, so slowly that you wouldn’t realize it until you were in too deep.
“What’s so hard about her?”
“She’s the one with the deformed hand,” Dillan said. “Nobody’s ever managed to get further than five minutes before they either get shut down or fuck up and say something about her hand.”
Murphy’s eyes drifted to the lump that was Emori’s pocket.
“She’s the perfect one for you, Murphy,” Mbege said. “What do you say?”
Internally, Murphy wanted to scream, “Hell fucking no,” and run away. He wanted to find better friends, friends that weren’t assholes that played with girls’ emotions for fun. He wanted to be better.
“Yeah, sure. Challenge accepted.”
Murphy slid into the seat across from Emori, a practiced smirk curling his lips.
“What’cha reading?” he asked. Emori’s hand tilted the book down and she studied him.
“Tale of Two Cities,” she deadpanned. She quirked one eyebrow at him. “You ever heard of it?”
Murphy laughed at that.
“Yeah, I was forced to read it freshman year like everybody else. You’re reading it for fun?”
“AP Literature. I’m not a masochist.”
Murphy laughed again. Emori’s lips twitched.
“What makes you so interested in what I’m doing?” she asked, taking her feet down and leaning forward, the book lying facedown and forgotten between them. Murphy shrugged.
“I don’t exactly have any friends. Call me desperate.”
“What about them?” Emori asked, gesturing towards the members of Murphy’s gang. They were watching, punching each other on the shoulders and snickering. Murphy glanced at them, swallowing.
“They’re not really my friends,” he said, turning back to her. “More like people who tolerate my presence.”
“Tolerate?” Emori raised one eyebrow. She smirked, looking him up and down. “I don’t see why they would only tolerate your presence.”
Murphy smirked back.
“Clearly you don’t know me very well.”
“Clearly.”
They smiled at each other for a moment before Emori stuck out her hand.
“I’m Emori,” she said. “And you are?”
“John Murphy, but most people call me Murphy.”
“Nice to meet you, John.”
Murphy laughed, his heart skittering. Shit.
“What’s your first period?” she asked.
“Math.”
“Wanna skip?”
Murphy grinned.
“Sure thing.”
Emori grabbed the book off the table and shoved it in her backpack, swinging the bag onto her shoulder. Murphy stood with her, his own bag already hanging off one shoulder. She gestured towards the door, giving a mocking bow.
“After you, good sir,” she said, her eyes twinkling. Murphy returned the mock bow, his lips stretched into a smile. He wasn’t sure when the last time he’d smiled that much was. It was nice.
Emori led him out into the courtyard of the school. Murphy didn’t look back to see if the gang was watching him. He knew they would be. Emori ducked through a few shrubs on the side of the building and Murphy raised his eyebrows.
“Come on,” she said, grinning at him. “The bush isn’t going to eat you.”
Murphy rolled his eyes and followed her into the shrub. He was surprised to find a small space behind the shrub, a forgotten nook between the tall hedge and the building. Emori sat down, pulling something out of her backpack. Murphy caught a momentary sight of her left hand. All he could make out was scar tissue before it was hidden away again. Emori handed him a rolled blunt. Murphy took it with a grin.
“Is this what you do to make friends?” he jokingly asked, taking the lighter she handed him. “Take them to your hiding spot and smoke weed?”
“Nah,” Emori said, taking the lighter back. “Just with you.”
Murphy grinned, leaning against the wall and watching her light her own blunt. He inhaled a long drag of the sweet smoke, shutting his eyes. This was nice. Away from the Snakes, away from school, away from his drunk mom –
“Why don’t you have any friends?” Emori asked. Murphy cracked his eyes open to see her watching him with an unreadable expression.
“I’m not exactly likeable,” he said slowly. “I’m kind of an asshole, if you want me to be honest.”
“Hmm.” Emori shut her eyes, tipping her head against the wall. “Me too.”
“I find that hard to believe,” Murphy said, taking another long drag from his blunt. “You seem likeable to me.”
“I could say the same about you.”
“But you’d be lying.”
Emori said nothing to that.
“Most people that meet me usually want to punch me in the face about ten minutes later,” Murphy continued. “My old friends included.”
“Do you want me to punch you in the face?” Emori asked, her tone joking and lighthearted. Murphy rolled his eyes.
“Nah, I feel like that would ruin this friendship thing we’ve got going.”
“You’ve known me for all of about ten minutes, John,” Emori laughed.
“Once you smoke a girl’s weed, you’re friends for life,” Murphy retorted. Emori laughed again at that, the sound clear as a bell. Murphy’s heart stuttered, and not because of the weed.
“Most people think I’m a freak,” Emori said lightly. Murphy frowned at her, but she wouldn’t meet his eyes. “That’s why I don’t have any friends.”
“Why would they call you a freak?” he asked quietly. Emori pulled her left hand out of her pocket and Murphy took in the missing finger and the twisted thumb and the two fingers that were fused together to the second knuckle. Emori let him get a good look at it before moving to hide it again. Murphy found his voice.
“I think that’s pretty badass,” he said, earning himself a surprised glance from Emori. “I wouldn’t cover it up.”
“Liar,” she said, tucking the hand away even as the ghost of a smile lingered on her lips. Murphy let his head fall back against the wall, grinning. He was starting to be glad that Mbege had given him the hardest girl on the list.
