“Oh. Right. Sure.” He deflates against the wall of lockers.
I lift my eyes to meet his. “If you want to go with someone else, I completely understand.”
His face falls even more. “No. No, we can go as friends.”
“Great,” I say, forcing a smile. “It’s a date—well, not a real date, but, you get the idea. Oh, crap, look at the time.”
I hurry off to homeroom, wishing I’d given more thought to what I was saying before the words started pouring out of my mouth.
***
Between schoolwork, pretending I have a social life, and living my preferred antisocial life hiding from the world with Connor, I’m busier than ever. But, somehow, when I’m locked in my room with him, time slows down. I breathe easier.
Mom asks me twice more about scheduling college tours. I tell her I can’t go anywhere before homecoming. She and Brian decide to travel to New York for the weekend and shop instead.
“Can’t you get away for one day, Mel? You love Tory Sport,” Mom says.
“Not enough to drive two hours with you and Brian. Don’t you honeymooners need time alone?”
“She’s right, Amanda,” Brian cheerfully agrees.
“But it’s not like Melinda is intrusive. I hardly see her anymore.”
“I’m even more unobtrusive when I’m two hours away from you.”
Mom frowns. “Fine, stay home. But no parties. Your friend Will Gamen is still grounded after the stunt he pulled last weekend.”
Apparently eau de barf is nearly impossible to remove from wall-to-wall carpeting. Will didn’t scrub hard enough. Plus, there was that hollowed-out keg in the garage, which his friend forgot to pick up the next morning.
***
Minutes after my mom and Brian leave, Connor and I relocate to the family room, taking up most of the leather sofa to watch a movie on the widescreen television.
I reach for my phone and snap a selfie of the two of us. He’s relaxed and smiling, like a real person, not the ghost of a person he was only a week ago.
“Is this better than sleeping in a barn?” I ask.
“Tell me about it. Who wants to live in the woods? That’s ludicrous.” He takes my phone out of my hand. “I’m putting this away for a while.” He shoves it under the sofa. Then he starts to kiss me. I scoot onto his lap and a text pings.
“You need to mute that thing. Who’s looking for you now?” Connor tears his mouth from mine and digs the phone out of its hiding spot.
I squint at the screen and sigh. “My homecoming date. He wants to know the color of my dress.”
I text back one word: Black.
A pang of guilt strikes me, even though this whole living-a-normal-life thing wasn’t my idea. For the millionth time, I wish I could take Connor to the dance with me.
I set the phone on the coffee table, but the mood is killed. Done. Like “stick a fork in it and move on” done. No more kissing for at least five minutes.
Connor shifts away and grabs the remote. He proceeds to change the channel several hundred times, flipping through every cable show in the universe. Silence lingers between us until a familiar vehicle chugs into the driveway. Connor rises from the couch and pulls back the curtain.
“Hot damn. That truck is wrecked.”
“Let’s go see how Jack is.” I slide my feet into my flip-flops and head for the door.
When he hears the screen door snap open and shut, Jack glances up from the potted plants in the bed of his pickup. My hand flies to my mouth to cover my reaction to the line of stitches crossing his forehead.
Connor doesn’t even flinch. “How are you, man?”
“I survived. Barely.” Jack’s eyes narrow when he notices Connor’s arm around my waist.
“We were worried,” I say. “Brian said he passed by the accident, but you’d already been taken away.”
Jack grumbles something low and incoherent. “They carted me off without my permission.”
Connor’s eyes flick higher, taking in the extent of Jack’s stitches. “Looks like you may have needed some help.”
“Damn deer. They’re everywhere these days. The buck was standing in the middle of the road.”
“Did you try to swerve?” Connor motions pulling the wheel.
“No time. The driver on the other side panicked and I was trying to avoid a head-on collision. Then everything went fuzzy in my head. Woke up in the ditch, a cop knocking on my window.”
