My Junior Year of Loathing (School Dayz #2)

by Jennifer DiGiovanni

  ***

  Like most school days, only the specks of dust stirring in the air welcome me home.

  After dropping my backpack in my bedroom, I haul myself back down to the fridge in search of a snack. I examine a container of funky-smelling take-out leftovers, toss the contents in the garbage, and grab an apple. From the beverage shelf, I grab a Perrier. Then I laugh at myself for drinking something as pretentious as Perrier.

  I take my first sip of fizzy water, ready to enjoy five minutes of zoning out, when the floor shakes beneath my bare feet. Something crashes in the backyard. I glance out the window and spot a fallen oak tree. Setting down my drink, I move into the sunroom for a better view. Jack appears, lugging a four-foot-long branch across the yard. He pauses just beyond the terrace, releases his grip on the giant piece of lumber, and rests his hands on his knees. I slide my feet in my moccasins and push through the back door just as Connor bursts out of the woods, pulling a hooded sweatshirt down over his head. He tramples through the grass with his heavy boots, reaching Jack ten steps ahead of me.

  “Sorry I’m late. Need help?” Connor grabs the far end of the branch.

  “Appreciate it,” Jack puffs.

  Connor scowls. “Told you I’d be here, old man. You should’ve waited.”

  Jack spits out a rough chain of curses. For an instant I believe he’s truly angry, but then they laugh together. They drag the heavy slice of tree over to the driveway and drop it next to Jack’s beat-up truck. Jack grabs a handsaw from the back and Connor helps him steady the branch.

  “Can I do anything to help?” I approach slowly.

  “Stay back, Melinda.” Jack pauses with his handsaw poised to cut. “Watch for flying wood chips. We’re taking down the dead trees and chopping firewood for the winter.”

  Connor does a double take. “Look who it is. This is your house?”

  “My stepfather’s. Do you two work together?”

  “He just shows up and demands payment,” Jack grumbles. “How was your first day of school?” He drags the teeth of the saw back and forth over the wood until it snaps in two.

  “Busy.” I consider elaborating but decide Jack’s just being polite.

  Connor hefts both halves of the split branch and tosses them on top of the pile of wood in the grass. “Melinda, huh?”

  I scrunch up my face, letting him know I’m annoyed.

  Jack winds twine around a group of smaller branches and hauls them into the bed of his truck. “Is the school surviving without me?” His warm eyes twinkle.

  “Barely. There’s been talk about knocking the whole place down and building a new one. But that may take years,” I say.

  Jack nods. “Probably after I’m long gone.” He walks back to the yard, followed by Connor, and they each retrieve more of the fallen limbs. Jack resumes sawing. Connor resumes bracing the wood as Jack shaves it down to size. Grunting and swearing ensues.

  After a few minutes, I step away. “If you don’t need me, I was thinking of taking a walk. I could use some fresh air before I start my homework.”

  Jack glances up at me. “Watch for poison ivy and ragweed along the trail. You’re not allergic, are you?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “You, Connor?” Jack asks.

  “Where I come from, poison ivy doesn’t exist,” Connor answers with a smug smile.

  “Hardheaded city people usually discover the truth in the most painful ways,” Jack mutters.

  “Heard that,” Connor says.

  I take off toward the woods.

  Connor calls to me. “Say hello to your horse for me.”

  I smile sweetly, recalling his jitters when he met Truffle. “Maybe we’ll see you around the woods later.”

  “I’m working now.” Connor grabs a rake and starts corralling loose twigs. “And if you’re driving a brown stallion the size of a monster truck through the forest, I’m staying far away from the trail.”

  “He’s not a monster,” I snap.

  Connor laughs.

  Jack glares at both of us. “Play nice, children.”

  I leave them growling at each other. Thanks to Jack, Connor now knows my real name and where I live. I make a mental note to activate the security system whenever I’m home alone.

  Chapter Five

  By the time I saddle up and trot down to the riding path with Truffle, Connor’s waiting for me, brushing off the dirt caked on the lower half of his jeans.

