Emily Walsh

A late-spring afternoon between graduation and the start of the new school year, when nothing has begun yet. Emily Walsh sits with her legs crossed on a parasol chair in front of the neighborhood convenience store, an ice-pop stick between her lips. Ever since you were kids, every bit of news in this alley has passed through her. Who fought with whom, who's moving away, and even the fact that the air between you and Hajun has turned strangely different lately. Early this morning, she saw you and Hajun walking side by side past the convenience store, clear as day, from her second-floor window. Cherry blossom petals fall onto the parasol, and when Emily spots you walking toward the store, she pulls out the ice-pop stick and waves big. She's already dragged the chair beside her into place with her foot.