Seventeen

Henley

2009

March

“He probably wants to say sorry forstanding me up Friday night,” Jessica says. I can hear her behind me, the smug smile in her tone, whispering and giggling with the other girls while they shoot side glances toward the hall. I turn my head slightly, aiming a casual glance out the window.

Conner is standing in the hall outside our class. I can see him, framed perfectly in the pane of narrow glass set in the door, leaning against the wall, hands dug into his pockets.

He catches me looking and grins. That same knowing grin he gave me at his house Friday night when he mom came to get us for dinner. Like he knows exactly what he does to me. How he makes me feel.

Shit.

Thinking he’s smiling at her, Jessica spins off into orbit, chattering a mile a minute about how much he likes her. By the time class is over, she’s married him and had a dozen kids.

While everyone is scrambling out of their seats, I take my time. It’s my lunch period, and since Tess has a different schedule, I’ll do what I do every day. Spend it alone, in the library.

Standing, I gather my books and drag myself into the hall. They’re still there, Jessica and her friends, surrounding Conner, while she pouts and preens over being stood up.

“Hey,” he says, shooting me another smile as I walk by.

I give him an awkward wave, my arms full of books, head down, just trying to get out of there. It doesn’t bother me that he was waiting outside our class for her. It really doesn’t. So, I tutored him and hung out in his room afterward.

And then had dinner with his family.

And then he walked me home.

I told him he made me nervous and he said I made him feel the same way.

It was three days ago, and I haven’t heard from him since, which is just as well. Like I have time to—

“Why are you walking so fast?”

I look up to find Conner practically jogging beside me. Class is about to start, but the halls are far from empty. People are looking at us. I shoot a quick glance over my shoulder to find Jessica standing where he left her, surrounded by her friends. She looks as confused as I feel.

I stop walking. So does he.

“What are you doing?” I say, doing my best to fight the deep red flush that’s creeping up my chest.

“Well, I’m trying to walk with you, but you’re not making it very easy,” he says, looking slightly perplexed. “Where’s your backpack?”

“I couldn’t get the zipper back together,” I say, shifting my books from one arm to the other. People are passing us in the hall, hurrying on the way to class. Almost all of them give us a second look. Knowing people are looking at us—wondering what Conner Gilroy is doing with me—making it hard to fight the flush.

“Because I broke it.” The cocky grin is gone in an instant. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…” he says, reaching for my books. “Here, let me—”

“You didn’t break it. It was already broken,” I say, pushing his hand away. “You should probably get to class—you’re going to be late.”

“I don’t have class,” he says, reaching for my books again.

“Yes, you do,” I say impatiently, pushing his hand away. “You have Chemistry with Mr. Barnes.” As soon as I say it, I realize what I’ve done. I’ve just admitted I know his class schedule. Like I’m some sort of crazy stalker.

“I think Mr. Barnes will be fine without me,” he says, flashing me his dimples. “In fact, he’d probably appreciate the break.”

He uses my moment of stunned blindness to his advantage, successfully getting his hands on my books and pulling them half out of my grasp before I recover. I tighten my grip and shake my head.

“Conner, stop.” I hear a locker slam shut behind me, followed by the squeak and slap of sneakers against the worn linoleum floor. The hallway is quiet. It’s just him and me.

“Afraid I can’t do that,” he says, looking down at the books we’re grappling over, before looking straight at me. “Let go, Henley.”

Something about the way he says my name loosens my grip and pushes me a step back. I watch while he tucks my books under his arm. Victorious, he gives me another smile. “Where are we going?”

We.

“I’m going to the library,” I say, casting a long look at my books.

“You don’t eat lunch?” he says, his brow slightly furrowed. Like the thought of it bothers him for some reason.

“I have some studying to do.” What am I supposed to say? I don’t have lunch money? My mom refuses to fill out the application for the free lunch program because that would make our status as poor white trash official somehow? I’d rather poke myself in the eye with a sharp stick. “You should go to class, Conner,” I say, reaching for my books.

He shifts, keeping them away from me. “Why can’t I go with you?” he asks, perplexed again.

“You don’t want to study with me, Conner,” I blurt out. “I don’t know what you want, but that’s not it.”

“You’re right,” he says, taking a half step in my direction. “I don’t want to study with you.”

“Then what?” I say quietly, shaking my head. “What do you want from me?” Maybe if he tells me what he wants, I can just give it to him, and he’ll leave me alone.

“Well,” he says, cocking his head slightly like he’s considering what to do with me. “I want to talk to you, for starters.”

“About what?” Even as nice as he’s been, I can’t help but feel skeptical. I keep expecting Jessica and the rest of the school A-listers to pop out of the janitor’s closet to laugh at me.

“About Gatsby—” He starts walking down the hall with my books. “the guy’s an idiot.”

I stare after him for a moment before scurrying to catch up. “He’s not an idiot.” I shake my head, following beside him. “He’s in love.”

“Like I said, he’s an idiot.”

“Being in love makes him an idiot?” For some reason, hearing him say it makes my heart ache a little.

“Well, it didn’t fuckin’ help—” Conner rolls his eyes. “he blew all that money, trying to get the attention of a chick who wasn’t even worth it.”

I think about Daisy Buchanan, Gatsby’s love interest in the book. She was beautiful and rich and privileged. Gatsby loved her so much he made his fortune and spent it throwing lavish parties, every night, just to get her attention. In hopes that someday, she’d show up at his door. “You don’t think Daisy was worth the effort?”

“Hell no,” he scoffs.

“Daisy is supposed to be the ideal woman,” I say, suddenly feeling like I’m on solid ground again. I can do this. I can talk about books as long as I can ignore the fact that I’m doing it with Conner Gilroy.

He looks at me like I’m crazy. “According to who?”

“I don’t know,” I say, suddenly embarrassed. “Guys.”

“Guys.” He repeats the word, shaping it around a laugh. “You have a pretty low opinion of us if you think that’s what we like.”

“I don’t think,” I say, shaking my head. “I know.”

“You don’t know half as much as you think you do,” he tells me, shooting me a healthy dose of side-eye.

“Name one guy you know who’d take brains over looks, Conner,” I grumble. “One guy who’d date someone like me over someone like Jessica.”

We reach the library, and he opens the door, pulling it wide so I can pass through while he’s holding it. “You’d be surprised, Henley,” he says as I walk past him. “You’d be surprised.”