Connor and I exchange a look of concern. I wonder how much we should worry about the “head going fuzzy” part of Jack’s story. Mom might have been on to something.
Connor clears his throat, ready to move on. “Do you need help planting?”
“Not now. I’m just checking on things.” Jack looks at me. “Did you keep up with the watering?”
Oops. “To be honest, not at all. I’ve been busy with school and … other activities.”
Jack grunts his disapproval. “I’ll take care of it. After today, try to get out here twice a week. If the trees die, that means Brian threw five thousand dollars in the trash. And if you notice any leaves dropping prematurely, or if the needles on the spruces turn brown, call me.” Jack makes the situation sound like life or death. I’m not 100 percent certain what he’s talking about, but I do register the gravity in his voice.
“No problem. I’ll keep an eye on the trees. See you, Jack. Glad you’re feeling better.”
Connor and I exchange a look before I step aside, leaving him with Jack and the soaker hoses. They must need time for male bonding, or whatever it is they like to do together.
Ten minutes later, I’m emptying the dishwasher when Connor knocks at the door and steps into the kitchen.
“You can just come in. You kind of live here now,” I say.
“According to my driver’s license, I live in Chicago. I’m trying to be polite.”
“Understood.” I circle the granite island, stopping by the refrigerator to grab two bottles of water. “We don’t have to spend the day shut up inside the house. Do you want to go for a drive?”
“No way. I’m a wanted man, remember?”
I look him up and down. “We can find a disguise.”
“I’d rather not wear something from your heavily pinked-out wardrobe.”
I hand him a water bottle and lift my eyes to his. “Connor, I hope this doesn’t upset you, but I don’t think anyone is actively looking for you. I read your missing-person report online, and there haven’t been any updates on your case in months.”
“Really?” We step into the sunroom and he sinks down onto the sofa, stunned. “Really? It’s just that … I knew my uncle only wanted to find me because he wanted his money back. And Mom sleeps twenty hours a day. When she’s awake, she’s watching Family Feud. But my friends? The neighbors? No one cares?”
He looks crushed. I lower myself next to him and lace our fingers together. “I’m sure people miss you. Maybe you’ve been gone for so long now that they might have … lost hope. Or assumed you didn’t want to be found.”
He sucks in an unsteady breath. “Or they believe the truth … that I’m nothing more than a common criminal. Why waste time looking for me?”
I squeeze his hand, tightly. “I’ll always look for you. I promise.”
Connor falls silent. Suddenly, the weight of my words feels like too much. So, I switch to his favorite conversation topic. “Do you want to order takeout for lunch?”
“Sweet and sour chicken?”
Distraction accomplished.
“Golden Chopsticks makes the best sweet and sour.” I pull the menu up on my phone.
As I study my options, he sits next to me, staring at the blank television screen, his hands clenched in a ball in his lap. When he speaks again, his voice wavers. “I’ll never be able to repay you for this, even if I spend the rest of my life trying.”
I swallow hard, fighting to keep my distance. “Just be my friend, okay? The rest of your life will take care of itself.”
<
br /> “Melinda,” he says, bowing his head, “You should know … if my life was normal, I would want us to be more than this. I wouldn’t want another guy taking you to dances and parties.” He lifts his chin, defiant. “I’d fight for you.”
I lean closer and kiss his cheek. “I know you would.” He shaved this weekend, and it feels like kissing a new man. “Maybe friends isn’t the right description for us. We’re something more, aren’t we?”
Connor releases a slow breath. “Yeah, you’re right. When you let a guy live in your bedroom, I don’t think it’s considered friendship.”
***
Once I’m sure Connor can tolerate a normal, if somewhat unhealthy diet, I encourage him to gorge on everything in the house while Mom and Brian are away. After filling up on take-out for lunch and pasta for dinner, we lie on the sofa, wrapped in the fleece blanket we’ve claimed as our own. My head rests against his chest while we watch an epic romance complete with subtitles. Correction: I’m watching while Connor’s snacking.
