Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Sixteen years old
“What do you mean you love cotton candy but hate Peeps?” Connor’s outraged voice comes from the kitchen. “They’re like, the same thing!”
I frown, instinctively looking around for my parents to come down the hall. But my parents are gone for the weekend, like they always are. “Don’t yell,” I say. “And they aren’t the same thing at all.”
Connor pops around the corner, waving a bag of marshmallow treats, mouth open in an ‘o’. “They’re literally both puffed sugar.”
I roll my eyes, but can’t help the amusement that bubbles up. Connor and I have been talking for a while. At first, I thought he was trying to get in my pants, and maybe he was at first, but now he seems more…lonely than anything. And that’s something I understand.
Connor flops down on the couch, eyeing me. “If you hate them so much, why is your pantry full of them?”
I swallow. Dad thinks I love Peeps, based on an offhand comment I made when I was, like, seven. Now, he buys them for me every time he sees them. I hate them, but it’s kinda the only time I can tell Dad cares. In his own fucked up way.
I just shrug. Connor watches me, face softening. When I meet his gaze, he just shrugs. “Okay, keep your secrets.” Then he throws me a side-eye and mutters, “Are you Secret Service?”
I stifle a laugh. It’s a running joke that Connor thinks I work for some government agency, despite the fact I’ve told him they don’t hire teenagers, and why the fuck would I be living here if I did?
Anytime my expression cracks, he acts like I’ve given him the biggest clue and crows about it for days.
“I knew it,” Connor’s watching me try not to smile, and there’s a conspiratorial tone in his whisper. “Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me.” Then, he jumps up. “You have a bed for me to move. Will you put in a good word for me to your supervisors if I do it right?”
“I don’t have supervisors.” I laugh. “Go upstairs.”
“Riiight.” Connor grins. “Lead the way, fourteen.”
Suddenly, I’m shy. Connor’s going to see my bedroom. I told him he could come over today to help me rearrange my room. Can I move my bed by myself?
Maybe.
Do I secretly want him over because he’s at his Dad’s house this week, and every time that happens, he comes back with a black eye?
Yes.
Connor blames it on football. The same way I told my parents that I slipped and fell in the bathroom when the bitch squad got me the second time.
But I suspect that’s why Connor is so good at teaching me how to fight.
Connor doesn’t say anything about it, just like I don’t say anything about my own problems. But I know he knows.
He’s given me tips about handling multiple people at once.
The tips seem to come from experience, and it makes my heart hurt.
I think Connor is going to make fun of my pink room with the frilly curtains and pink, well, everything. But he doesn’t. He just puts his hands on his hips, demands a Peep, then gets to work. By the time we’re done, the room looks so good. Connor falls onto the bed, panting.
“More puffed sugar. The hummingbird is dying.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re anything but a hummingbird.”
Connor flaps his large arms. His large, muscled arms. My mouth waters.
“I can feel my heart giving out. Please. Sugar.”
I chuck a Peep at him. He snatches it out of the air at a speed that makes me blink, then shoves it in his mouth.
I’m stuck, staring at him. Connor is kinda everything in a guy.
Sweet, cute, funny. So why in the hell is he hanging out with me?
I’m the most closed-off, angry girl who will absolutely cause him social problems. The outcast. The girl for whom my parents threw a party when I was eight, and invited my whole class, but no one came.
Did my parents pay him to be friends with me?
My heart drops an embarrassing amount. The more I think about it, the more it makes sense.
Mom and Dad are never home and always busy with work.
I rarely see them, even when they are home.
Growing up here is like growing up in a ghost town.
It’s just me, my phone, and the weekly grocery deliveries against the world.
But is it just me now?
I glance over to see Connor throw a Peep into the air, try to catch it in his mouth, and miss.
“So what’s the deal with your hair, ice queen?”
I frown. I’ve considered dying the rest of my hair silvery blond so people stop asking me about it.
I would just dye the strip, but for some reason, it won’t hold color for very long.
People think that just because I look slightly different, it gives them the right to comment on my body. It’s constant.
Connor’s tone changes, and he stops throwing the Peep up and down. “Oh shit, my bad. I just…I like it.”
“It’s vitiligo,” I say. “It’s genetic. No, it’s not harmful. No, I don’t have it anywhere else. No, you can’t touch it.”
Suddenly, a Peep hits me in the face, and Connor snickers. “Eat that, grumpy. Get your sugar up.” His voice softens. “Do people really ask you that?”
“Yeah.” I frown, squishing the peep between my fingers.
“Fucking weirdos.”
We sit together in silence, and it’s not awkward. It’s more…companionable.
“Do you punch them in the face when they ask?”
I snort out a breath through my nose.
“I’m serious. I’ll do it for you.” Connor straightens. “I’ll get a streak of white too, and every time someone asks to touch it, I’ll punch them in your honor.”
