“Can’t tell you,” he mumbles.
“If you have nowhere to go, then I’m taking you to my house until you feel better,” I say.
His eyes grow wide. “No. No one can see me, Melinda.”
“What if I promise that no one will see you? My mom and Brian are golfing today. They won’t be home until late tonight. I can sneak you into my room.”
“I need my bag. Where’s my bag?”
Ten feet away, half-hidden under a pile of leaves, I spot a red knapsack. “Is this it?”
He reaches for the bag as he stands, wobbling back and forth like a toddler. I grab hold of his arm, steadying him, and he leans against me, squeezing his eyes shut.
“Just a sec. The world needs to stop spinning,” he says.
“Hold on to me.” He throws his arm around my waist and together we inch our way out of the woods, listening for animal sounds.
“Are we going the right way?” he asks, glancing around.
“Any way out of the woods is the right way. Can you walk faster?” An eerie silence surrounds us. I feel eyes peeking through tree branches and around bushes. Whatever growled at Connor is still out there, waiting.
When we break out of the woods, Connor refuses to enter my house until I check the inside. “Make sure no one’s home and let me know it’s safe.” He plops down on the cold stone terrace, breathing heavily after scaling the last hill through the yard. Since he’s already soaking wet and sporting a jumbo egg on his forehead, I figure he can’t do much more damage to himself. I poke my head in the back door and call to my mom, making sure the house is empty before I drag Connor inside, still protesting.
“Zip it. No more complaining, or back to the woods you go,” I threaten.
His shoulders fall and he follows me upstairs. My stomach turns every time I look at the purple bruises on his face.
“Wait here for a sec.” In Mom and Brian’s room I find a pair of men’s sweatpants and a sweatshirt still sporting the tags. Brian will never miss it.
I hand Connor the clothes and then direct him toward my private bath.
“If you’re okay to stand, you can go change,” I tell him. “What do you want to eat? Toast? Juice?”
“Whatever.” He shakes his head, as if trying to clear his mind. The vacant look in his eyes worries me. He needs food.
I nuke a plate of leftovers in the microwave and grab an unopened carton of orange juice out of the refrigerator. When I carry the quick meal upstairs, Connor’s sitting on my bed, looking at the grainy ghost picture lying on my desk.
“Did you take this?” He points to the photo.
“Yes. Is it you?”
He holds it next to his face. “Do I look like this dude?”
“Right now? You look worse.” I set the food on my desk and hand him the orange juice.
He opens the juice and chugs it down. “This is the ghost you’ve been looking for? The one you think you saw in the manor house?”
“Yes,” I say and leave it at that. I hand him two aspirin. He pops them in his mouth, swallowing without water.
“Your head must be killing you,” I say.
“Tell me about it. Feels like I got pummeled with a rock.”
A sick feeling courses through me. “You can’t go back to the woods. I’ll call animal control about the … growly thing. Or tell Jack.”
“No. Don’t tell Jack.”
“Why not? He’s the only other person you talk to.”
“Jack’s got enough to deal with. Knowing him, he’d run into the forest himself and try to strangle a rabid animal bare-handed.” Connor sighs. “Mel, about the ghost thing. I can understand how maybe you would think that Westerly place is haunted, but it’s not. Trust me, I know.”
I switch on my laptop and bring up the article on Kimberly Christine Westerly. “Does she look familiar?”
“No. Her horse does though.”
“Good eye. Halifax is Truffle’s grandfather, I think.”
“Awesome. Truff has strong genes.”
I point to young Jack. “What about him?”
“Dude. It’s Jack. He was … ”
“Good-looking. Handsome. Sort of hot.”
“You said it, not me.”
I tell Connor the Kimberly and Jack love story, at least as much of it as I know.
“Sucks for Jack,” he says. “Wonder if that’s why he never settled down.”
I set the laptop back on my desk and slide next to Connor, who’s perched on the edge of my bed, eyeing up the plate of leftover food.
“It’s last night’s take out. Thai, I think.”
