You guys are totally rad! Honestly. To begin with, I am trying my best to write from the perspective of a thirteen year old who is still trying to figure out what it is to be a teenager. Moodiness and all. Quite difficult, but definitely enjoyable.

Thank you so much for the reviews, follows, etc! I got excited so I hurriedly tried to get this out for you all. Go easy on me because I stayed up late doing it.

Ps. If you have any ideas, recommendations, or constructive criticism for me, shoot them my way! Don't be shy, I just ask that you be respectful about it. I like interacting with you guys. I have some idea of where I am going with this story, but it would be nice to gain some perspective for those deary cases of writer's block that are inevitably in my future. Thanks!

"SUPER COOL PARTY PEOPLE!" I shout as I enter the station, munching on the granola bar Mom packed for me. "Dad, we FINALLY finished our basketball unit in P.E. today. Thank God!" I laugh, walking down the hallway.

"I mean basketball is cool, but I am more like a soccer type person." I crumple up the wrapper in my hand as I drop the last bit of the bar in my mouth.

"Well I guess it does serve a purpose," I mumble, "Like this!" I begin to dribble an imaginary ball on the ground, do a twirl, jump up, and shoot the wrapper in the nearest trash can. "SHE SHOOTS! SHE SCORES!" The wrapper lands in the trash after ricocheting off the rim. "AND THE CROWD GOES WILD!" I point my arms upward and wiggle my legs from side to side, while making the sound of the audience.

"Emma." A firm voice says, pulling me out of my imaginary championship game. Only then do I realize that my mom and dad are staring at me with stern expressions. Dad perched behind the computer and Mom leaning on the desk, both with their arms crossed.

"Uuum…" I begin with utter confusion. "Did I do something that I am not aware of?" I look from my mom to my dad and back again. What just happened?

"Oh you are perfectly aware." Mom cryptically says, which drives me nuts! I don't understand why parents stand there and make you guess what you did wrong. There is no way I am guessing! I've made that mistake before. (Hint: Has to do with disclosing something that I wasn't even in trouble for, until after I revealed it.)

"Uh, would you like to enlighten me?" I respond.

"Tone." Dad warns. I scoff. Is he serious? Why do they always have to double-team me? I don't know what is going on, so I don't know what to apologize for!

"I am not trying to be disrespectful, I swear!" I say, holding up my arms in surrender. "I just don't know..."

"Where were you today?" Mom cuts me off with an eyebrow raise. Busted!

"I don't know what you are talking about." I dumbly retort, taking a seat in the swivel chair behind the other desk.

"Emma Swan Nolan." Mom demands. "You have got to be kidding me. I am a teacher at your school. You cannot seriously believe that I wouldn't find out about this."

"Speaking of," I say, rotating from side to side and looking up at the ceiling, "you do too much Mom. I mean, you are a mother of three and a wife of a Sheriff, not to mention being a wife in general, and a teacher who spends an entire day with unruly children and… well, you get the idea. I think you should just take a break from teaching. Who's with me?" I pump my fist upward, only to be rewarded by glares. "I guess not."

"You skipped your last two classes today?" Dad says, more like a statement than a question.

"Again." Mom adds. I internally roll my eyes, knowing there is no way I can do it externally.

"I mean, I just…wait! How did you find out?" I question, trying to shift the focus of the conversation.

"Doesn't matter how we found out." Dad responds, getting to his feet and rounds the desk, knowing exactly what I am doing. "Emma we love you, but you have got to learn that doing what you want, when you want, is not okay. Especially when you are breaking the rules."

"I don't understand why I have to go to school anyway." I answer, swiveling around once. "I read all the time and am smarter, well at least not narrow-minded, like all the rest of my class. They are like clueless robots." I pause. "Plus, I hate Algebra." My parents look at one another and communicate through a series of facial expressions that I can't read, unfortunately.

"We will talk about this later," Mom responds exasperated, standing up straight with a weary look on her face. "We have to go pick up your brother and sister from Granny's."

