My Junior Year of Loathing (School Dayz #2)

by Jennifer DiGiovanni

  Outside, I’m greeted by the sharp scent of freshly shaved junipers and Connor’s laughter.

  “Dude. Jack. Why are you slashing the tree to pieces? You’re gonna cut your arm off with that chainsaw.”

  “Stay back,” Jack says. “I’ve been running with this baby since before you were born.”

  But Connor insists on stepping closer and holding out his arm. “Let me help. I’ve got better reflexes.”

  Jack tosses him the wire. “Stand here and hold the power cord. So, boy, have you learned anything new about landscaping?”

  “Nah. I skipped Horticulture 101. Only chicks dig flowers.”

  “Sitting in class with pretty girls sounds like a good incentive to me.” At this point, Jack notices me and winks. “Look at Melinda here. She loves flowers.”

  “I do. But I don’t know the first thing about keeping them alive.”

  Connor picks up a detached branch and hurls it toward the growing pile. “She also loves parties with the neighbors,” he says in a low voice.

  Jack misses the snide comment. “If you want to learn about local flora, I keep my guide to native Pennsylvania plants in my truck. You can borrow it. Helps identify what’s a weed and what’s worth fertilizing.”

  “Sure, I’ll grab it from you later,” Connor says. “But Melinda here, she’s a busy girl. Has quite the social life.”

  “Something wrong with that?” I ask, fighting to keep my tone flat.

  “Did you know fall is the best time of year to trim?” Jack cuts off Connor’s retort. “Gives plants time to recover before they go dormant. Some trees you should only prune in the spring, but Brian doesn’t like the yard to look overgrown, so I decided to take a chance and hit everything today.”

  “Interesting. Thanks for the tips, Jack,” I say, pulling out my phone. “By the way, I took a few photos of the Martins’ backyard last night. I might have some ideas for you.”

  Jack scoffs, barely glancing at my screen. “The Martins’ landscaping dies every summer. Doesn’t matter to them if they rip apart the gardens at the end of the season. What I plant is hardy. Lasts for years.” He turns to Connor. “Why don’t you use some of those great reflexes of yours and move this pile to the woods?” He points to the stack of cut branches. “Back to nature. Free compost.”

  Grumbling under his breath, Connor loads up the wheelbarrow and rolls it down the hill, leaving a wide drag line in the grass behind him.

  “Do you work every day?” I ask Jack after Connor leaves. “It’s Sunday, you know.”

  “Winter comes, I’m not busy. The time evens out.” He gathers up his tools. “Have Connor put the wheelbarrow into the garage when he gets back.”

  After Jack leaves, I wait for Connor to return, but he doesn’t.

  I hike down to the trail behind our house, passing the abandoned wheelbarrow at the edge of the woods. Annoyed, I roll it back up the hill and into the garden shed.

  Connor’s mood changes with the day, and I’m tired of wasting energy on him. I had a tiny crush on Andy when he tutored me last year, because he seemed so nice. But he was in love with someone else. Ty seems nice. Steady. He calls me when he says he will. He doesn’t show up out of the blue, refuse to talk to me, and then take off. Kissing Ty is fun.

  But kissing Connor is something else. Something harder to define. Life-changing is the word that comes to mind.

  ***

  “How was the after-party for you and Ty?” Will asks after he picks me up on Monday morning.

  I deflect with ease. “What’s going on with you and Becca?”

  He punches the accelerator and illegally passes a slower-moving car. “Who knows? She’s nice one day, then ignores me the next.”

  I dig my fingernails into the leather seat as Will speeds around the bend, veering toward Becca’s house. I’m surprised at the way he continues to put up with her behavior. Becca’s my friend, and I’m loyal to her, but sometimes even I feel the distance she creates when people get too close.

  “Becca never really talks about the guys she dates. But she wouldn’t go out with you if she didn’t like you,” I tell Will, which is the truth.

  “Yeah, whatever. We hang out once in a while, that’s all. Speaking of hanging, I might be having people over this weekend. You can grab some quality time with Ty in my basement.”

