Chapter 8
Lennon
The scrap of paper in my pocket burns a hole through my clothes.
Through my skin. It’s small, but potent.
Less than three inches by one. It’s been folded in half and in quarters.
I’ve folded and unfolded it so many times, it’s starting to fray in some places.
Even when it’s smoothed out, there’s a permanent grid pattern carved into it.
When Bev and Anna go to lunch, I take it out of my pocket, place it on my keyboard, and stare at it for a good fifteen minutes. Blake is at his desk in body, not spirit, so he doesn’t notice.
The ink has started to fade from all the manhandling, but his number is legible and so are the words Call Connor.
It’s not a dare or a challenge.
It’s not even a taunt.
It’s a request.
Call Connor.
Four tabs were missing from his ad the day I caved and tore one off for myself. When I went to Crema today, only one was left, and most of his ad was hidden by a newer flyer.
Call Connor.
It’s been a while since he put up the ad.
More than a week. Chances are, he’s found a roommate by now.
The rent he listed is reasonable and his building is close to campus.
It’s a sought-after location. He probably had a ton of calls within a day or two of posting the ad, and it’s likely he filled the room right away.
It’s not like he’s overly discerning. He probably met up with the first person who responded and liked them.
I’ll bet he’s not even responding to inquiries anymore.
I bet if I call him, nothing will happen.
I bet he won’t answer. Or if he does, it will be a short conversation in which he’ll say nothing more than, “Sorry, bud, the room’s gone.”
Call Connor.
It feels strange to see his name typed out like that. Strange to think of him as Connor, not him or The Spark.
Obviously, I know his name is Connor Lockwood.
I’ve known that since the beginning. It was one of the first things I learned about him.
And obviously, I know where he lives. He’s not hard to follow, and even if he were, he makes no attempt to keep his personal details off the internet.
The first picture I saw of him, the one that started all this shit, had his house number and street name in the background.
5831 Rivington Lane.
It’s like he wanted me to find him.
Call Connor.
Like he wants me to call him.