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4
Seven
Conner
2009
It’s finals week. No reason for me to be here since, technically, I graduated high school when I was eleven. For all intents and purposes, I should be just about anywhere but here. But here is where I am because I haven’t seen Henley in days and I’m hoping to at least catch a glimpse of her. Make her talk to me.
Yeah. Make her talk to you. Like this morning when you practically chased her through the quad.
I showed up early, stationing myself by the gate so I could see her when she showed up. Fifteen minutes later, I was surrounded by people, all of them talking and laughing. Trying to get my attention. I’m popular. I know that. Six months ago, it felt like some sort of accomplishment that I’d fooled all these people into thinking I actually give a shit about anything they have to say. Now, they’re nothing more than a low-level annoyance. Like flies, buzzing around me. I talk back. Smile. Laugh. Engage. Pretend to be something I’m not.
Normal.
Ryan shows up and I fight the urge to ask him where Henley is. He’s been weird around me lately. Spending a lot of time with Declan. It makes me worry that my asshole brother has pulled him into his bullshit. Makes me wonder if he knows that I’m in love with his sister.
Jessica keeps flipping her hair and giggling like an idiot, trying to get me to notice her. I notice her, not because I want to but because I notice everything. She keeps texting me. Showing up at my house. Monday afternoon I finally told my mom I don’t want to see her and why. What she did to Henley.
Yesterday, when she showed up, my mom chased her off the porch with a broom and told her we didn’t feed stray cats. It was the first good laugh I’d had in days.
A few minutes before school starts, I see Henley pass through the gate. I wasn’t planning on approaching her. I just wanted to see her. I hadn’t for days and I just needed to see her face, that’s all. To know she was okay.
But then I caught her looking at me. I know it shouldn’t but seeing how miserable she looked gave me hope.
I was halfway across the quad before she bolted. I supposed I have Tess to thank for slowing her down and giving me a fighting chance, but by the time I get to where she was talking with Tess, she’s already gone
Standing next to Tess, I call out to her in frustration. Something I know isn’t going to win me any points and Tess proves it by laughing at me.
“Way to go, Romeo,” she says, shaking her head at me. “I’ll be surprised if she stops before she hits Connecticut.” But she lays a hand on my forearm and gives it a commiserating squeeze before she walks away too.
Now, walking into calculus, the first thing I see is Henley. She’s sitting in the same seat she’s sat in for the entire semester. Ramrod straight in her seat, hands folded on her desktop. Face aimed at the whiteboard at the front of the classroom. First row, five desks back. Directly across from the door so she can duck out as soon as class is over. I don’t expect today will be any different. She’ll bolt as soon as the bell rings.
Walking up the aisle, I can see her face, but she doesn’t look at me. Her gaze doesn’t waver from the front of the classroom. I look at her hands, folded on top of her desk, hoping against hope that I’ll see it. That she’s wearing my ring.
She isn’t.
Stopping in front of the desk behind her, I glare at the kid sitting at it until he gets the picture. As soon as he gathers his stuff and moves, I slip into the vacated seat. Her unruly hair is wrangled into one of her braids, revealing a cluster of freckles scattered like buckshot across her nape. Like she can feel me staring at them, a red flush erupts from the neck of her T-shirt to creep into her hairline.
It’s been nearly a week since she knocked Jessica out in the library, but people are still talking about it. Still talking about her. About how she went crazy and attacked Jessica for no reason. This is her first day back at school since it happened and they’re all staring at her.
I lean forward in my seat, elbow planted on the desktop in front of me. “Ignoring me doesn’t mean I’m not here, Henley.” I say it loud enough to cut through the bullshit whispering around us and her shoulders instantly stiffen under the worn seams of her shirt.
Now they’re staring at both of us.
“I’d like to start the final now, if that’s okay with you, Mr. Gilroy?”
I look up to see Mr. Kitteridge, our calculus instructor, glaring at me from the front of the room. I slump back in my seat and shrug. “I’m ready if you are,” I say, stretching my legs out under my desk.
Like most of my teachers, he doesn’t like me. Doesn’t want me in his class. Tolerates me because the school board says he has to. Historically, I don’t give a fuck how he feels or what he thinks about me and today is no exception.
Kitteridge’s face turns an unhealthy shade of purple while laughter erupts around me. I meet his glare head on, practically daring him to open his mouth again. When he clamps it shut, I give him a smirk and cross my arms over my chest, while he passes out exams.
I stare at the back of Henley’s neck for the next forty-five minutes listening to the furious scratching of number two pencils flying across paper. Like I predicted, as soon as the bell rings, she’s out of her seat, exam in hand. As soon as she’s handed it in, she’s out the door.
I’m right behind her.
“Henley.”