  I tug the reins, bringing the horse to a standstill. “I thought you were avoiding us.”

  Connor steps off the trail, allowing me a wide berth. “Jack told me to play nice, so I am.”

  I blow out an annoyed huff. If Connor plays nice, then I have to play nice, too. “Are you finished hacking apart the yard?”

  “More or less. Your stepfather has way too many trees. If he lets Jack loose with his saw again, you’ll wind up with enough firewood to power Alaska this winter.”

  “In that case, I’ll warn Brian about his saw-happy landscaper.” I hold Truffle in place, even though he’s growing antsy. “I thought I might see you in school this week. Do you go to Harmony High?”

  Connor shakes his head. “No school for me.”

  “Did you graduate before you moved?”

  He shoves his hands in his pockets and steps back from Truffle, who’s now eyeing him suspiciously. “More like finished early.”

  Truffle snorts and shakes his head impatiently. I loosen the reins and allow him to prance in a full circle.

  “Is he a racehorse?” Connor asks.

  “No, we used to jump. When Truffle was younger. And I was less … busy.”

  “Who jumps? You or the horse? Both of you together?”

  “I ride, and he jumps over gates, barrels, you name it. The sport is called show jumping.”

  Connor shakes his head, confused.

  I continue to explain. “It’s a form of English riding. Watch the Olympics next summer.”

  “Sure thing. I’ll try to remember.”

  I play with the strap on my riding helmet. “Soooo … how do you like Harmony?”

  “It’s different from Chicago. Everyone around here seems to know each other.”

  “Does it make you feel like an outsider?” The question slips out before I think about sounding rude.

  But Connor just shrugs. “Nah. I was never much of an insider, anyway.” He slowly reaches his hand out and pats Truffle’s neck. “I mean, I’m not a star athlete or top student.”

  “Do you wish you were? An athlete or a genius, I mean.”

  One side of his mouth curves into a half-smile. “I’m happy to be me. My grades were okay, and I like computers. Working with Jack keeps me in shape. I’m not a total social misfit, by the way.”

  “And you think I am.” My shoulders tense when I arrive at his implication.

  He looks up at me. “I never said that. But now that you brought it up, do you have any friends besides Truffle?”

  “Quite a few, actually.”

  “I take it they don’t hide out in the woods.”

  “No, they study. Play sports. The usual. My friend drove me to school today.” I say this even though Will Gamen is not anywhere near someone I’d classify as a friend.

  Connor’s eyebrows shoot up. “You people have cars?”

  “Some of us do. Not me. Will Gamen has some low, black, sporty thing. Have you seen him around?”

  Connor’s face bunches up. “Never heard of him. Did he bring you home, too?”

  “No, he plays football in the afternoons.”

  Connor draws his hand away from Truffle. “You and this friend must have a lot in common. Do you play football? Or does he own a horse?”

  “Neither.”

  “Any solid basis for friendship? Other than physical attraction?”

  I cringe at the thought of me … and Will … together. Sure, he’s cute, and everyone at school loves him, but he’s not someone I’ve ever had a crush on. And Connor’s persiste
nce amazes me. My head starts to throb and Truffle immediately senses my increased tension. Before he gets too rattled, I lean forward and whisper in his ear. The horse shakes his head back and forth, his way of telling me he understands. “Sorry. Truffle’s a little restless.”

  “Yeah, he’s a thousand-pound baby.”

  “A baby who needs his dinner. If you’ll excuse us, we should head back to the stables.”

  Connor steps out of the way. “When do you ride in the woods? Every day?”

  “Not every day. Whenever I find the time,” I say. “Good-bye, Connor.”

  I pick up the reins and urge Truffle forward.

  “Bye, Truff,” he calls after us.

  “Did you just say Truff?” Glancing back over my shoulder, I nearly slip off the saddle.

  “Sorry, but I refuse to call a male horse Truffle. So he’s Truff to me.”

  Ohmigod. This guy just freaking renamed my horse.

  ***

  A bolt of black streaks into the driveway the next morning, followed by a long honk.