“I don’t think I’m hungry enough for that,” he says, with a small grin. “It smells kind of …”
I lean over the plate and sniff. “Ew, gross. Sorry, but your next choice is cereal.” I carry the leftovers back to the kitchen and grab Connor the box of Lucky Charms.
“The milk’s outdated, so you have to eat this dry. I’ll work on getting you something better,” I say, when I scale the steps once more. “So, Jack’s not married? Never was?”
Connor takes the box from me and places it on the desk. “One time when we were working, I asked him. Said he was a confirmed bachelor. I told him he needs to be on one of those reality shows.” He stretches out his arm and reaches for me. “Sit with me?” he asks. I cross the room and take his hand in mine. With relief, I notice that his touch feels warmer.
Our eyes meet and hold. “Does Jack know the truth about you?”
Connor shifts away from me and glances out the window. “He knows I’m sort of … homeless.”
“Sort of homeless?”
“As in I have no real address.”
“What happened in Chicago? Why are you here?”
Connor gives a short laugh. “In twenty-five words or less? Dad left and found a new family. Mom was disabled and couldn’t take care of me. I went to live with an uncle. He was … not a nice person. We had words, and I left.”
“Is ‘not a nice person’ a euphemism for abusive?”
“He liked to drink. Beer. And whiskey. Lots of alcohol.” Connor’s eyes fill with hatred, and a chill passes through me. “He couldn’t stick with the same job for more than a week or two. I dropped out of school to support him until I couldn’t take it anymore.” He looks at me for a long minute, as if considering telling me more. Slowly, he lifts his T-shirt up over his head. A raised scar covers his left shoulder and runs down his back like an elongated spiderweb.
“What the hell is that?” I can’t hold back a horrified gasp.
“My uncle. When he drank, he was out of control. One night, he shoved me hard, sent me flying into a sliding door. I managed to turn at the last minute and avoid going head first through the glass.” I lean closer to examine the network of scars. When I lightly trace one long line with my finger, he flinches and reaches for his T-shirt, tugging it back over his head.
“So you left? Ran away?”
He bows his head. “Said good-bye to Mom in the nursing home. She sleeps most of the time now, anyway. I don’t know where my dad lives. What did I need to stay for? I broke into my uncle’s safe in the basement. The idiot left the keys on the shelf right above it. Stole enough money for a bus ticket. Philadelphia was the furthest stop I could afford. Then I hopped on a train with the few dollars I had left. Harmony was the end of the line. That was last fall, around Halloween.”
My jaw drops. “You’ve been living in the woods for almost a year?”
He shrugs. “And the manor house. You caught me there, I guess.”
“How did you get in there? Did you find a hole in the brick wall? The gate’s always locked.”
He shakes his head and redirects his dark eyes back to me. “Have you seen the big oak at the edge of the woods? I climb the tree, and if I hang from the right branch I can hit the top of the wall and then drop to the other side. I found an old ladder to help me climb back out.”
“What happens if you miscalculate?”
&nbs
p; “So far that hasn’t happened.”
My mind reels, but I need to keep asking questions. “And you’ve never seen the owner, or anyone else walking around back there?”
“No, it’s completely deserted. Just overgrown bushes and run-down buildings. The manor house doors are unlocked. There’s some serious mold inside.”
“I guess that’s why the property is abandoned.”
“At first, I didn’t go there much. I couldn’t risk getting caught trespassing. But I’ve never seen anyone behind the wall.”
“So this is you?” I hold up the photo.
He hangs his head, unable to meet my eyes. “Are you going to turn me in?”
“Seriously? I’m just happy you’re smart enough to find somewhere warm to sleep.”
“I won’t break in again,” he says. “I’ll find somewhere else to go when it rains. But the shelter in town … they ask too many questions.”
“Connor, you can’t spend the rest of your life hiding.”
He picks up the box of Lucky Charms from my desk and grabs a handful. “Not the rest of my life. Only a few more months.”
“What are you eating?”
