"Oh Emma, do come with me," Rachel begged. "You said it yourself, all the baby ever does is sleep. Mrs. Farnham would never know you left."

Emma sighed and curled the telephone wire around her finger. She nudged Susan's cradle with the tip of her foot, gently rocking it back and forth. Susan continued to doze. "You know I can't go. Mother will have a fit if she sees me on the telly, and what happens if I get caught?"

There was a huff on the other end of the phone. "But I can't possibly cover the event on my own! You know the rest of our school newspaper is either too lazy or too chicken to properly do the job. The reporters won't take me seriously either. You're our only shot for knocking some sense into those shopkeepers, and making them listen to us!"

Emma knew what awaited her once she went home: another boring night, as forgettable as the one before. Her usual stash of chocolate wouldn't be there to sustain her either. Emma had saved up some good money from babysitting, but if the Sweet Shop thought she was desperate enough to pay almost double the fair price, they were wrong.

Emma's parents had always complained about rising prices at the supermarket, blaming it on the government and such. But eight cents for a chocolate bar? Ridiculous.

Her eyes strayed to the clock. She could use a little adventure, couldn't she? It'd be a tight fit, but Mrs. Farnham wouldn't be coming home for another hour. Emma could dash to the Sweet Shop, meet up with Rachel...No, she wouldn't make it in time. Better safe than sorry, she reminded herself.

"...either way," Rachel was saying. She raised her voice ever so slightly. "I promised Henry and the boys that I'll come and take some pictures of them. May as well have it as the cover for next week's printing, with this being the talk of the town--"

The front door clicked. In a flash, Emma hung up the phone just as Mrs. Farnham bustled into the house. "Hello, Emma dear. Was Susan a good girl? I forgot to tell you Susan has a checkup at the doctor's today, that's why I'm early."

"As always, ma'am." Emma couldn't believe her luck. Rachel's words buzzed in her mind. She gathered her coat. Her feet edged towards the doorway. "Well, I best be going now. Have a good day!"

"Bye, dear! And ask your mother if she'll care for some shepherd's pie, there's two left in the fridge."

"Will do," Emma replied as she stepped outside. There was a chill in the spring air, and Emma was glad to have her coat. She could scarcely keep her thoughts together as she made her way to the city's commercial district. 

Oh, Rachel knew her too well--only Henry could lure Emma out to protest alongside the rest of her classmates. Her heart sped up, and she quickened her pace. She remembered Henry saying something about a new action film; it wasn't exactly her taste, but movies didn't need a lot of talking. If she asked him to come to the theatres with her, would he accept?

Emma rounded the last corner which led onto the main street. Orange barricades had been hastily set up to block both ends of the street. Ahead, a mass of students her age were chanting and holding up signs in front of the Sweet Shop. Emma recognized many faces as her classmates from school. A few media people were scattered around the crowd's edges, interviewing some of the protesters. It looked less chaotic than the protests shown on the news, but Emma wondered if it'd stay that way.

"I knew you'd come," Rachel said. She stepped up beside Emma, her Kodak camera in hand. Her hair was in a state of disarray, and her jacket was unbuttoned, leaving Emma to believe Rachel had sprinted all the way here.

"How? And aren't you cold?"

"You'd never hang up on me without a good reason, and of course not! Mother fusses over me plenty, I don't need you too. We need to get to the front." She grabbed Emma's hand, and they began to push through the crowd. People pressed on them from all sides. Thankfully everyone was dressed for the cold, so Emma didn't have to deal with skin and sweat. Emma's ears rang as people shouted "Don't be a sucker!" and "Candy is dandy but 8 cents isn't handy!" Rachel tugged her the final few steps to the front of the crowd.

Emma breathed a sigh of relief. In front of them stood the Sweet Shop, its windows lit with candy on display. Her stomach growled. Emma silently told it to stuff it, though she sorely missed its sweetness. Several bored-looking police officers guarded the front, keeping the crowd at bay. Emma craned her neck to see if the Sweet Shop owner, or even the shopkeeper were present at the protest, but she couldn't see them. A crowd of teenagers hollering at the top of their lungs must make a fearsome lot. Especially those upset over their chocolate--and rightfully so, Emma thought.

"Emma! Rachel! Over here!"

It took a few moments for her to register that her name was being called. Emma turned to see Henry pushing his way through the crowd. Under his arm he held a cardboard sign with painted words that said "Knuckle down for nickel bars." George, Lucas and most of the boys from her class were here too.

"There you are!" said Rachel. "Do you want to pose now or later?"

"What?" George shouted. "It's not even sundown! 'Course we're not going home!"

While the two attempted to make sense of the other, Henry stepped up beside Emma. He was a full head taller than her, and Emma was reminded of her unfortunate short stature. "Didn't think you'd have the guts to make it," Henry told her. He had to shout over the crowd. Emma could barely hear him, even though they were standing right next to each other. "What changed your mind?"