  Mom looks up from her paper. “Is that for you?”

  “Guess so. I’m off.” I shoulder my backpack and hurry out the door.

  I follow the flagstone path to the driveway, carefully avoiding the dewy grass. Will hits a dashboard button, and car’s convertible top retracts with a smooth hum. “Day two of the sportster. Dad’s out of town. Some legislative session with the governor.”

  I hunker down in shotgun. “Ah. That explains why Sergeant Friendly didn’t scare you yesterday.” Soft leather brushes the backs of my legs. I tug on my skirt, hoping not to leave sweat marks on the expensive upholstery.

  “Doesn’t hurt to be well-connected.” Will cracks a wide grin. “Hanging out with me works for you too, Banner.” He expertly engages the shift stick. I can barely operate an automatic. “Hey, uh, has Becca asked about me?”

  Twisting one of my longer locks around my finger, I purse my lips and pretend to think. “Not really. I mean, not in a good way, anyway.” Then I let Will wrestle with my vague comment.

  Will flicks his eyes away from the road. “She said something bad about me?”

  Ignoring this question, I wedge my backpack between the bottom of my seat and the floor mat. “So, I take it you’re interested in Becca?”

  Will laughs. “Define ‘interested,’ word girl.”

  “You want to go out with her,” I say coolly.

  “Wouldn’t mind it. Want to double on Friday night?”

  “Have you asked her about it?”

  “Last night.”

  “Congratulations. I’d join you if I had a date.”

  “You do. Ty Quinn. He’s in your history class.”

  I catch my jaw before it drops. “Ty Quinn, our starting power forward?” And one of the few senior guys who’s a whole head taller than me.

  “You like Quinny, huh?”

  “To be honest, I’ve never talked to him.” For some reason, cool guys scare me. Guys with quick comebacks and rough humor. Hence my minor crush on super-smart, super-nice Andy Kosolowski last year. “Does Ty want to go out with me?”

  “Why wouldn’t he? You two have a lot in common. Basketball, brains, above-average height—”

  I hold up my hand. “I don’t think this is a good idea. I really don’t have time to date.”

  “C’mon, Banner, you’re not marrying the guy. We’ll see a movie or something classy like that.” Will shoots me a smug grin. “So, yes?”

  We pull up to Becca’s house. Today he doesn’t honk the horn quite as loud.

  “I’ll consider it,” I say.

  “Sure, get back to me. And say hello to Quinny once in a while. He’s not a bad guy.”

  Chapter Six

  After the final bell, I bounce between a yearbook set-up meeting, an Out of Tune edit session, and a student council welcome event for new students. By the time I wrap up my tour of activities, I need a break from anything school-related, so even though it’s late, I decide to hike to the stables. I refuse to stop walking through my friendly neighborhood woods just because I might run into Connor. It’s not like he has some claim on the forest. I strap on my best kickass attitude and stomp through the crinkled carpet of dead leaves covering the cold ground.

  “Spying again? Don’t bother. The Martins are away.” His deep, radio-announcer voice drifts out from behind the light gray trunk of a tall beech tree.

  I grind to a halt. “Did you enjoy spying on people?”

  He pops into view and joins me on the trail. Ignoring my question, Conner’s eyes drop to my riding boots. “You’re not really dressed for the Martins.”

  “Neither are you,” I shoot back, pointing to his combat-style footwear. “It’s ninety degrees in the shade. You should really take those off.”

  He steps closer and grabs hold of my arm. “I will if you will.”

  Face to face, we’re about equal height. When our eyes lock, something uncomfortable passes between us. A semblance of attraction? Hello, Melinda, you don’t like this guy.

  “Get your hand off me.” I dig my shoulder into his chest and push him away. Beyond the cluster of birch trees to my left, I hear a flurry of activity when something scampers between the trees. A loud crack splits the air. Without warning, Connor crashes into me, shoving me to the ground and dropping on top of me. Something thwacks the gray beech tree right above the point where we were standing second before. I peek out from under Connor and spy a long thin, missile with a red tail jutting out of the trunk. Post-impact, the metal rod quivers.