  Exactly what I want. A basement hook-up, surrounded by fifty of my closest friends.

  “We’ll see,” I say noncommittally.

  Will raises an eyebrow. “Don’t want to be tied down, huh?”

  “No. What? No! It’s just, junior year is really busy.”

  “You’re right about that,” he says, flicking on the radio. “Not enough time for fun.”

  ***

  After school, I catch a ride home with Kaylyn, thus achieving my goal of Connor avoidance, but paying for it with a long discussion about the Junior Homecoming Float Committee. Which I haven’t gotten around to organizing.

  “I need your theme by Friday,” Kaylyn reminds me. “We can’t have duplicates between classes.”

  “I’ll think of something. Do you have any guidelines?”

  “Oh, good idea. Why don’t you type up some of your ideas and email them to the rest of the council? Just to keep everyone on the same page.”

  Before any more tasks are thrown my way, I duck out of the car at the end of the drive and grab the mail. Shuffling through a stack of college postcards, I lug my heavy backpack to the side door and press the code into the keypad for the security system. As the garage door rolls up, a strange noise startles me.

  “Me … lin … da.”

  I whirl around. The gruesome-sounding but vaguely familiar voice repeats my name.

  “Connor?”

  He’s sprawled on the grass behind the house, with a swath of red crossing his right cheek. When he sees me, he lifts his arm, reaching for me.

  I kneel beside him. “What happened to you?”

  “I think … poison ivy … ” His eyes glaze over.

  I clasp my hands behind my back. I … can’t even … look at him, let alone touch him. “Are you sure that’s what it was?”

  He turns his head side to side, indicating no. “Bug bites … something in the woods.” With a quiet groan, he rolls back and forth in the grass. “Might be some weird allergic reaction. Tried to … look up my symptoms at the library.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Do I look okay?” He snaps.

  “If you want me to be honest, then no. Not really.”

  He props himself up to a sitting position. “Sorry, Mel but I’m completely miserable. Every part of me itches like hell. I need to find a way to drug myself to sleep. Can you help me?”

  “If you need medicine, just go to the doctor.”

  “I don’t have insurance.”

  “What about the ER? They have to help you, right?”

  His eyes widen. “No hospital. I hate hospitals.”

  I swallow hard. Is he contagious? I can’t stomach the thought of the poison crawling through his body right now. “Let me help you,” I hear myself say.

  He bobs his chin up and down. “Thank you. I’m dying here.”

  I duck into the mudroom, searching through a box of winter gear for knit gloves. Then I return to the yard and offer my hand to Connor. Holding on to me, he pushes up from the ground and follows me inside.

  “This way.” When he coughs, I flinch. “Sit here.” I point to a small wicker chair and leave him in the sunroom while I retrieve my phone from my backpack. When I return, he’s gone. Then, the screaming begins.

  “Son of a … my face is wrecked!”

  I find him in the bathroom, gaping at his reflection in the mirror.

  “It’s not that bad,” I say, even though his red cheek looks like the beginnings of a festering zombie takeover.

  He jerks his head around. “You’re saying it gets worse than this?”

  “Okay, you’re right. It looks pretty horrific,” I admit. �
�But, we might be able to fix it.” I quickly google home remedies for poison ivy and allergy-related rashes. “I need toothpaste, oatmeal, and baking soda.”

  “What the hell? Are you cooking me for dinner and brushing your teeth? I want something to put me to sleep for ten years.”

  The loudness of his protests leads me to believe that he’s probably going to survive, even though he really does look terrible.

  “Ha, ha, that’s really funny. See? We can still laugh about this.” I point toward the front staircase. “Can you make it up the steps and into the shower? It says on HealthDoc.com to pat your skin gently with cool water.”

  Connor lumbers along behind me, up the stairs. I text myself a note to ask Brian’s housekeeper to fumigate the house while I’m at school tomorrow. When we reach my bedroom, I gesture in the direction of the shower and he shuffles past me in silence. The water turns on, and I imagine him in the bathroom alone. Naked. I try not to think about that too much.

