It was when Emily Leila
Faucet dumped the remains of her water bottle on Myles’ scalp that his eyes
forced themselves open, irritated anger subsequently replacing his initial
shock faster than most people could react.
He gasped and coughed,
clutching the very edge of his antique wooden desk for support as he shook the
water droplets clinging to the blonde ringlets of his curly hair, making him
look not unlike a piqued poodle. And from the corner of his eye he spotted
Emily’s arms wrapped around her middle, her entire body shaking with laughter
at his rude awakening, and he felt the annoyance in him swell up like the
perpetually floating balloon he had invented during his younger years.
He sighed irritably,
sending Emily an icy glare, which she promptly ignored, and spat, “Was that
really necessary?”
Emily chuckled, and the
sound of her laughter rang through the room like the pleasant sound of morning
bells. Myles often thought of the sound of laughter as a prime contributor to
his mental list of never ending things that hugely irritated him, but Emily
seemed an eloquent exception, and this, he testily thought, was thanks to his
ever-active hormones that seemed particularly good at not doing him any favors, especially during his work and research.
Emily sat in the seat
opposite him and treated herself to a spin before answering him. “You were
asleep on your desk. Again, mind. Can’t keep up with that little hobby of
yours, Sleeping Beauty, I’m pretty sure you’ve annoyed the hell out of
Professor Primate over there,” she said casually, giving his primitive lab
partner a thumbs up. Prof. Primate screeched in agreement, and returned to
cleaning his fur from unwanted parasites. At this she raised her eyebrows pointedly,
as if to say, ‘See? Even the monkey agrees with me.’
“No matter,” Myles muttered
tiredly, rubbing last night’s exhaustion from his eyes, “A quick cup of tea
aught to keep me awake for the next few hours.”
Emily smirked. “I know,
which is why I brought you some.”
Myles stared at her in
surprise, and he felt a rush of gratitude towards her. How was it that she knew
exactly what he wanted exactly when he needed it?
“...You didn’t have to do
that,” he managed, giving her a small smile. Emily shrugged, and returned his
smile with a dimpled one of her own. “I figured you needed it, what with you
canceling all our classes because of your research . . . ” she trailed off,
eying the papers strewn all over his workspace. Myles detected the faint hint
of disappointment lacing her tone, and his heart panged. He had been canceling their tutoring lessons, but his
research wasn’t to blame. It was the tingle in his blood whenever he felt her
sigh heat the base of his neck, or the glimmer in her olive eyes whenever she
outwitted him in one of their many arguments, or that accursed, delightful
laugh of hers.
She was distracting him,
and Myles had thought that upon getting to know her once their initial meeting
he would quickly lose interest in her, but no, she was still here, and contrary
to his belief, he would almost immediately feel her absence as soon as she
waved her final goodbye for the day . . .
Did that mean he missed her
when she wasn’t there?
And if so, then were his
feelings for her progressing rapidly everyday? What was he spiraling down to? What if
fate ill-treated him . . . would he ever climb out?
What if she didn’t return his feelings?
Myles gulped and cast that
worrying thought away. She was entitled to her opinion of him, and that was
that.
Emily fished out a pair of
ceramic teacups and a pot, along with cream, sugar and milk, and carefully laid
them out on the table . . . and Myles remembered. His cheeks and neck turned
scarlet.
Emily caught the reddening
of his face, and snorted. “And so the genius remembers!”
He winced.
“I’m... very, very sorry,”
he mumbled, barely audible.
“Sorry? Didn’t quite hear
that? Could you just repeat that?”
He fidgeted uncomfortably
in his seat and raised his voice, “I’m sorry.”
Emily leaned in close
enough that he could smell her now well acquainted sweet nectarine perfume, and
despite of himself, greedily breathed in.
Jo Malone, he noted, taking pleasure in her intoxicating scent.
She put a hand to her ear
and said, “What? Didn’t
catch that! A bit louder, mate!”
