Emma suddenly found herself wishing she had something with which she could distract herself. A magazine to flip through, perhaps. She was scowling, not annoyed in the least with Jean but with the situation she'd found herself in. "He wasn't interested. Or he was too interested." She shrugged lightly, almost wanting to fidget. "He invited me to the beach on Saturday and it went well enough until he left. I don't even know why." She shook her head and felt the violent urge to kick Scott Summers about the head come and pass.
"It's just as well," she said quickly, avoiding Jean's eyes. "He doesn't understand me in the least." Excuses, excuses.