  Better for me to think about all the trust I’ve built up with Mom and Brian that I’m risking right now. How well do I really know Connor of the Woods? I have no idea where he lives or who his friends are. It wouldn’t surprise me to find out his name isn’t really Connor. The last Connor I knew played shortstop on my tee-ball team and carried a Buzz Lightyear backpack.

  But this Connor looks like he’s in pain, and I can’t forget the way he threw himself on top of me when a tranquillizer dart came flying at my head. I can’t forget the way he kissed me, either. I should probably help him feel better.

  “Ahhhhh!” His cries burst from the shower. “Holy shit, this water stings. And the rash is spreading. What was I thinking, helping Jack? Never again, I don’t care how nice a guy he is. No one pays me enough for this.”

  I speed downstairs, grab a bowl out of the cabinet, and work on mixing up a gloppy paste that smells like moldy spearmint. My hands are sweating under the knit gloves, so I tear them off and find a pair of latex ones under the sink. When I run back to Connor, I pretend to ignore the fact that he’s standing in front of me with only a towel wrapped around his waist. The big red welts on his chest are definitely not sexy.

  “What the hell are you doing?” He shudders and shifts away when I attempt to apply the poultice.

  “Hold still. It’s a natural remedy.” The next layer is a coating of green gel. “This is aloe, for sunburn, but HealthDoc says it calms the itch of poison ivy, too.”

  “I stink like cucumbers and mouthwash,” he says, twisting and turning. “It’s turning to cement. And, to top it all off, I still itch like hell.”

  “No, don’t scratch.” I bat his hand away.

  “I can’t help it.”

  “Here, maybe just rub a little.” I press on his arm, demonstrating a safer technique, according to the Internet. “I’ll put this stuff on your legs now.” I bend in front of him and smear more goop on the lower half of his body.

  “If I didn’t want to claw my skin off, this would seem really inappropriate,” he remarks.

  I bite back a smile. “Lucky for you, I’m not into inappropriate. There. Finished.” I dab the last of the poultice on his skin. “I’ll wrap a bandage around your arm where it looks the worst.” I hold up a medicine bottle. “And I found Benadryl in the medicine cabinet. Take two pills and go to sleep.”

  His eyes dart around the room. “Sleep where?”

  “Use my bed. I’ll trash my sheets tomorrow. Or bleach them.”

  He drops on top of a blanket I’ll never touch again and inches his arms and legs outward. “Mel, you’re the best. I owe you a favor.”

  “No, I owed you one. The tranquillizer dart, remember?”

  He pops the pills in his mouth and mumbles something incoherent. After his eyes drift closed, I flip off the light.

  “I’m off to a student council meeting. We’re organizing a fundraiser for homecoming. If anyone comes in the house, stay quiet and don’t move, okay?”

  He mumbles again.

  I pick up the pad on my desk and scribble my number. “Here’s my cell phone number. Text me if you feel worse and I’ll take you to the medical clinic.”

  Later, when I return to my room, he’s gone. My bed is stripped, the sheets folded in a neat pile on the floor and my bedroom window is open. Somehow, Connor of the Woods managed to climb down from the second story of my house and make his escape.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Melinda! You’re late for school.”

  My eyes snap open. I’m a confused mess. I must have forgotten to unmute my phone after last night’s meeting and missed my alarm. With a groan, I pop out of bed and text Will, telling him not to bother picking me up.

  My door bangs open.

  Mom enters, sniffing like a bloodhound chasing the fresh scent of guilt. “Why does it smell so minty in here?”

  I yank my sheets over my head. “I spilled peppermint-scented shower gel on the carpet. I’ll clean it up.”

  “No, don’t worry about it. I’ll ask Catherine to do it. Just be more careful, Mel.”

  Since Catherine’s coming to clean today, I leave a note about the sheets in my hamper. And please vacuum, if she has time.

  “What’s wrong with Mel?” Brian calls from the hallway. “Is she sick?”

  “Just overslept,” I call back.