"Can't I stay with dad?" I whine, pleading with my father, but he shakes his head. Mom in an identical stance.

"Not a chance, but nice try." Dad smirks. "You're going home with your mother."

"Let's go." Mom tells me, tossing her purse over her shoulder.

"Oooh someone is testy." I sass, following behind her.

"Better believe it babe." She sasses back.

~.~

"There's a hole in the bottom of the sea. There's a hole in the bottom of the sea. There's a hole, there's a hole, there's a hole in the bottom of the sea.

"There's a log in the hole in the bottom of the sea. There's a log in the hole in the bottom of the sea. There's a hole, there's a hole, there's a hole in the bottom of the sea.

"There's a bump on the log in the hole in the bottom of the sea. There's a bump on the log…" If you think that is annoying, imagine hearing it! My younger siblings, every other day, think it is so fun to sing irritatingly cute songs on the way to anywhere. I promise, my ears are bleeding. Literally. (Not literally.)

Using the imaginary dividing line, between the driver's and passenger seat with the back seats, to my advantage and try to block them out. I hug my knees to my chest, as my backpack is thrown around on the floor of the car.

"Neal. Charlie." Mom calls out, looking at them through the mirror. "Settle down please."

"But Mama, it's a fun song to sing!" My seven-year old sister squeals. In annoyance, I let my head drop to my knees.

"Yeah." My brother agrees. "Ruby taught it to us. Isn't it funny?"

"So funny." I sarcastically mumble under my breath. "It's not like you haven't been singing it for the past ten minutes straight or anything."

"Guys please." Mom says. "I need quiet time today okay?" Quiet time. That means, Mom didn't get much sleep last night, for one reason or another, and is crabby because of it. "So, when we get home you can have a snack, and then I want all of you to go to your rooms. I don't care whether or not you nap, just do a quiet activity okay?" I roll my eyes at, what I have labeled as, her 'teacher voice'.

The car grows quiet. We know not to argue and just opt for staring out our windows. With my head resting on the door frame, I watch all of the buildings fly by in a blur. It isn't until we are almost home that I see something that catches my attention. The kid. That weird kid from bookstore earlier today, except…

I let my legs drop to the floor as I force myself to sit up straight. "What?" I whisper. His eyes is what gets me, not the situation as a whole. It's my super power. I can read through people, even if they are trying to put up a façade.

The guy, what was his name? Oh! Killian. Killian, walking down the street with what looked like…I squint my eyes…Mr. Gold?

The elderly man, unnecessarily wearing suit, limping with cane in hand and an uncomfortable teen beside him. Uncomfortable, being an understatement. There are so many emotions coming from this guy. His posture screaming anger, much like mine after Mom has given me a good scolding, but there is something else. Something I really can't put my finger on. Fear? No. I don't know.

"Mom?" I say, breaking the silence and keeping my eyes glued on the pair.

"Hmm?" She hums, focusing on the road.

"Who is that?" I ask, trying to get her to look before we passed them. "Look, look, look!"

"What?" Mom quickly glances to her right at the sound of my urgency. "Who is who, honey?"

"That kid." I respond, using my eyes to point in his direction.

"I think that is the nephew Mr. Gold was talking about." She says, craning her neck to look in the mirror and catch a glimpse at my brother and sister, who are out like a light. "He has had a pretty rough childhood and is now staying with his uncle until further notice."

I listen, still looking out the window even after we have passed the two. Mr. Gold has a nephew? How is that even possible? Does he even have family of his own?

Mr. Gold is just one of those creepy guys in a neighborhood who have been there so long that no one asks about his past. For all I know, he could be half alien or something. Maybe he was abducted and raise by aliens, and sent back to cause mayhem and aid his alien family in taking over the world. Right?

Looking into the rear-view mirror, I squint my eyes and stare at their silhouettes as they disappear in the distance. Nephew? I don't buy it.