Escape from Mr. Whitman (Emma and Theodore) novel Chapter 9

After that night, she picked up her books again.

Back then, she didn't think too deeply about it—she just needed something to cling to, a secret purpose to fill the emptiness of her life. If she kept herself busy, maybe she wouldn't keep replaying those painful words in her mind.

Who could have guessed that what once felt like a private comfort would, in the end, become her salvation?

Tomorrow's exam was her chance. She needed to do well.

She had to leave this place—far away, as far as possible.

Even so, her heart still ached, sharp and persistent.

She couldn't even tell if the pain was because of him, or if it was five years of giving her heart to the wrong person.

But that didn't matter anymore. What mattered was that she refused to drown in this pain any longer.

Even if it lingered for a long time, she would take charge of her own rescue.

She ordered takeout—a light dinner and some disposable clean clothes.

She called down to the front desk and asked for a wake-up call the next morning.

Then she forced herself to sleep.

Maybe it was because she hadn't slept at all the previous night, but this time, she actually managed a decent rest.

The next morning, she woke up on time and turned her phone back on.

A flood of messages crashed in, her phone buzzing nonstop—all from one person: Theodore.

She didn't read any of them, afraid they'd ruin her focus for the exam.

She had a little breakfast downstairs, made sure she had everything, and set out for the testing center.

The hotel was only a five-minute walk from the IELTS site.

But just as she stepped outside, her phone started vibrating in her hand.

Theodore was calling.

Startled, she nearly dropped the phone. She quickly declined the call, then, after a second's hesitation, powered the phone off again.

When she finally walked out of the exam room, her heart was still pounding.

But this time, it was with happiness.

She didn't want him to know she'd come to take the IELTS.

She shoved his hand away, dropped to a crouch, and hurriedly stuffed the pen back in, snapping the bag closed.

"What was that?" He looked down at her bag.

"Nothing. Just a pen," she replied, feigning calm, her knuckles white from clutching the straps.

"Let me see it," he said.

No. She couldn't let him see.

She clutched the bag tighter. "Why do you need my pen?"

"Give me your phone," he demanded.

She hesitated, then fished out her phone and handed it over.

It was still powered off.

He glanced at it, then passed it back. "I called you so many times. Sent so many messages. Why didn't you answer? Are you still mad at me?"