“Berries. I buy stuff when Jack pays me.”
I choke on my shock. “You’ve lived a whole year eating berries?”
He grins. “And pretzels and fruit snacks. Sometimes I hop the Martins’ fence after parties, before the cleaning crew comes in. They just toss the leftovers. I’m not stealing if the food is just going in the trash bin, right?”
“No, that’s called surviving, I think.”
“What choice do I have? If I go anywhere and ask for help, they’ll just send me back to my uncle. He’s my legal guardian. And, after stealing from him, I’m a criminal. Jack’s the only person who hasn’t questioned me.”
I’m speechless. I knew Connor wasn’t normal, but I thought he was at least loved and cared for. I swallow hard. “Does Jack know the truth?”
“He has to suspect something. But I guessed he had some pretty heavy stuff going on too. People with secrets of their own don’t ask a lot of questions.” Connor raises his eyes to mine, begging. “I can’t go back to Chicago, Mel. You understand that now, right?”
“I won’t tell anyone, I promise,” I say. How could I, after seeing the marks on his body? “But no more berries and water. And you can’t live in the manor house. Someone owns the place. Sooner or later you’ll be caught.”
“I can make it work without going back in there. Last year was a mild winter. I stashed some blankets in the big old barn. But the wind rips through all the rotting wood. At least the manor house is solid.”
“Forget it. For now, you can stay here. Mom and Brian sleep on the opposite end of the house. They’re still so into each other, they barely look for me, let alone any illegal house guests. Give me a day or two, and I’ll come up with a long-term plan.”
I wait for Connor to finish the box of cereal. Knowing what he’s lived on for the past year makes me want to stuff him with food, but not all at once. I make another pantry run and pull out whatever I think he can tolerate. Granola bars, a two-liter bottle of ginger ale with some plastic cups, and peanut-butter crackers.
“Here’s more food. But not too much at once. Your stomach might not be able to handle it.”
“Nothing hurts worse than hunger.” He grabs the box of granola bars. “Thank you.”
“Do you want ice for your head?”
“No, it’s too late for ice.”
“Why don’t you take a hot shower and go to sleep, then?”
He snaps the granola bar in half and shoves both pieces into his mouth. “Do you need to go out today?”
“No, I’m staying in to catch up on schoolwork. Will you tell me your last name now?”
“Barros.” He sighs. “My name is Connor Barros.”
As soon as he disappears into my bathroom, I run a quick Internet search. Connor Barros’s last school photo pops up, and I gasp. He looks completely different. Younger Connor smiled. He was a healthy, filled-out guy with the frame of an athlete. A small suburban paper lists him as missing and wanted for questioning in connection with a burglary. The article is over a year old. Not one additional update or mention of his case in the first fifty search hits.
The water in the shower cuts off. I close my search window and shut the laptop. Connor reappears, looking like he hit some type of refresh button. His dark hair shines and smells like my fruity shampoo. Minus the ripped jeans and heavy boots, he looks less grungy and—I can’t deny this—attractive. Even with the golf-ball-sized lump on his head.
“I checked myself out in your mirror.” He leans his head closer to me. “Do you think this lump will go away soon?” I rise on my toes to better examine the injury.
“Depends on your definition of soon.” Steam from the shower floats into my room, making the air between us uncomfortably warm. I point to the bed. “Take a nap. You must be tired.” I turn back to my desk, attempting to control my shock. The difference in him throws me off and I don’t like the unsettled feeling spiking through my chest.
He settles back, on top of my blankets, and stares at the ceiling. For a few minutes, the only sound in the room is my typing.
“Mel. Will you come here?”
“If that’s what you want,” I say, trying to steady my voice. I carry my laptop to the bed and place myself next to him, tossing a pillow between us to create some distance. He rolls onto his side and watches me type.
“Thanks for coming to look for me,” he says, and then yawns big.
“You helped me when I needed you. And I woke up today and had this feeling that something was wrong.” I brush a loose lock of hair off his forehead. “I should cut your hair.”