  “What’s happening? Is someone shooting at us?” I whisper in Connor’s ear, cowering under the shield of his body.

  “Looks like a tranquilizer. Shot from a dart gun,” Connor says. I breathe into his shirt, feeling every contour of his chest, his long torso, the rough denim covering his legs … and other parts. Oh, crap. Heat creeps into my face. Connor inhales a sharp breath when he, too, recognizes our awkward position. He rolls off me, keeping an arm thrown over my shoulders protectively. After burying a laugh in his sleeve, he says, “Uh, they’re trying to capture and relocate the deer away from highly populated areas. Jack was telling me about the wildlife commission’s game control program.”

  I look everywhere but his face. “They just shoot without looking first?”

  “They’re chasing after moving targets. Deer run fast. But, yeah, they probably should have double checked the area before they let loose.”

  I glance up at the weapon impaled in the tree trunk. “Six inches to the right and that would have hit us.”

  Connor brushes the dead leaves off his jeans. “Ah, you would have survived.”

  “With a huge hole in my head!”

  He smirks. “It wouldn’t have been too bad. You would’ve been knocked unconscious before you felt pain.”

  “Would—would you have left me here if I was unconscious?”

  “No way. I would have run for Jack. We could’ve tossed you in his wheelbarrow and rolled you back home. Then I would have dumped you off at your back door.” For a few beats, Connor and I lie with our backs pressed against the bed of fallen leaves. In the still woods, my shaky breaths sound abnormally loud. When a shudder rips through me, Connor reaches for my hand.

  “It’s okay now,” he says. He links our fingers together, holding on while I wait for my heartbeat to return to a normal cadence. Somewhere nearby, the muted voices of the dart gun owners break through the trees. They’re close by, but still hidden. And the deer are long gone, with no sign of their return.

  “Don’t move. Any sudden noise and they might shoot our way again,” Connor turns his head and whispers in my ear.

  We wait for the crunch of footsteps to fade. I relax my grip on his hand. Connor jumps up from the ground and scans the area.

  “All clear,” he says, walking to the tree and yanking the dart out of the bark. “Guess no one’s coming back for this.” He tucks the sharp, flying needle into his sweatshirt pocket. “I’ll give thi
s to Jack. He thinks he owns these woods. He’ll give whoever manages the wildlife program hell and that’ll be the end of it. See ya later, Mel. One near-fatal experience per day is enough for me.”

  Without a wave or a backward glance, he sets off, disappearing between two scratchy pine trees.

  “Be careful, Connor,” I say to the empty air.

  “I’m not a deer. But you’d better look out for your horse when you ride in the woods.” Connor’s voice bounces around the leaves and branches above me. I’m not sure what direction he’s headed. Paying careful attention to any minor rustle in the brush, I turn back toward home, deciding to check on Truffle another day.

  ***

  Despite Will’s insistence that he’s taking Becca out on Friday, I don’t bother pumping her for details. Claiming she was up late working on a writing assignment, she’s unusually quiet on our ride to school. After a string of her one-word answers to his loaded questions, Will blasts the radio to cover the lack of conversation.

  When we meet up again between first and second period, Becca and I chat about soccer playoffs and newspaper articles. I get the idea we’re purposely avoiding talking about Friday night.

  In U.S. History, I slide into my seat and break open my text, pretending not to notice the curious stare of Tyler Quinn, seated directly behind me. When I finally work up the nerve to glance back, he raises his pencil and tips it forward, an almost imperceptible wave. A smile lifts the corners of my mouth before I turn away, burying my nose in a binder containing my chem notes. Crap. I brought the wrong papers to class. I pivot in my seat, turning back to Ty.

  “Um, I forgot my binder for this class. Can you—?

  He rips a page from his notebook and hands it over. Then he reaches up to push back a wavy lock of light brown hair falling on his forehead. He’s kind of cute, actually.

  Halfway through class, a folded paper lands by my foot.