Myles sighed. “I’m apologizing for the fact that I spilt tea all over your
pants. It was foolish of me and I regret it. Rest assure that the incident
might haunt me to the very grave, and if I’m not damned, the afterlife,” he
said loudly, crossing his arms in impatience.
Emily stage gasped, and put
a hand to her chest. “Oh-my-goodness . . . Myles Fowl . . . Was that a joke? Were you actually attempting at being funny? Is
it really the day?! AM I GOING TO HELL FOR THIS?”
As if on queue, Myles
promptly rolled his eyes, and Emily laughed, rolling her chair to the center of
the room. “You’re an inane piece of work, Emily, and I wouldn’t want you to
forget that, alright?” he called, arching an eyebrow at her snicker.
Her laugh faltered, and
suddenly a shy smile played on her lips. “I still have your Christmas gift, if
you want it.” She tucked a loose strand of chestnut carelessly behind her ear,
and without meaning to, Myles’ heart swelled.
He shouldn’t, wouldn’t be too eager this time. “I believe it’s wise to
say that you should open it, and eliminate any future prospect of a sure to
come accident. Just in case.”
Emily shrugged. “It’s your
present.”
Myles grinned.
***
Emily noticed the smile
brightening his face, and suddenly the years of prematurity that lined his
marble features faded from sight, and the lines on his mouth and forehead
disappeared, and for the first time since she had seen him, Myles looked like a
proper eighteen year old. The hazel in his eyes weren’t quite as menacing, but
bright and affectionate, and . . . well, human. And she
wasn’t afraid to say that that look exhilarated her. Maybe it was her ability
to buoy up a cynical boy’s low spirits that electrified her, or maybe it was
the enormous amount of interest he was giving her, one that veered far from the
negativity she was usually used to from him.
Myles tried to mask his
eagerness but she didn’t miss the nervous energy radiating uncontrollably from
him... and at that moment Emily found him beautiful, like an abandoned toy that
had finally found a playmate. Years of loneliness had lined maturity onto his
face, and now she could finally see his true worth.
And she liked it. She liked
it a lot.
She made sure to take her
time in pulling the wrapped parcel from her bag, and then took great care in
unwrapping the present. She made sure Myles was watching her unwrap his gift,
taking particular joy in the incessant impatience from the tapping of his foot. Whatever
she was doing was working, and Emily laughed at his pained expression.
Myles groaned. “You’re not
serious, are you?” he said in an agonized voice.
She shushed him and
continued.
After what seemed like five
minutes (and as much as Emily loved to annoy Myles, the boredom eventually got
to her as well), the present was wrapperless, and Myles
peered cautiously at the item in her hand.
His eyes widened.
She grinned.
“No... that’s- that’s impossible. Even I couldn’t find that...” he muttered frantically, his hand
instinctively rubbing his chin. Emily smile widened, holding out the book for
him to take.
A while before Emily had
met any of the Fowls, Emily had asked her father, an English literature
professor who worked in King’s College at the time, for any antique book she
could use as a display for their family bookstore. Any old book, but it had to be five hundred years old and no less.
Laughing it off, her father assured her he’d do his best, but that the results
may come out as fruitless.
“Gunna have to dip into my black market funds,
am afraid,” he had joked, his eyes twinkling in good-humored mirth.
Joking aside, Emily had
continued to pester her father, insisting that shop sales might skyrocket, and
he finally agreed, but warned her not to expect anything worthwhile.
“Whatever it is, I’ll take it!” reminded
sixteen-year old Emily, heading out of his office door.
Two years and many months
later, Emily’s father returned home with a large book about a man who lived in
the golden ages of the Arab world. According to the text, the man had been the
inventor of many of the world’s first surgical tools. Emily’s uncle, a
successful biologist residing in the Middle East, had given it as a present to
Jacob Faucet, and seeing as his daughter loved to read, Jacob gifted the book
to Emily, reminding her of the immense value the book was worth.
