The sun was barely up when Emma tied her shoelaces, double-knotting them like always. Outside, the morning air was cool and sharp, the kind of air that smelled faintly of dew and earth. She stepped onto the empty street, pulling her hoodie tighter around her.
Running had become part of her mornings ever since they'd moved here. It helped clear her head before school, before she had to face the weight of new faces and unfamiliar classrooms. And science said it helped — boosted endorphins, lowered stress hormones. She'd read about it in one of her books, how steady exercise could literally rewire your brain to handle anxiety better.
Her feet hit the pavement in a soft, steady rhythm. The world was quiet at this hour — just the whisper of wind through the trees, the distant hum of a car, the occasional bird chattering in the branches.
She liked to imagine the oxygen filling her lungs, traveling through tiny capillaries, feeding her muscles. She liked the idea of her body working in harmony, of heart and lungs and legs all moving as one.
A few blocks from home, near the old playground, she saw him — a man maybe in his thirties, crouched beside a parked bike with one hand on his ankle. His face was pale, strained.
Emma slowed, then stopped. "Hey, are you okay?"
The man looked up, clearly trying to hide a wince. "Yeah — I mean, not really. Twisted it when I tried to avoid a pothole. I was heading to work…"
Emma glanced at the ankle. It was swelling already, the skin starting to turn pink. She remembered reading that swelling came from fluid leaking into tissues — the body's way of protecting an injury.
"Can you put any weight on it?" she asked.
He tried, then shook his head. "Not much."
Emma thought fast. "There's a bench over there. Let's get you sitting down. I can call someone for you — do you have a friend nearby?"
He hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah. My sister. Could you…?"
Emma helped him to the bench, pulling out her phone. A few minutes later, she was watching down the road as a small blue car approached. The woman who stepped out was all gratitude and worry, thanking Emma over and over.
"You're sure you're okay?" the woman asked as they helped the man into the car.
Emma nodded, brushing hair out of her face. "I'm good. Take care of him."
As they drove off, Emma stood for a moment, letting the quiet settle around her again. The breeze tugged at her hoodie, and somewhere in the trees, a squirrel leapt from branch to branch — the science of balance and motion in action, Emma thought absently. Even small creatures moved with precision nature had perfected over millions of years.
She turned and jogged the last stretch home, her heart lighter somehow.
---
After a quick shower and breakfast — yogurt, fruit, and a slice of toast — Emma grabbed her bag and headed out again.
Crestwood's library sat at the edge of campus, tucked behind a row of flowering bushes that spilled petals onto the sidewalk. Inside, it smelled of old paper and lemon polish, sunlight streaming through high windows.
Emma always felt safe here. The hush of the library was different from the hush of her house. Here, the silence felt full — full of possibility, of stories waiting to be found.
She settled at a table by the far wall, pulling out a science book she'd borrowed last week. It was about the physics of flight — how lift balanced weight, how the shape of a wing split the air to create force.
She got lost in it, tracing diagrams with her finger, imagining the flow of air over the curve of metal. It made sense. The world, at its smallest parts, followed rules — rules she could understand.
"Look who's here. Again."
Emma blinked up. Three girls stood near the table, Crestwood's version of popular: glossy hair, perfect makeup, clothes that somehow looked casual and expensive at the same time.
Rachel. Sierra. Lila. She'd seen them in class, heard them whisper when she answered a question, seen their smirks.
Rachel raised a brow. "Don't you ever take a break, new girl? Or do you sleep here too?"
Sierra laughed, too loud in the quiet room. Lila just watched, arms crossed, eyes sharp.
Emma closed her book slowly. "It's a library. People come here to read."
Rachel tilted her head, mock thoughtful. "Yeah, but you don't have to make the rest of us look bad. Like, we get it. You know stuff."
Emma felt heat rise in her cheeks. She hated this — hated feeling like she had to apologize for wanting to learn.
"I'm just minding my business," she said, voice steady even though her heart thudded.
"Whatever," Rachel said, rolling her eyes. "Come on, girls."
They walked off, giggling, leaving behind a faint trace of perfume and tension.
Emma exhaled slowly, willing her pulse to slow. The body's fight-or-flight response, she reminded herself. Adrenaline, cortisol — chemicals designed to help you run or stand your ground. Science was comforting that way. Even fear followed rules.
She packed up her things, moving to a quieter corner of the library. Sunlight pooled on the floor there, and the shelves felt like walls that kept the world out.
Opening her book again, she let herself get drawn back into the clean lines of equations, the graceful arcs of flight paths.
Outside, the day moved on — clouds drifting across a pale blue sky, the steady dance of shadow and light.
---
Emma thought to herself she never wanted to be like this she just new alot of things, anywhere she goes they always have a problem with her, they have been moving from many schools and city she prays she stays here, I'm tired of seeing new faces, she muttered to herself.
The only way I can get through this is to be bold and care less, that's tricky cause I do care what people say about me. Emma indulged herself in reading new books till it was 5, she quickly packed her bag and left the library.