Did you talk to Gamen?
Thanks to Ty’s less than stealth delivery, everyone in the room, minus Mr. Ryan, who’s fooling with the SMART Board, watches me pick up the note and unfold it in my lap. My face heats up as I search my backpack for a pen or pencil, repeatedly coming up empty. Come on. Right now, I’d be happy with a purple crayon.
The first random writing implement I find turns out to be a lime-green highlighter. I flip over the paper and scribble one word.
Yes
After sliding the note back to Ty, I open my textbook to Chapter Two: The Constitution. By the time Mr. Ryan brings up the article he’s searching for, I locate my favorite medium-point blue pen and copy a few notes, keeping my head down until class is over.
I pass Will on my way to calculus.
“What do you think?” he asks, banging his elbow into my side.
“Fine. We can double on Friday,” I say.
Will nods. “Knew it. Hey, why don’t you and Becca come to the game tonight? Give her the opportunity to check me out in uniform.”
I laugh. “Becca isn’t shallow. At least, she’s not that shallow. But we might swing by to work on an article about the team for Out of Tune.”
I tuck Ty’s note in my pocket and then text Becca, telling her we need to talk.
***
“Why does Will even want to go out with me?” Becca asks over lunch. “He’s got plenty of better-looking girls after him.”
I shrug and bite into my apple. “Not bothering to wear eyeliner every day doesn’t make you unattractive. You’re just … less flashy.” I glance at Will’s lunch table, where he’s entertaining the football team by reenacting his favorite plays from last night’s loss to Cedar Springs. “Maybe he’s not who we thought he was.”
Becca frowns. “I don’t know. He seems exactly like I thought he’d be.”
“It’s just one date. It might be good to get out.”
“If it doesn’t go well we’ll have to find another ride to school.”
“I’ll take the risk for your happiness. You do like him, right?”
Becca’s nose scrunches like she suddenly detects a bad odor coming from her quinoa salad. “I don’t not like him.”
“There you go. A match made in heaven.”
***
Summer refuses to release its hot, sweaty grip on Harmony. I’m settled into my junior year routine, but still wearing flip-flops every day. Whoever’s in charge of the school’s climate control fails to amp up the air conditioning, so the hallways reek of stale air and post-gym class bodies. Sunrays blast through the grimy classroom windows, making the inside temperature unbearable by the time I stroll into the newspaper room for our staff meeting.
“Oh, good. You’re finally here. I have an idea.” Colette pounces, blocking my entrance.
I squeeze by her, fanning myself with my edit notes. “A good idea?”
“Brilliant. At least, good enough to start the year. We can turn the student features section inside out and play ‘Guess the Student.’”
I pause my fanning, considering how her idea might work. “Who comes up with the clues?”
“Me. And the student. You know, like this person went to prom with this person last year, plays clarinet in the pep band, and likes to bowl on the weekends.”
“Or something more controversial, like this person fixed the senior superlative vote last year.” I arch one eyebrow. I finally figured out the truth when I overheard Colette’s confession to Andy in the parking lot, right after the spring musical. Since Andy and Sadie were pretty much in love at that point, I let the story die a slow death.
Colette looks down at her blue canvas Toms. “Got it. I’ll find something better to talk about.”
“Of course you will. That’s why I asked you to pick up the assignment.” I pat her on the shoulder before taking a seat at the news desk and calling the meeting to order.
***
After school, I hike the trail through the woods, giving myself time to mentally update my growing to-do list before tackling today’s pile of homework. Coming up with newsworthy events to feature in Out of Tune is proving to be a challenge. Everything’s been covered already and finding a new attention-grabbing twist for each story is crucial. Last year, I quickly learned that no one glances at the paper unless we print a sensational headline.
The trail splits off several times, messing with my sense of direction. I loop around the same muddy pool of water twice. So much for getting home early. I’m about to pull out my cell and use my GPS when the dry leaves behind me crackle under the weight of footsteps. A hand touches my shoulder. I spin around, letting out a loud shriek.
“Relax, Melinda. It’s me. Connor.”
The rest of his body appears as he steps out from behind an overgrown holly.
“Connor? What the hell? After our last walk in the woods, you had to know any slight sound or movement would freak me out.”
He darts his eyes around the clearing. “There’s nothing here to worry about. Aside from flying darts, these woods are totally zen.”
My eyes narrow. “What are you doing here, anyway? Don’t you have a job?”
He lifts a shoulder and lets it fall. “Jack doesn’t need me right now.”
I tilt my head, taking a second to really look at him. Now that we’ve talked a few times, the combat boots and grungy T-shirt don’t fit my overall impression of him. His bulky sweatshirt hides an upper body that’s more lean than muscular. He says he likes computers, but he’s always in the woods. And he hasn’t shaved in a while, but he keeps rubbing his jaw, like the scruff bothers him. Like he’s not accustomed to the feel of stubble.
“Are you growing a beard?”
He drops his hand from his face. “Nah, I’m just lazy about shaving.”
Sometimes he taunts me, other times he throws himself in the line of fire to save my life. I cannot figure this guy out, and it’s killing me to spend so much time thinking about him.
