It was hell, but it was done, Emily Hannah thought triumphantly.

For the past six hours, she had been locked in a dusty, broiling warehouse-turned-studio, clothed in a rubber suit with small sensors imbedded in each and every joint and stuck on every inch of her face. There, she had to obey canned orders from a speaker system, such as "Run three steps forward," and "Look surprised," and "Lay on the ground."

Honestly, what was going to happen in this godforsaken game?! Surely they didn't need all of these!

...Wait, wait, stupid thoughts, never mind. Of course they would.

But, it was all done, and all behind her, and that was all that mattered. She would never do this again, and shelf get a nicely-sized check for her college fund, too. Fucking brilliant.

She whistled as she sorted through the little locker the studio provided her, searching for tissues to wipe off the sweat that had accumulated on her face. Now, all she had to do was change out of the Wetsuit From Hell and then–

A masculine chuckle interrupted her thoughts. "You look like you're in a pretty good mood."

Upon looking up at the speaker, Emily Hannah couldn't hold in a small hum of appreciation.

The boy was maybe a year older than her, and looked decent enough. His skin was a few shades darker than Emily Hannah's own (probably biracial), pocked here and there by freckles. According to his skintight suit identical to hers, he was skinny as a rake, just beginning to grow muscles. He'd be really handsome in a few years.

"Um, hey? Did-did you hear me?"

She squeaked, surprised at the sharp jolt to reality. "Y-yeah!" she squealed. "T-thank you for noticing!"

And he laughed again: "You're welcome. What're you so happy about, are you done or something?"

"Uh...uh yeah! Yeah, I am!," she giggled, hoping that he didn't realize that she was checking him out. "Every moment of knowing this is over is a miracle. I'll never do this again. Ever."

"Thanks for the reassurance," the boy huffed sarcastically. "I'm next up. How long does this last?"

"Well...I started at eleven this morning and it's two now, so..."

"Shit," he cursed. He was quiet for a moment, thinking as he opened his locker and started loading his street clothing into it. Finally, he turned to Emily Hannah again. "Do they allow phones in the studio? I don't think I can leave mine for long..."

"Sorry," she answered, pulling her own out of her purse. "They have to be in the locker with everything else. The workers said something about it being too 'distracting' or something."

He didn't speak again for another few moments.

"...Okay," he finally muttered. "Thanks for the heeeelp..." He stretched out the "e" in "help" and waved his hand at her, asking for her name wordlessly.

"Emily Hannah," she answered. "Emily Hannah Carter."

The boy's eyes widened. "Carter?" he questioned, curiously. "Like, Dorothy Carther's Emily Hannah Carter, or some other Carter I've never heard about?"

"Um...the first one. How do you know my mom?"

"Oh shit! This is so cool! She's working for the Everworld Project, right?!" he exclaimed to her, his chocolate eyes shining.

"Uh...yeah, yeah, everyone here is working for the Everworld Project...What's your point?"

"She's the co-leader of the project, though!" By now, he looked absolutely ecstatic.

"So?"

"So, my dad is the founder of the Everworld Project!" As if to punctuate, he shot his hand out to Emily Hannah, as if to shake hands. "I'm Jackson Litwak!"

Upon hearing the name, recognition shot through the girl like a bullet as a grin slowly spread across her face. "Oh yeah! Jeremy and Heather Litwak's kid!" she exclaimed, grabbing his hand and shaking. "I've met them! They're both really cool!"

"Oh my god, this is so awesome! We have to see each other more, then! I can introduce you to my friends, like my cousin, Shelby. You just moved here, after all!"

Ignoring how he came to know that, Emily Hannah fluttered her fingers at him in a wave as she stepped out of the locker room, brown shopping bag in hand. "Kay! See ya, Jackson!"

As the door closed, she last overheard him exclaiming to no one, "Did you hear that?! Miss Dorothy's daughter!"

Now showered and changed into a fresh dress, Emily Hannah felt like a new person. There was nothing better on Earth than wearing fresh lace and velvet.

Walking out of the bathroom with her jumpsuit crammed into her shopping bag, she smiled at her mother waiting for her outside.

"You done?" Emily Hannah asked, eying Dorothy's business suit.

"Yeah, I just changed. I like that dress on you, by the way. It looks very pretty."

"Thanks, Mom. So, can we leave now?"

"Sure, just let me check out. You can come with me." Smiling, Dorothy stretched out her large hand and gripped Emily Hannah's gloved fingers. They began walking.

"I'm serious, Em. That's a really pretty dress. You should wear it more often."

The girl hesitated for a long while before she spoke again. "...thanks, Mom. Do you like the roses?"

"They were a great idea, darling. You make such pretty clothes. I'm so proud." Without another word, Dorothy raised her hand and kissed her daughter's hand.

She tried to ignore how her daughter's muscles tensed when she did it.

For the second time in as many days, Fel was going to be left on his own for who knows how long. By his own crush, of all people.

Brilliant. Just fucking brilliant.

"You gotta be kidding me," he hissed to Jackson, interrupting the brunet's excited gushing about Emily Carter, the NEW GIRL. "You're gonna be leaving me in this place for three hours?!"

