" Some nervous giggles and whispers echoed through the classroom as Mr. Hill walked over to his desk. He opened one of its drawers, and took out a hal... pass. "You, miss, are to head straight down to the principal's office, and –" Principal's office, right there, got it, whatever," Emily said in a sarcastic tone, shrugging her shoulders and rolling her eyes. "Are you done with the lecture, Mr. Hill?" She held out her hand expectantly for the pass, smirking as the giggles and whispers of her. When he was home, they were both either cleaning, curing, packing, and cooking, or cleaning up after cleaning, curing, packing, and cooking pound after pound of Silvers and Kings.She hated fish.She hated fishing season. She loved him, but she hated pixies and fly rods and those fucking feathers that littered her kitchen table all summer so that he could be the all-mighty fisherman. After all, he had patiently explained time after time, REAL fishermen tied their own flies. REAL fisherman knew. More

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