Eighteen

 

Conner

April

Henley has a freckle on her lip. More than one actually, but there’s one in particular that keeps distracting me. It’s near the corner of her mouth, straddling the line of her upper lip. Every once in a while, the tip of her tongue sneaks out of her mouth to lick at it while she’s reading.

Lately, I’ve been wondering what it tastes like.

“Conner?”

I jerk my gaze upward to find her scowling at me. “What?”

She sighs, jiggling the book in her hand. “Can I borrow this?”

“Sure,” I say, with a shrug, watching while she shoves it, and the rest of her books, into one of those reusable grocery bags. One of the straps is loose. If she makes it home without it breaking, I’ll be surprised. “Why don’t you buy a new backpack?” I blurt out. “You have the money.”

She stops shoving long enough to cut me a quick look. “This works fine,” she says, her brows lowered slightly. “Besides—” She stands, lifting the grocery bag by its straps. By some miracle it holds. “I’m saving my money for something else.”

I can’t help but look down at her feet. “New shoes?” On them are the same pair of shoes she’s been wearing for the past two years. They’re nearly worn through on the bottom and at least 2 sizes too small, the seams separating from the push of her toes.

An ugly red rash breaks out across her chest to shoot up her neck and nest in her cheeks. “My shoes are fine too.”

“Shit.” I immediately start to backpedal. “I didn’t mean—I just…” Any other girl, I know exactly what to say. How to act. What’s expected. It’s easy—like everything else in my life.

No challenge. No uncertain outcome. No possibility of failure.

Being with Henley, trying to figure her out, is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Maybe that’s why I can’t seem to get enough of her.

“Forget it,” she says waving her hand at me. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” She’s chewing on the inside of her cheek. I hurt her feelings. Embarrassed her.

“You’re leaving?” I say, looking at the digital alarm clock on my nightstand. “Why?” It’s barely six o’clock. In the three weeks she’s been coming over, we’ve established a routine. We study for an hour, and then we hang out until dinner. After dinner, I walk her home. Every night.

“I have to get home,” she says, slinging the straps of her cheap bag over her shoulder, turning toward the door. “My mom is coming home early from work, and if I’m not there when she gets home, she’ll freak.”

“Wait,” I say, rushing past her to slap my palm against the doorframe, using my arm as a barricade to keep her from leaving. She stops short, inches from my arm but instead of glaring up at me or telling me to go fuck myself, she just stands there, gaze fixed on the hallway behind me. “I’m sorry, Hennie.”

That earns me a glare. She stops chewing. “I told you to stop calling that,” she snaps up at me, and I can’t help but smile because she knows I did it on purpose just to poke at her. The smile earns me an eye roll. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I know.” I flash her my dimples just so I can watch her roll her eyes at me again. “I’d like you to stay for dinner.”

She sighs, adjusting the strap of her bag on her shoulder. “I really do have to go, Conner.”

I reach out and take the bag from her, sliding it off her shoulder to toss it into the chair by my door. “Tell me what you’re saving your money for first,” I say, trying to buy myself a couple more minutes.

Eyes narrowed, she shoots a look over her shoulder at my desktop. I think she’s going to tell me she’s saving for a computer. “I have to show you.”

I lead her to my desk, and she waits impatiently while I power up my computer and type in the website for an online store that sells rare and vintage books. I type in the call number she gives me and what she’s saving her money for pops up on the screen. A mint condition, first edition copy of The Great Gatsby.

“I figure I need to buy my own copy since you stole mine and won’t give it back,” she says quietly. “And if I’m going to spend money on something, it’s going to be something I want, not something I need.”

A book. She’s saving for a book.

“Hey, fuckface.”

Henley and I turn to find Declan standing in the open doorway of my room.

“What’s up, dickhead?” I say, my tone overly pleasant.

“Jessica’s here to see you,” Declan says, a smug smile on his face. “She’s waiting on the porch.”

Jessica? What the hell? I look at Henley. She’s chewing on the inside of her cheek again. “Tell her I’m bus—”

“No,” Henley says, heading for the door. “I told you, I have to go home anyway,” She snags her bag off my chair, swinging it onto her shoulder and just like I predicted, the strap broke, sending books in every direction. She stands there for a few seconds, busted bag clenched in her hand, mouth open in an O so perfect it would’ve been funny if not for the look of utter mortification on her face.

“Let me help,” I stand and cross the room, but she’s shaking her head, kneeling to drag books and papers across the floor, gathering them into a precarious stack.

“No,” she says, shoving papers back into her binder. “You go ahead, I’ll just—”

“Your guests are waiting,” Declan pipes up from the doorway, drawing my attention.

“Fuck. Off.” I say through my teeth, kicking the door shut in his face. I can hear him laughing, the sound of it growing faint as he moves down the hall to his own room.

As soon as he’s gone, I crouch down next to her, gathering a few errant papers while she lifts her stack of books into her arms, seeing the papers in my hand, she lets go of her books long enough to snatch them from me, refusing to meet my eyes. “Henley, please look at me.”

She shakes her head, struggling to stand. “It’s fine,” she says. “I’m just going to go home so you can—” She stops short and looks up at me. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she says before she pushes her way past me and it halfway down the stairs before I can catch up with her.

When I do, she’s struggling to get the front door open, unable to turn the knob in her hand because her arms are full of books. I just stand there and watch her struggle until finally she stops and lets out a sigh.

Through the glass panels set in the door, I can see Jessica Renfro, sitting on the porch railing with one of her friends. Long, tan legs, swinging back and forth. Straight, shiny hair. Clothes that were bought just for them. Shoes that fit. I know Henley can see them, same as me. I know what she thinks.

That I invited them. Want them here.

She’s wrong.

“Will you please open the door for me?” she says quietly without looking at me.

“No.”

“Conner, please.” She reaches for the knob herself, trying to get it open on her own. I push her hand away and cover it with my hand. She glares at my fingers. “I need to leave.”

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “Not until you look at me.”

She sighs, sliding her gaze toward mine but it slides right past me. Through me, like I’m make of glass.

“I don’t know why she’s here,” I tell her shaking my head.

She sighs again, offering me a brittle smile. “Yes you do,” she says, holding my gaze for a few moments before looking away completely. “Now open the door.”

She stands there quietly, arms full of books, face still, waiting for me to open the door for her. As soon as I do, she does what I’ve been afraid of for weeks.

She bolts.