Emma's mouth was knit shut. She gave a little shrug, hoping Henry would think the flush in her cheeks was due to the cold. Just five minutes ago Emma had a whole conversation planned out, but it was like Henry had turned her thoughts into scrambled eggs. She looked down at her boots and watched her dress sway as the wind picked up. A brief thought of Henry complimenting her outfit--or complimenting her on anything, really--flashed through her mind before she dismissed it. It was a lost cause. And how could they talk to each other in the midst of a protest, too?

The protest gave her an idea. She cupped her hands around her mouth, and Henry put his ear down. Her skin tingled at their proximity. "Why aren't we protesting at the Legislature?" she shouted. It was a genuine question. Surely bringing the problem to the government itself would be a better use of all this shouting.

Henry shook his head. Though the occasional chant drowned some of his words, through snippets, Emma could gather that apparently everyone was planning on storming the Legislature the following week. This protest was to build some momentum.

"Makes sense," Emma said, and her heart did a little happy-dance at the exchange they had. Rachel wouldn't be impressed; "Dull as ditchwater," she would have remarked. But Henry was the only boy Emma met who wasn't like the others--he didn't fool around, and he was good-looking without trying. They could talk about things that interested both of them. Their shared annoyance with eight-cent candy was the cherry on top.

Henry looked like he was about to say something, but the next thing Emma knew, Rachel was dragging her away from the crowd. "Rachel! What you are doing!"

"Don't forget why we're here," Rachel told her. Emma twisted her head to see that they were fast approaching a hub of media reporters. Before Emma could escape Rachel's grip, they were surrounded by cameras, microphones, and reporters. Well, it was only a couple of reporters. But talking with strangers did not sit well with Emma. She started to shift her feet, then stopped. You're on camera, she reminded herself. Look confident.

"Young miss, could we get your name?" a reporter asked.

"Emma," she replied after a beat. Suddenly she realized that Rachel wasn't beside her. Her eyes darted about, and she finally located Rachel, who stood some distance off. Rachel smiled and held up two thumbs up. The nerve, leaving her on her own like this! And pulling her away from Henry at such a good time, too.

"Miss Emma, we've heard the candy manufacturers say the price hike was out of their hands," the reporter said. "They pointed to inflation, wartime taxes and overseas disasters as the sources of blame. What do you have to say to that?"

"Chocolate bars don't hop like rabbits from 5 cents to 8 cents overnight. The cocoa bean disease in Africa didn't show up out of the blue, either. I'll be hard-pressed to learn that my economics teacher didn't teach inflation the right way." Emma winced inwardly at her overly formal response. But at least she didn't stammer.

"Why do you feel so strongly about the issue?"

"We babysit, deliver newspapers and serve in restaurants so we can earn our keep. The least we can expect is to be able to spend our money on what we like for a reasonable price."

Emma handled the questions with relative ease. She supposed it was her experience from sitting in the hot seat at the mercy of Rachel's reporter alter ego. Not a week ago, the school newspaper had done an "exclusive" for the candy price hike. For nearly an hour, Emma was an "economic expert" who spewed facts left and right during her interview with Rachel.

Before she knew it, the reporters thanked Emma for her time. She watched them leave the scene, hauling their equipment with them. In fact, most of the media crew was packing up and driving off in their news vans. The crowd seemed to have shrunk. Only then did she think to look at her watch.

"Your curfew?" Rachel guessed from Emma's stricken face, and gave a huff. But Emma didn't miss the corners of her mouth twitching up. She looped her arm around Emma's. They started to walk away from the Sweet Shop. "You impressed me. I wouldn't be surprised if we make it in tonight's news."

Emma imagined her mother fainting when she saw her daughter on the telly. "Hopefully not." Then she frowned and smacked her friend's shoulder. "If I get in trouble, it's all because of you. Tricking me like that!" Rachel laughed, which made Emma laugh too.

"Wait up!" Henry called. He ran to catch up with the girls. "You're going now?"

"I promised I'd be home by six," Emma said apologetically. She shoved her hands in her coat pockets and squeezed them. Oh, why did it have to end up this way? Part of her desperately wanted to stay with Henry, even for just a bit longer. But Emma couldn't afford to miss her curfew. Plus she still had chores and homework to do.

"I can walk you home, if you'd like."

This was too good to be true. "Really? How about the protest?" Emma asked.

He shrugged. "We'll come back another day. And you're right, I should be getting home too."

Rachel could barely contain her amusement, and Emma had half a mind to slap that look off her face. "Enjoy the walk," she told them, and skipped away. Emma released her breath. Rachel wouldn't be embarrassing her today.

The walk home was too short. Emma would later curse herself for forgetting to ask him out. Instead they made small talk. In no time at all, they reached Emma's house.

"Thank you," Emma told him, her eyes flicking between Henry's eyes and the ground. She never quite knew where to look. "It was very kind of you to walk me home."

"Not at all," he replied. Then he looked at the darkening sky. "I better get home. See you, Emma."

"See you," she called. She climbed up the porch stairs to the door, grinning with giddiness.

I "wrote" a history photo essay (the quotation marks are there because half of my time was spent hunting for evasive non-American pictures) on post-war teen youth culture, and learned about the candy bar strike that way. It's also my first time writing romance.

My friend told me that unlike this one, most of my stories focus on introspection and a single scene. Sounds pretty accurate.