He grabs my wrist and moves my hand away. Scoffing loudly, he says, “The world will freeze over and then burn with eternal hellfire before I let you come anywhere near me with a razor in your hand.”
Chapter Eighteen
“Mel? It’s almost lunchtime. Are you working in there?” Mom’s voice jolts me awake. Beside me, Connor snores softly. I smush a pillow over the bottom half of his face and watch his eyes pop open.
“I’m up now,” I answer through the closed door.
“Come have lunch with us. Brian picked up a veggie pizza.”
“Stay here,” I whisper to Connor. “I’ll bring food.” The pillow moves up and down when he nods and gives me a thumbs-up.
Over lunch, Mom and Brian plow through the usual talk about work, school, and golf. They don’t ask me anything out of the ordinary, but I take time to think before I respond to their questions. They can’t find out I have someone in my room. I can’t be responsible for sending Connor to jail.
“How’s school going?” Mom asks.
I chew my pizza extra well, a stalling tactic. “The AP classes aren’t as bad as I thought they might be.”
“And your social life?” Mom keeps her eyes on me as she hands Brian his third slice.
More thinking on my part. “Oh … uh … Same old stuff. Homecoming’s in a few weeks.”
“Do you need a dress for the dance?”
Translation: Did you scrounge up a date yet?
“I’ll let you know,” I say.
“How about college? Do you have a top pick?” Brian asks, shifting topics to help me out.
“No, I’m working on a list of potentials.” I shove a pizza crust in my mouth to avoid elaborating. College is the last thing on my mind. I’m struggling with high school right now.
“You should schedule tours over winter break,” Mom says. “Why don’t we start by checking out a few local universities this month?”
“I think I’m free next weekend. I’d like to revisit my wild youth.” Brian whips out his phone to double-check.
“Exactly how wild were you? Didn’t you make the dean’s list every semester?” Mom asks, her expression full of skepticism.
“I don’t know if I can get away. The newspaper and student counci
l stuff,” I interrupt before they travel too far down memory lane.
Mom turns back to me. “You don’t go to meetings on the weekends, do you?”
“No, but we have study groups. I have a bunch of tests next week. I’ll check my schedule and get back to you,” I say. “Thanks for lunch.” I push my chair back. “The pizza was fab, Brian. I have a term paper to work on today, as a matter of fact. Just remembered.”
I race back to my room. Halfway up the stairs, I remember Connor. He needs food. I return to the kitchen, grab the last two slices, and throw them on a paper plate.
“Do you mind if I take these?”
Mom looks up from her newspaper. “You just ate two pieces.”
“Yum. It’s really good, though.”
“Fine, just don’t drop it on the white carpet. Tomato sauce never comes out.”
I find Connor sitting at my desk, paging through my calculus notebook.
“This is for you.” I hold out the plate. When he reaches for the food, his elbow hits my history text and it drops to the floor with a deep thud. We both freeze, holding our breath. I wait for Mom or Brian to investigate, but after a minute of silence, I assume we’re safe. Still, Connor’s crawling over the carpet, lunging for my open closet door.
I giggle at the sight. “We need a system. Otherwise you’ll go into heart failure every time I walk into the room.”
“A code word. Or a secret knock.” He rolls onto his back and grins up at me. The purple lump on his forehead has darkened, matching the circles under his eyes.
“How do you feel now?” I ask, kneeling down and brushing my fingertips over his bruise.
“I probably look worse than I feel. Real food makes a huge difference.”
Our eyes meet and hold. His expression turns serious. I draw my hand away.
“I have homework to catch up on, so we can chill in here for a few hours.”
As I set up my afternoon work, he wolfs down both slices.
“Damn, I miss pizza. Even this east coast veggie stuff.” He picks off a green pepper. “What I wouldn’t give for a big juicy burger.”
I glance up from my laptop. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Connor frowns. “No, don’t worry about it. I shouldn’t be taking advantage of you like this.”
My Junior Year of Loathing (School Dayz #2) Page 14