They crawled out of the hedge a while later, stumbling and laughing at each other. Murphy couldn’t keep the smile off his face, and he wasn’t sure it was because of the weed. He bid Emori a goodbye by the door to the school, each of them going in separate directions. Murphy headed for his English class, his backpack sliding off his shoulder a little. The bell rang for passing period and he dodged the people that began to swarm the hallways. He was almost to class when Mbege appeared at his side.
“Where did you two go?” his friend demanded. Murphy shrugged, hoisting his backpack more securely on his shoulder. “Dude, you smell like weed. Where did you go?”
“Through a bush,” Murphy replied with a cheeky grin. Mbege raised one eyebrow and said, “Meet me at lunch, okay? We’ll get your score sheet started.”
“Yeah, whatever,” Murphy muttered, frowning at the reminder that Emori was just a game to the Snakes. He briefly entertained the idea of telling the guys to fuck off and quitting the game to just hang out with Emori. She was ten times cooler than any Snake and he’d only known her for half a day. However, he was quickly reminded of the last person to do that – Bellamy Blake. He’d been tasked with bringing down the princess of the school, Clarke Griffin, but managed to fuck up and actually fell for his target, getting him kicked out of the gang. As far as Murphy knew, Bellamy was pretty much dead to the Snakes. He couldn’t let that happen to him. He would be alone again, with nobody but his ever-drunk mother.
He took his seat in the back of the class and spent an hour pretending to listen to the teacher go on about the implications of Shakespeare’s writings for women and minorities. The harsh ringing of the bell was a blessing, releasing him from the mind-numbing boredom of the class. He filed out with everyone else, heading to his next class, biology. Today they were studying birds to prepare for the chicken dissection. He stuck his headphones in, planning to sit in the back to avoid getting partnered up with anyone. He kept his head down when walking into the classroom, making a beeline for the back tables. The bell shrieked that class was starting and he popped one headphone out, looking up at the front.
“Mr. Murphy, it appears that you don’t have a partner.” He groaned internally. “Would you mind showing our new student the ropes?”
Murphy’s eyes drifted from the teacher to the girl standing next to him and his irritation dissipated. Emori grinned at him, shifting her backpack on her shoulder. He nodded and she walked back, ignoring the whispers that followed her. She dropped her backpack next to him and sat down on the stool, leaning on the lab table and smirking at him.
“What a weird coincidence,” she said. Murphy smirked back, crossing his arms over his chest.
“I don’t believe anything with you is a coincidence,” he said. “I believe you’re here for a reason. I just haven’t figured it out yet.”
“You’re right,” Emori said. She held up a slip of paper. “I transferred from AP Chemistry because chemistry sucks ass.”
“I wouldn’t say biology is any better,” Murphy said. “We’re dissecting chickens.”
“Chickens?” Emori raised her eyebrows. “I wasn’t aware we did human dissections. Are we dissecting the jocks or the nerds?”
Murphy couldn’t help the laugh that burst from his mouth at that. Emori’s smile made the teacher’s angry reprimand worth it.
When the class period was over, Murphy had a free period. He walked Emori to her next class, World History.
“Don’t tell me you’ve transferred into all my other classes,” he said to her, sticking his hands in his pockets. “Like Creative Cooking. Or my math class.”
“Nope,” Emori said, grinning. “Just your science class. You’re only stuck with me for an hour a day.”
“Damn,” Murphy said, stopping outside her classroom door. “What a shame.”
She smiled up at him and something in his chest stuttered, his lips curving upwards.
“I should get in there before the bell rings,” Emori said, shifting her backpack on her shoulder. “Jaha’s a stickler for attendance.”
“I know. I have him for sixth period.”
“I’m truly sorry about that,” Emori laughed. She waved to him and disappeared into the classroom. Murphy grinned at the doorway she’d left through for a minute before turning and heading for the lunchroom. Since his free period was fourth, he got an extended lunch. He took his usual seat by the window and pulled out his headphones, expecting to be left alone. He was, until a familiar figure plopped down across from him.
“Hey, stranger,” Emori said, grinning. Murphy’s lips curved into a smile.
“What, you’re following me now?”
“Nah, just thought I would bother you while you were minding your own business here.” She pulled out a lunchbox. “Do you eat?”
Murphy laughed at the question.
“No, I survive off the lingering bitterness inside me.”
She nodded.
“That sounds about right.”
Murphy’s lips remained curled into a smile as Emori launched into a rant about Jaha’s class. He had spent the first ten minutes reminding them that it was their duty to remember that history was always watching, and that it was their choices that determined their stories in the history books. Murphy stopped listening after a minute, his eyes on the strands of Emori’s hair that slipped out of the loose braid she had it in, and the tiny crescent scar on her right cheek. The more he stared, the more he saw, the more he fell. She had tiny gold flecks in her eyes. A small dimple in her left cheek. Freckles spattered like stars across her nose. The way she spoke with her right hand while keeping her left tucked in her pocket. The way her lips curled into a smirk –
“Damn, I have to get back to class.”
Murphy blinked, the spell broken. Emori was glaring up at the clock on the wall. Murphy glanced up and saw that second lunch was over. Emori got up, snapping her lunchbox closed. Murphy almost said, “Wait, why don’t you just skip?” but thought better of it, keeping his mouth closed. Emori smiled down at him.
“See you around, John,” she said.
“See you around,” he repeated back, watching her walk away. He sat there through the rest of fourth period, wondering if she would come back. Most people didn’t. In fact, in Murphy’s experience, nobody did. Not for him.
When the bell signaling the end of fourth period finally rang, he realized he’d never met up with Mbege. Then again, he didn’t really care.