"I'm sorry!" Jackson apologized. "I didn't know! Trust me, if I did, I would've stopped at the arcade and dropped you off a long time ago. Just...just hang in there, okay? I'll pick you up at five, and take you home right afterward. I'll see you soon."

Delicately, Jackson propped his phone on his crumpled clothing, at least trying to give the blond boy a view through the thin slots of the locker. The metal door slammed shut with a resounding clang.

"Again, sorry!" the irritatingly gorgeous irresponsible kid whispered. "I have Kindle on my phone, so...read my book for English or something while you wait. It's kinda boring, but it's something to entertain yourself with. I wish my dad let phones in his studio, but–"

"And another thing!" Fel finally managed to shout, his voice piping through Jackson's crappy phone's crappy speakers. "Who was that girl earlier?! The one who just got out of recording...Eva-whatever-her-name?"

"Emily Hannah," Jackson corrected absentmindedly. "She's my dad's coworker's daughter. I've met her mom loads of times, and Emily Hannah just said she's met my dad, too, and maybe even my mom, before she left."

Fel couldn't ignore the stab of guilt that shot through him at that moment, remembering the rare instances he had to soothe his friend's tears of grief and betrayal, heard his heaving sobs of "Where–is–she–I–want–my–mommy–where–is–she?" The jealously he felt for this Emily Hannah girl immediately drained away, and a sobering sense of humility and shame took its place.

"Anyway," Jackson continued, oblivious to Fel's guilt, "I've heard about her a lot from Miss Dorothy, her mom, but I've never actually met her."

"Oh, really?" Fel managed to finally choke out. "Never in your life? So, I won't begetting stories of all the steamy sex you two had while your and her parents were away?" A few fake giggles actually managed to be dragged from his throat, with all the subtly of rocks. Even if he was terribly embarrassed by his previous brattiness, he'd do anything to see Jackson smile.

Said boy snickered mischievously. "Nah, man. I don't swing that way–"

"Jackson Preston Litwak!" The voice echoed through the locker room like a gunshot (an analogy Fel was all too familiar with). "What on earth are you doing?! There's people waiting for you in the studio, and–are you talking on the phone through the locker?!"

"Dad, no, I was just-" Jackson whimpered.

"I don't want to hear it now. I want you to march to the studio, get your sensors out on, and record your scenes."

Jackson hesitated, as if unsure whether or not to stay with Fel.

"Now," his father growled.

Through the slots in the locker, Fel would see Jackson's shoulders droop like a kicked puppy, what enthusiasm and happiness that Fel loved so much now gone. "Yes, sir," he murmured, dragging his feet over the tile floor and away from Fel, without even a word or gesture of farewell.

As his son was plodding away from Fel and into three pure hours of boredom, Fel could clearly hear Jackson's father's crisp footsteps echoing toward the locker. After several seconds, a pair of eyes the same brown as Jackson's were leering through the slits, gazing curiously for information too dark to see.

"Forgive me," the man finally said. "This is Jackson's father, Jeremy. He is at work now, so could you please call back later?"

Looking anywhere but the eyes too cold, too calculating, too tired to be Jackson's, Fel barely managed to squeak out, "Y-yes, sir."

"Good." And then he was gone, back into the studio with his son, and Fel was alone again.

He sighed in relief and exasperation, knotting his fingers in his hair and yanking sharply. Yes, he had heard stories from Jackson about his father and about how he had changed since his wife left the family, but he never would have thought that this was what Jeremy Litwak was like, so different from his own father, back at the arcade; Stanley was warm, friendly, and open-minded, while Jeremy was...that.

Even looking through some of the photos on Jackson's phone (the oldest of them, anyway) displayed a very different man: tickling and roughhousing with preteen Jackson, cuddling and kissing his youngest child, Catherine, and dancing with the beautiful black woman who could only be Jackson's and Catherine's mother. The pictures were all different, but they all displayed one overflowing emotion in the Litwak family: happiness.

And one flighty, irresponsible woman ended that, disappearing in the dead of night with nothing but a note wishing for "better things" to wake up to. It was absurd, Fel thought. How could anybody bear to leave Jackson?

He had to give the dancing lady in the picture credit for one thing, though: if Heather Litwak hadn't left, Jackson's dad wouldn't have sent him and his younger sister to live with their grandfather, and Fel would never have seen him, except for summers.

Speaking of which, Jackson did have that English assignment on his phone, and his descriptions of the book had made Fel curious. He might as well do something productive for the next few hours.

Ever so gently, his fingers searched the apps, tapped the Kindle icon, and Fel began to read.

"Mr. Utterson the lawyer was a man of a rugged countenance, that was never lighted by a smile; cold, scanty and embarrassed in discourse; backward in sentiment; lean, long, dusty, dreary, and yet somehow loveable..."

It wasn't until about halfway through the third chapter of The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde that a certain memory of his and Jackson's previous conversation came back to him.

That look Jackson gave him when he joked about being in a relationship with Emily Hannah...worried, even as he jokingly smiled, saying, "Nah, man. I don't swing that way."

The realization of the significance of these words hit him like a bag of bricks

Holy shit, did he just come out to me?