“Where are you going?” he asks. “To visit your horse?”
“Not today. I cut through the woods on my way home from school, but I must have taken an unintended detour. It’s this way, right?”
He points toward the trail running north of the stream. “Use the water as a guide. Go straight to find your backyard.”
“Thanks, human compass.”
He grins. “No problem.”
I head for the trail and he falls in step with me, so I seize the opportunity to continue asking questions. I’m sort of a journalist, and it’s in my blood. “When you’re not at work, do you participate in any life-affirming activities besides avoiding tranquilizer-laced darts?”
“Nope. I’m a total waste of potential.” He gestures toward a fallen log. “We could sit here for a while. Talk or something.”
I fight hard not to scoff. Doesn’t he remember that junior-year classes are the most challenging, academically speaking? Why does he think I have time to hang out with him and do … nothing? “Sorry, but I have this thing called homework. Hours of it. And I prefer to sit in a place where I don’t have to remember to check for ticks after leaving.”
I turn away, and then back. For some reason, Connor of the Woods looks like he could use a friend. “But if you’re not busy, maybe you could chill out at my place for a while?”
He raises his dark eyebrows. “Is anyone home?”
“Not a soul. My mother and stepfather always work late. Should I be worried about bringing you in my house?”
“Yeah, bad call on your part. But you’ve already extended the invitation, so …” He smiles and waves off my concerned look. “If you’re worried, we can sit outside, on your ostentatious stone terrace.”
“Oooh, big word, Connor.” I sweep my eyes over his thin frame once more. I could probably take him down if I needed to. “It’s not like we haven’t been alone before. I suppose you’re mostly harmless.”
His scruffy jaw drops. “Mostly?”
“You did save me fro
m the out-of-control dart shooters. The ones who have no control over the deer population.”
“Cool. So I’m in, right?” He rubs his hands together. “Is there anything to eat at your place?”
“Connor of the Woods. You would not believe the amount of food in my house. What do you like?”
“If it’s edible, I’ll like it. And you do know that you’re horrible with names, right? Truffle and Connor of the Woods both suck big-time.”
I hold up my hand. “First, stop insulting my horse if you want food. Second, do you have a last name?”
“I do.”
Silence reigns in the forest.
“Is it a secret?”
“No. But I’m not telling you because you refused to tell me your name when I asked, Melinda.”
“Ha. It’s not like I can’t find out on my own. The next time I see Jack.” I turn toward the break in the trees ahead. “Come with me, Connor with a Secret Last Name. I’m about to make you a very happy man.” Then I stop. “Wait. Did that sound really bad?”
Connor laughs. “I don’t know what you’re thinking about, but right now, I’m only thinking about food.”
When we reach the weeping willow marking the edge of Brian’s backyard, Connor ducks behind the wide trunk.
“Come on. Let’s go,” I say, growing impatient. I still have the mountain of homework to tackle before I can sleep tonight.
He shakes his head. “Check if it’s clear. I’ll wait.”
A twinge of annoyance passes through me. “I already told you it was clear. Mom and Brian are never home this early.”
He peers around the trunk, looking left and right before following me through the yard and into the house.
“Sit tight. I’ll be right back,” I say, leaving him scuffing his boots on the welcome mat. In the kitchen, I throw open the pantry, and fill my arms with bags of pretzels and cookies containing enough toxic chemical preservatives to turn your hair green.
While Connor clunks around in the sun room, I load my arms with snacks and haul everything in to him. He’s lounging on Mom’s brand new white sofa, his face lifted toward the light pouring in through the wall of windows. I wince, hoping his grungy clothes won’t stain the spotless furniture. I can’t afford to pay for upholstery cleaning out of my meager allowance.
“It’s like summer in here,” he says, shielding his eyes with his hands. “Too hot. Too bright.”
“Technically, it is still summer.” I spread the feast on the glass-topped table. He grabs a bag of pretzels and tears it open with the ferocity of a hungry tiger.
“So, what’s your story, Connor?” I balance my elbows on the table, resting my chin in my hands.
“I don’t have a story,” he says, talking with his mouth full.
“Everyone has a story,” I insist.
He reaches for another handful of pretzels. “Mine’s boring. What’s yours?”
“In fifty words or less? Born and raised in Harmony. Dad died five years ago, while training for a marathon. Turned out, he had a rare, undiagnosed heart condition.”
Connor chokes down the lump of food in his mouth. “That’s horrible. I’m sorry, Melinda. I don’t know what to say.” His eyes soften, letting me know he truly feels terrible.
I straighten my spine, setting up the invisible shield I tend to use when talking about Dad. “The summer after it happened was a huge, dark blur. Life’s better now, but I still think about him every day. My mom had a tough time, too. Then she met Brian at a work conference.”
Connor eyes me carefully. “So that’s your mom’s story. Tell me more about you.”
This stops me. “I don’t really have a story yet. I’m working on it, though.”
“No Prince Charming?” He lifts his dark eyebrows.
“I don’t need a prince. Just a good job and a steady income stream.”