  Mom leans against the door frame, watching me gather my books and shove them in my backpack. “Are you having any fun at all?”

  “What do you mean?” I’m not sure if this is a trick question.

  “You’re busy all the time. You never seem to stop rushing from one thing to the next. I want you to enjoy your last few years of high school. Believe me, you won’t regret it.”

  Funny how Will Gamen and my mom share the same outlook on life.

  I drag a brush through my knotty hair. “I’m fine, Mom. I just need to get through the homecoming parade. I was picked to chair the junior float committee.”

  “Of course you were. Because you never say no.” She turns to go and then stops, squinting at a piece of paper on my desk. She crosses the room and picks it up. “Who wrote this?”

  I glance at the disjointed letters. “A friend. He—I mean she—brought me home yesterday.”

  Mom stares at me, unblinking. I never lie to her. Not about anything important. Like having a boy in my room.

  “Did you have … an after-school study date?” Mom supplies my excuse.

  “Yes. Math. I had some more trouble with calculus, and with Andy away at college … ”

  Mom smiles at the mention of my math tutor. “Ah, yes, Andy. He was such a gentleman. A bit … awkward, perhaps, but still … very nice.”

  “He’s in love with Sadie Matthews. The senior superlative girl.” I disappear into my walk-in closet to change, rip a shirt from a hanger and yank it over my head. “Remember the story I wrote for the paper?”

  “Not really. But you’re dating someone, too, so everything worked out for the best.” Mom steps out of the room and then pauses before closing my door. “By the way, the rules haven’t changed in our new house. No boys upstairs.”

  I offer Mom a bright smile. Possibly too bright? “Of course. I know that.”

  “If you can be ready in ten minutes, I’ll drop you off at school.”

  When the door closes behind her, I read the note.

  Thanks, Mel. You’re a lifesaver. C.

  I also notice the bottle of Benadryl is missing.

  ***

  After school, I roam through the woods, hoping to find Connor. His communication skills totally suck. Why didn’t he tell me where he was going? Doesn’t he know I would worry? I hope he survived the night. What if he’s allergic to my homemade miracle cure and now he’s lying half-dead somewhere?

  When the sun sinks below the tree line and the sky darkens, I head home, exhausted and mad. Now I’m behind on classwork and worried about a boy who doesn’t even bother to leave his phone number.

  “Join the party, Melinda. Brian launched a new
company today,” Mom says when she hears me come through the door. “We’re celebrating.”

  The house smells different with Mom and Brian home at dinnertime. Warm and cozy. Almost like a real home. In the dining room, the lovebirds share a bottle of wine while the first fire of the season crackles in the stone hearth.

  “Uh, congratulations,” I say, because I have nothing else to offer. “Before I forget to ask, can I borrow a car for school tomorrow?” I’m so over all this traipsing through uncharted areas of the forest, hunting for Connor. I’m a high school junior, not a nature explorer.

  Mom glances at Brian expectantly. He pulls a keychain from his pocket and flips it to me.

  “Your ride’s on the driveway,” he says.

  I hold the unfamiliar key up close to examine it. “Did you buy another car?”

  “Picked it up on my way home.” Brian and Mom exchange another secretive look. “Your mother thought it might be safer for you to drive something with stability control this winter. She would’ve had you in a tank if I hadn’t set a price limit.”

  A smile tugs at my lips. I clench the key in my fist.

  Mom sets down her wine glass. “Say thank you, Mel.”

  “Thanks, Brian.” I lean over the back of his chair and throw my arms around him, resting my head on top of his. “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “No, he really did,” Mom says. “You’ll need to drive back and forth to college in a few years. I expect you to come home once in a while.”

  Brian shifts away from me, shrugging off my gratitude. “I did it to keep my wife happy.”

  My first car. I pull back the curtain and take a peek. Wow. Make that a small truck.

  “Take it for a test drive,” Brian says.

  “Maybe just once around the block.” Trying to appear nonchalant, I sidestep out of the dining room. I dance my way down the driveway. (A cool hip-hop kind of dance, swaying my hips and thrusting my fist in the air.)