Because it's Emma she can.

Be honest, give in for a second to every emotion. The debilitating hope. The awe of being picked, over someone else. Her. Alone. Chosen. Wanted. The horror of how hard it is to keep trying, and keeping saying no every day. The yearning that she can't even explain, that floods her everywhere, every thought.

"I mean, I’m trying so hard to be strong," she told Emma, closing her eyes and trying to make it the loudest voice in her head. Because it was important. Because Emma was helping her be strong. Emma would let her be honest, be weaker than it barely, for a few seconds. Help her keep from making the wrong decisions. All these times already. But.

"But he just keeps coming."

Last night in the yard. Today in her classroom.

"I mean, how do I stop it?" This is why she came here. To Emma. Because Emma would tell her. Even if she's looking more over her head than at her, the fact she was willing to say all of this to Emma. To ask. To be told. "How do I let him down?"

She paced back the other direction around the chair, a little desperation quivering into her voice, "What would you do?"