Connor sinks further into the white sofa, cradling his head in his hands. “Kind of figured you’d be like that.”
“Every girl I know is like that. It’s called real life.” I pick a single pretzel out of the bag. I’m a fairly regimented snacker. “If you don’t like my story, then let’s hear yours. Even if it’s boring.”
He shovels a handful of pretzels into his mouth. “Damn, this tastes good. I miss junk food.” He’s a loud chewer. Typically that would bother me, but not today.
“Are you on a diet?”
“No. Do I need to be?” He glances down at his midsection. “Do you ever dream about food?”
“I don’t remember many dreams. But the ones I choose to remember don’t usually involve food.” Did I just say those words out loud?
Of course Connor notices my blush. “Man, you have a gutter mind, don’t you?”
“No! I dream about being late for tests. Or forgetting newspaper deadlines.”
He snorts. “Sure you do.”
I huff. “This might be the most frustrating conversation I’ve ever had.”
“Then stop talking. Relax.”
I kick off my flip flops, close my eyes and listen to him crunch his way through the entire bag of pretzels. When I look again, he’s peering around the sunroom and into the kitchen. “So how rich are you?”
“My stepfather is rich. Not me.”
“Then how lucky are you?” He crumples up the empty bag and tosses it my way.
I snatch it out of the air one-handed. “This wasn’t because of luck. It was true love.”
“Aha. Romance. I knew it was in you.” He pushes up from the sofa and I can’t help checking for stains. Thankfully, Mom’s furniture bounces back from the Connor-shaped dent, still looking brand new.
“I should go,” he says. “Thanks for the grub.”
“No problem. This was … interesting.”
“A polite way of saying you hate me but still owed me a favor for helping you find your way home.”
“No, it’s not that … I just have a lot going on right now. Sitting with you feels like … ”
“Wasting time? I get it. See you around, Mel.” Connor lets himself out the sunroom door without another word. He disappears into the woods, and I’m left alone, thinking this day is growing stranger by the minute. Maybe I don’t have boys figured out as well as I thought I did. I’m starting to worry about my date on Friday.
Chapter Seven
Someone’s moving up in the world! Recently, Melinda Banner moved into the ritzy Meadow Lane section of town, where the rich and famous live. Will Melinda become the adopted heir of one of the richest men in Pennsylvania? Will money bring her the happiness she’s always wanted? Will she change her last name?
I toss the printed article on my desk. “This is the best student feature you could come up with?
Colette shrugs. “It’s what everyone’s talking about. And I want to know about it, too. So, can we run it?”
“I think this would be some sort of conflict.”
“Who cares, Mel? It’s fun and exciting.” She looks at me hopefully. “We could bury it on page six.”
I sigh. “Sorry, but no. Come up with something else.”
“What about a student-suggested list of improvements to the cafeteria menu? Apparently the vegan population is growing. There’s talk of a protest on meatball day.”
“Meatball drama? Seriously?”
Colette sinks her chin in her hand, thinking. “We could start our own revolution. Just to stir things up around here.”
“No way. I need some real emotion in every story, even a feature. The paper has my name listed as an editor. Send me something this weekend.”
***
Though I cut Colette’s blurb about me from the features column, she still finds ways to spread the word on my new family situation. After blending in to the back row (where teachers stick all the tall kids) for the last ten years, thanks to Mom I’m now famous, mysterious, and intimidating. I scare freshman reporters with just one or two marks of my red pen.
To be honest, I’m not an expert editor. I just want to do
a good job and tell the story of Harmony High. Mrs. Dillon, the Out of Tune faculty moderator, cuts much more from our work than me.
By the time Friday rolls around, Ty and I have exchanged a bunch of silly smiles, but no words. Will continues to talk up our weekend plans during our rides to school. Becca eventually joins the conversation about our double date, but I sense her less-than-excited attitude.
“You do think Will’s cute, right?” I ask her on our way to homeroom.
“Yeah, but his teeth are kind of square and white. Like Chiclets.”
“That’s your issue with him? Perfect teeth aren’t necessarily bad.”
She acknowledges her ridiculousness with a small smile. “So, what do you think about Ty?”
I press my lips into a tight line. I have so little to go on right now. “He meets the height requirement.”
Becca nods. “That’s a tough standard for you.”
“And he has nice eyes. I like how his hair is kind of wavy in the front. His nose is kind of small, though.”
Becca touches her own nose. “You’re going to give me a complex with your nose obsession.”
“I know, right? I just can’t help zeroing in on that particular feature.”
“Will you make your future husband get rhinoplasty?”
“I hoping to base my choice of a life partner on something other than perfect facial features.”
Becca grins. “Yeah, sure. What you said.”
“I guess we’re both selective,” I say.
“Which is why we’re lonely.” She reaches into her bag and pulls out a printed sheet of paper. “By the way, I finished the article on the girls’ soccer team. We’re headed to the state playoffs this year. That’s my prediction, and you can print it in black and white.”
***
At lunchtime, Will pulls up a chair and calls a meeting to plan our double date.
My Junior Year of Loathing (School Dayz #2) Page 5