“I think I’m slipping into a food coma. Or some type of food-related inertia. I can’t move.” But he reaches for the bowl of popcorn and shovels a handful in his mouth.
I try unsuccessfully to stifle a yawn.
His covers my knee with his hand and gently shakes my leg. “Bedtime?”
“Do you mind?”
“Not at all. Compared to your boozy, rich party friends, Saturday night with me must be boring as hell.”
“Boring isn’t a word that comes to mind when I think of you.” I touch the back of my hand to his cheek. “You look better, but I’m sure you’re still feeling the effects of a year without nutrition.”
“It wasn’t that bad. I survived.” Standing, he flexes his bicep, displaying a surprising amount of muscle tone. “Soon, I’ll be back to my previous level of incredible strength. Until then, you’ll have to walk upstairs on your own.” He takes my hand and pulls me up from the sofa. “But I will volunteer to hold you until you fall asleep.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Just as I hit my stride in the REM sleep cycle, Mom and Brian decide to come home early. Mom’s footsteps tromping up the steps fail to penetrate my happy dreams. If she bothers to knock, I miss that too, because the first noise waking me up at nine in the morning is her way-too-loud voice calling my name as she pushes through my unlocked bedroom door.
“Brian was called into an emergency meeting at work. I tried to tell him accounting issues don’t qualify as emergencies, but he never listens to me, anyway. You said you weren’t going to make a mess last night, but there’s a half-eaten bowl of popcorn on the floor, and the sink is piled with dirty dishes … Oh my God, you have a boy in here!”
Right about now, I realize she isn’t starring in my guilt-filled dream. I jolt upright and elbow Connor in the face. He drops to the floor and crams the upper half of his body under the bed, taking the blanket with him.
Mom’s face pales. “Melinda? Who is that?”
“Let me explain.” I jump from the bed and position myself in front of Connor’s legs.
But Mom’s having none of this. She darts around me and rips the blanket away. “Who are you? Tyler Quinn?”
“No, ma’am, but I can explain.”
“Connor, don’t—”
“Connor who? What’s your last name?” Mom shrieks, whipping out her phone. “I’m calling your parents. Do they know where you spent the night?”
“Please, Mom. Connor doesn’t have parents,” I say, grabbing Mom’s arm.
“Do you think I’m that dense, Melinda?” She shakes me off. “Did he just fall out of the sky?”
I hold up my hands, at a loss. “Something like that.”
Fury turns Mom’s face red. “Don’t lie to me. Everyone has parents.”
“His mother is in a nursing home. She’s very sick,” I say, lowering my voice to maintain calm. “And his father left.”
“Well, if he knew what his son was doing, I’m sure he would make himself available. You come with me,” she says, pinching my upper arm and digging her nails into my skin. “And you,” she says, firing a heavy glare back at Connor, “get dressed. Downstairs in five minutes.”
“Wait. This is my fault, not Melinda’s,” Connor calls, as Mom drags me away. I keep my eyes locked on his, silently promising not to betray his secrets.
In the hallway, I stop fighting, letting Mom pull me down the stairs.
“Brian! Where are you?” She pauses in front of his empty office. Thankfully, he’s already left for his meeting, leaving her to deal with me and Connor alone. Our two-on-one advantage should be enough to convince her to talk reasonably, right?
“Damn it, where is he? I’m having a crisis.” Groaning, Mom smacks her palm against the wall.
Okay, so she’s possibly not in the best frame of mind to listen to my reasonable explanation. She spins around to face me, angry tears flowing down her cheeks. “How could you, Melinda? Do you not possess one shred of good judgment? What if you get pregnant?”
I take a step back. “Whoa, Mom. It’s not like that.”
But she continues to fume. She stalks into the kitchen and starts washing the dishes, slamming plates around, making a huge ruckus. I grab a towel to dry, but she elbows me out of the way.
“Leave it,” she says. “Go check on your friend. Then come right back down.”