Then tragedy struck, and
she met Myles Fowl. But despite their harsh beginning, Emily and Myles had
grown close. So close that Emily decided the book needed a better home, and
what better home was there than Fowl Manor?
Myles’ hands shook as he
grasped the book from Emily’s outstretched hands, and she could only laugh at the
worry lines creasing his forehead.
“Unbelievable . . .” he breathed. He turned to the first page and looked
excitedly at her. “The texture . . . The text must be more than five hundred
years old! Each page is an artifact for crying out loud! . . .” He flipped
a couple more pages, marveling at the detailed illustrations and ancient Arabic
text. “ . . . wait until Artemis gets a look at this . . . I-“ he
stopped abruptly, and his eyes hesitantly met Emily’s. “Thank you, Emily,” he
said softly, gazing at her with silent wonder.
For reasons unknown to her,
Emily felt her cheeks flush, and avoided meeting his intense gaze. “Don’t
mention it,” she said quietly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
Myles shook his head, and .
. . was the space between them closing? He gently took her delicate hands into
his, and Emily immediately noticed the size difference. Myles’ hands were one
of the longest she’d ever seen. “But . . . you don’t understand,” he muttered,
the corner of his lips curving into a lopsided smile. Emily swallowed. “You
don’t understand how dear this is to me, really . . . thank you.”
He brushed the line of her
jaw with an idle thumb, and leaned in, gently pressing his lips to her cheek.
Emily’s eyes fluttered to a
close, and her heart rate spiked.
He pulled away, looking
surprised, as if fully aware of exactly what he had just done, and stared at
the floor, his face a deep shade of cherry.
She gave a soft laugh, not
precisely sure of what just happened. But she felt warm, and that’s all that
mattered to her.
Myles coughed and rubbed
the back of his neck in an attempt to eliminate any aspect of possible eye
contact.
A loud knock sounded from
the opposite side of the room, and in waltzed a half dressed Beckett, a ripe
green apple dangling from his mouth. Myles growled, and Emily suppressed a
giggle. Beckett took a large bite and, whilst chewing, called, “Myles! Mum
neejs you! Marque jus’ finished taking m’ suit’s measurements and ‘ow it’s yo’
bloody turn!” He paused, turning his gaze towards the couple seated near (very near, Beckett would later add) each
other, and swallowed.
His mouth split into a wide
grin, eying their tangled fingers. “Well.
Well, well, well. Myles.” Beckett’s grin widened, “It’s been six months but you’ve finally managed to find the courage to make out with
your girlfriend!” He whipped out his phone and snapped a shot; Myles looking
horrified, Emily a bright shade of red. “I’m marking down history,” he
explained, shoving the phone back into his pocket, chuckling.
Myles’ eyes widened and he
shot Emily a frantic stare, obtusely denying Beckett’s previous statement.
“Give me the phone!” he
shouted, abruptly standing up.
Beckett shook his head and
wiggled his hips. “Come and get me, baby!” Emily covered her face.
Grabbing a nearby pencil
case, Myles flung it at Beckett’s head, somehow managing the enormous feat of
making harsh contact with his brother’s temple. Staggering backwards, Beckett
cursed, and looked dangerously at his spluttering brother. “You’re paying for
that, brother of mine.”
“Give me the phone!”
“No.”
“Give it!”
“No.”
Myles shook his head.
“You’re my bodyguard... Give me the phone! And I’m not paying for anything!” he
declared, his long legs dashing towards the door.
Beckett snickered
good-naturedly, arching a fair eyebrow. “Bodyguard shmodygaurd. You’re paying
for that!” he replied, racing after his brother.
Absent mindedly, Emily’s
hand wandered to her left cheek.
What just happened?
“Emily!” Emily heard Beckett call from the top of the stairs.
“Yeah?” she called back.
“Stay for dinner, alright!”
She laughed.
