i am very good at 'calm'.
‘calm is definitely a word for it.’ emma responds quietly, peering up at the headmistress. straightening her posture in her seat, her tiny hands hover awkwardly above her composition notebook — unsure if she should be pretending to work diligently on the course work assigned, or rather begin preparing a last will and testament. [the word calm doesn't provide any sense of solace for the blonde, that's for sure.] in an attempt to study the older woman’s expression, emma can’t help but gulp, blink, and simply just breathe for more than a moment. she always does this in ms. frost’s presence. freeze up like a teenager standing in front of their favorite pop music icon, lips agape and as if the world has completely stopped spinning, frozen in time. the only difference is while no debate was necessary to determine the headmistress’ icon status — emma saw this particular diamond icon every day. her nerves should’ve dissolved on the very first day she met ms. frost, rather than continuing to arise whenever in a shared proximity.
‘i mean, calm for you usually means everyone else should be … bracing for impact?’ there’s a hint of hesitation laced throughout her voice — common for the young woman, and yet, not orthodox in the unfolding circumstance. as her curiosity begins chewing through her nerves, emma’s eyebrows knit together before finally setting both hands down upon the table’s surface. they fold themselves together hastily, eyes widening as a thought surges to the front of her brain. ‘oh, fuck — are we supposed to be bracing for impact or something? because you might be good at calm, but i’m definitely not!’
