Two

 

Conner

 

I like her handwriting.

It’s not like some of the other girl’s handwriting I’ve seen. All squat and bubbly. Looped tails. Hearts dotted over letter is. Like it’s trying too hard to be something it’s not.

Henley’s handwriting is nothing like that. It’s clean. Neat and well space. Each letter-sized perfectly. Efficient. Precise.

She pays attention in class. She raises her hand when the teacher asks questions and answers them correctly. She doesn’t gripe about how she didn’t have time to study for tests. She takes notes and comes prepared.

She ignores me and avoids me like the plague.

I’ve tried to talk to her a few times after class but as soon as the bell rings she bolts out the door like she’s running the 50-yard dash.

“What are you doing?”

I shoot my brother, Declan, a dirty look. He’s lying on my bed, tossing a baseball into the air, seeing how close he can get it to the ceiling without actually hitting it.

“Homework, douchewad,” I say, the dirty look on my face deepening into a scowl. “You should try it sometime.”

Unfazed, Declan just laughs. “Since when do you do homework?”

“Since now.” I wish he’d get the fuck out and leave me alone. He’s always been an asshole, but tonight he’s been especially dickish.

“You’ve been staring at the same piece of paper for ten minutes,” he says, a smirk aimed at the ball he just tossed. “I started to worry you were having a stroke.”

“Fuck off,” I say, giving Henley’s notes a careful fold up the middle before tucking them in my book. “What the hell are you doing in here, anyway?”

“What were you doing with Henley O’Connell today?” he says, tossing the ball in his hand.

“Nothing,” I answer, shaking my head, jamming my textbook back into my backpack. “I needed to borrow her note from math class.”

“Bullshit,” Dec laughs. Tossing the ball in the air, he shoots me a quick, sideways look. “You needed to borrow her notes about as much as I do.”

“You don’t take calculus,” I say, irritated with him.

“Neither do you, Einstein,” he says around a laugh. “Why do you even bother pretending?”

I turn in my desk chair and glare at him. He’d never understand so why bother explaining? “Can you get the fuck out of my room, please?”

“Tell me why you were talking to Henley today,” Dec counters, giving the ball a final toss and catch before sitting up. He swings his legs over the side of my bed, planting his feet on the floor, facing me. “The real reason, not the same bullshit you fed her.”

What am I supposed to say? That I saw her walking ahead of us, skinny shoulders bowed under the weight of her backpack, head bent under the insults Jessica and her dumbass friends were peppering her with and I… what? Wanted to help her? Make it better, somehow? Save her?

I don’t even know.

All I know is that watching it happen made me feel shitty and watching Ryan do nothing about it pissed me off. Before I knew what I was doing, I was walking beside her. When she looked up at me, her face tight and suspicious, demanding to know what I wanted, I blurted out the first thing that came to mind. The only thing we have in common besides her brother.

Declan’s right. I don’t need Henley’s calculus notes. I asked her for them because the truth was too weird to say out loud.

I just wanted to walk with her. Maybe talk to her a little.

“Those bitches were harassing her,” I say, giving Declan a haphazard shrug. “I got tired of listening to it.”

“So, you felt sorry for her?” he says to me, looking at me like I might have some sort of contagious disease.

“No, I like her,” I say, giving my head an impatient shake. “Now can you get out?”

“You like her?” Declan says, standing up, looking down at me, scowling. “You can’t be serious.”

Dec’s in college. Two years older and built like a linebacker. He can and has kicked my ass, plenty. Right now, I don’t give a shit. I stand, bringing my face to within an inch of his. “Well, I am.”

“She’s Ryan’s sister.” He says, glaring down at me. “And not exactly your speed, if you know what I mean.”

Shame isn’t something I feel. When whoever did the building put me together, they forgot to add the part that’s supposed to make me feel bad for some of the shit I’ve done, so it takes me a few seconds to recognize it for what it is. I don’t know why I’m feeling it now, but I do.

Shame.

So hot and heavy it burns a hole, straight through my gut. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Declan sighs like I’m being ridiculous. “You know what it means. She’s a four at best, and that’s being generous. Not to mention the fact that she obviously doesn’t put out.” He shakes his head at me. “I mean, for real—what’re you planning on doing with her? Math sprints?”

I can feel my jaw tighten, flex around my clenched teeth. “Get the fuck out. Now.”

“Whatever you say, Einstein.” He gives me a shrug that kills the argument before it tips into a full-blown brawl. “I’m going out tonight,” he says, finally getting to the real reason he’s harassing me. “Cover for me.”

It’s not a request. It’s a requirement. I have no idea where he goes or what he does in the middle of the night, and I’m pretty sure I don’t want to. Because whatever it is, it keeps him out all night and involves a set of break-in tools.

“Whatever,” I say, lifting my hand, showing him the door.

He turns, tossing my baseball onto my bed before breezing out the door like he’s doing me a favor.

As soon as he’s gone, I sit down at my desk again and power up my desktop. Five minutes later, I’ve hacked my way past a few pathetically thin firewalls into the Boston City Library mainframe.

Typing in the title of the book I’m looking for, I run a reverse search to see who’s borrowed it over that last six months.

Henley O’Connell

She checks it out and returns it every three weeks, only to borrow it again the next day. It’s due back at the library in three days.

If she likes the book so damn much why doesn’t she just go to a bookstore and buy it like a normal person? I think about her too small shoes and busted-up backpack. The T-shirt she wore today—a shirt Ryan used to wear, back in grade school. The school folder repaired with duct tape. I instantly feel bad.

Maybe because she doesn’t have the ten bucks to spend on it, genius.

Clicking my way back to the front of the system, I find the tab marked ORDERS & HOLDS. Before I can think too much about what I’m doing or why, I type in my name and the title of the book I want to put on hold.

The Great Gatsby.