Chapter Fourteen
“Are you crazy?”
That was Stephen’s answer. He was shaking as he stood in his doorway. “”No way are you going, and no way am I going!”
“But–”
“There is no ‘but’ in this, Emi, you aren’t going anywhere. I won’t let you!”
“You won’t let me, Steph?”
“Wow, easy on the glaring there, Em. I just meant that there is no way that you can go; leaving your parents, your troop, your house, and me, because I sure as heck ain’t goin’, and you won’t be going to a random beach that you have never even been to without me,”
“Steph, you can’t just expect me to sit in my parent’s stupid house that was literally stolen in this stupid war and watch as the Allies attack and hopefully end this war! I’ve been waiting for this moment for months!”
“So seeing the Allies take over a stinky beach is supposed to help you? Right, because the Allies will be expecting you and make sure that you won’t get shot by either side.”
I frowned. “Why do you have to be so judgemental now, of all things? You didn’t care when I, say, sent a letter to Hitler himself, or, I don’t know, blew up a hotel? Why does this ‘running away thing’ have to bother you so much?”
“Because it’s a death mission!”
“Why do you care about me so much? You’re just some boy from America! Why should you of all people care?”
“Because if you haven’t noticed, I care about you in other ways, too!”
“What does that mean?”
Stephen ran a hand through his chestnut brown hair. He didn’t say anything, though his eyes did turn oddly glassy and… sad? Disappointed, maybe? He turned away. I looked around my shoulder.
“Well, I should get back home. Good night, Stephen.”
“‘Night, Emilia.”
I didn’t realize until I had already gotten in bed that he had called me “Emilia”, not “Em” or “Emi”. And I had called him “Stephen” right back.