I race up the stairs, a total run of shame.
“Connor?” I knock twice. When he doesn’t answer, I burst into my bedroom.
Brian’s T-shirt and sweatpants are folded neatly and left on top of my bed. The window is completely open. Cold air sails in, brushing over my face.
“Connor!” I throw open my bathroom door and call his name. I scoot back to the window and look down. The sunroom roof juts out from the first story of house, directly below me. From there, he could have easily dropped to the ground.
I scan the backyard. He’s gone.
Shoving my body through the window, I swing onto the roof below, landing with a heavy thud.
“Melinda? What was that?” Mom screeches from the kitchen. Closing my eyes, I tumble down to the flower bed beside the terrace. I scramble up from the mulch, take four running strides and vault over the hedge, catching my foot on a snarl of branches and slamming into the grass on the other side. Ignoring my mother’s screaming, I head for the woods. When I reach the trees I call his name. Only the trickle of the stream and the buzzing of a nearby bees’ nest answer my repeated cries.
“Connor, you can’t stay out here! Come back.” I squelch along the muddy trail, circling the clearing and then turn toward the Westerly Estate at the edge of the woods, knowing he has the advantage of months spent hiding from the rest of the world. He could be six inches away from me, and I would never find him.
As a last resort, I run to the stables and saddle up Truffle. “Help me find our friend,” I plead with my horse. We travel along the entire length of the equestrian trail, with no signs of human life.
I return home, finally ready to surrender to Mom’s lecture and punishment.
“You are beyond grounded,” she says when I walk in the house. “Hand over the keys to your truck. And go to your room. I can’t even look at you right now.”
I deposit my keys on the counter and head upstairs. At least walking to school will give me extra time to search for Connor.
***
Did Connor leave town? I hope he saved some of the money Jack paid him. Since I’m confined to my room for the rest of the day, I search through my desk, opening my top drawer and finding my wallet, untouched.
The person who insists his life is ruined because he committed a crime is no longer capable of stealing. I’d feel so much better about his survival if he’d emptied my wallet on his way out.
And the weather is against him now, with the first mid-October cold snap of the year settling over town. The thought of Connor freezing in the unheated manor house keeps me up at night. I can’t forget how thin he was, how cold
he felt.
“Scary Spice, where’s your ride?” Will pulls over when he spies me breaking out of the woods at the intersection before school. I hop in his car.
“Locked away. I’m grounded.”
“Did I miss a party? It’s probably a good thing, because I just got my keys back.”
“Nope, not a party,” I say, leaning my head against the window. “I single-handedly trashed Brian’s house while he and my mom were away last weekend.”
Will laughs. “Sure you did. What, did you forget to make your bed?”
“I wish. But, no.”
I don’t see any point in elaborating to Will. Or my Mom.
She asks me about Connor a few more times, but I just tell her he’s a friend with some family trouble. I can’t say more than that, so I allow her and Brian to think the worst. To be honest, they aren’t too far off the truth. I fell for Connor, way too fast and way too hard. Somehow, I lost all sense of rational thinking around him.
I spend as much time as possible at school, editing Out of Tune and finishing the homecoming parade preparations.
Becca seems curious about my grounding, but in the end I think she chalks it up to something private that went on between me and Ty. She’s occupied with Will and the possibility of her parents returning for the holidays, which always wreaks havoc in her life.
***
Homecoming week is a blur of constant activity. Before and after school, student council reps host bake sales, sell spirit wear, and judge class contests. Balloons and banners decorate the hallways in a sea of blue and white. And Will Gamen becomes a regular at our lunch table, working out the details of what he describes as “the greatest night of his life.”
“Game first. Parade second. Then we’ll hit the last hour of the dance. Unless some idiot from Lionsboro decides to illegally face-mask me, and I can’t boogie on down,” Will says, popping up from his chair and showcasing his Superman.
My Junior Year of Loathing (School Dayz #2) Page 17