This time, I laugh. “You’re being dumb.”
“No, they are.” Connor leans back. “I’m doing it. You can’t stop me.”
I shake my head.
Lower, Connor whispers, “Then when your supervisors plant the tracker under my skin, I’ll already have the secret mark.”
I throw a pillow at his head.
A few days later, I’m shoving all my cheer stuff into my bag. My hair is sweaty, my bra is sticking to my skin, and I just want to go home. To go home and text Connor about his newest argument: whether dragons actually existed, and if they did, would they be considered a dinosaur?
I kick myself, but I can’t stop the warm glow in my chest when I think of him. I know this is a dangerous path to go down. Starting with the bitch squad that left the locker room a few minutes before I did. I always go in as late as I can to avoid them.
As I’m getting ready to leave, I hear a raised voice in the hallway. It’s deep and angry and…familiar?
I rush to the door, pushing it open to see Connor in the hallway.
But it’s not just him. It’s Connor and the whole bitch squad.
Connor is facing away from me, staring Harley down.
His neck is red, and I watch him cock his head.
“If you touch her again, I’ll make sure that’s the last thing those hands touch. ”
“Connor, I…” Harley splutters, fixing a strand of hair behind her ear.
“Understand?” This version of Connor I recognize from our training. Firm, angry, and powerful.
Is he…protecting me? Goosebumps run up and down my arms.
Harley’s gaze flickers over to me, and for a second, her eyes flare in anger. She turns back to Connor. “I get it. What the fuck ever.”
The girls disperse down the hall, and Connor watches them go. As he starts to turn to the bathroom, I duck and shut the door. My heart races, and I feel…warm.
Connor just stood up for me?
I stand by the door, wondering if he saw me. Wondering if he’s going to call me out.
But he doesn’t. The next text I get from him is:
Connor: If Pegasuses existed, would that make them dinosaurs, too?
A few days later, Connor shows up at school with a white-blond streak in his hair, exactly the same place mine is.
It makes me want to both hit him and cry.
This feels too good to be true. Connor is perfect, and I’ve already been planning how to get him away from his family.
He can come stay with me, and then when we graduate, we can move in together.
Live a quiet little life, maybe take some karate lessons, get a dog…
I’m broken out of my thoughts when I see Harley get up from the squad’s table and leave the room. Quickly, her two other shadows follow. The way they’re looking around the room makes me tense.
I scan the room for Connor. He usually shows up with his football buddies, but he’s not here. In fact, there are quite a few guys missing.
Abandoning my meal, I dart into the hallway. There’s already a crowd gathering around, and people are yelling. A sinking feeling hits my stomach, and I shove forward. There’s already a staff member here, but she’s alone, and everyone is ignoring her shouts to stop.
When I make it to the front of the line, my stomach sinks. Connor is facing off with another kid from the team. Connor’s eyebrow is bleeding, but he’s grinning. The other kid is big, and I can hear him sucking for breath.
“Hey!” I shout.
“You threatened her!” The other kid steps forward to shove Connor, who just side steps him.
“I told her to keep her hands off my girl.” Connor grins, and it’s a wild look.
The kid rushes forward, throwing a punch that misses. Connor easily ducks it and gets behind the kid, but then another from the circle comes in and grabs Connor from behind. He yells, “You threatened to kill her!”
Off to the side, I see Harley’s barely hidden grin.
No, no, no! I try to reach the kid holding Connor, but an arm shoots out, getting in my way.
The first kid whirls, and while Connor is shoving away from the last kid, manages to get a hit in. I gasp, feeling the pain like I was the one who got hit. This is all happening because of me.
Connor whirls, catching my gaze as I try to push toward him. As he does, his eyes soften for a second, then he throws me a wink. That white streak over his eyebrow catches in the light. Then Connor is up, and he’s throwing punch after punch.
He catches a fist to the jaw. Connor goes down and hits the floor hard. Someone next to me hisses. For a brief second, I wait for him to get up.
But he doesn’t.
The other two swarm around him, kicking him, while others try to pull them off.
“Get up!” I shove my way around two bodies, getting pressed between them. By the time I get past them, people are murmuring.
“Connor.” I drop beside him, shaking his shoulder. Connor’s eyes are open. Someone else starts shaking him, but all I can focus on is that white streak of hair. My heart pounds, and all I hear is rushing in my ears.
I’m shoved aside, and there are adults here with a flurry of voices.
I try to scramble up to stay with him, but more adults are fitting themselves in, pushing us back.
There’s nothing I can do to get close to him, but I stay as close as I can.
Surely he’ll wake up soon. He can’t pass out for this long, right?
Medics come down the hall. Relief fills me. They’ll help him. They’ll get him awake.
I see Harley in the back of the hall, and that relief turns to anger. Someone said that Connor threatened to kill her. He did no such thing. Connor would never.
I rush at her. “You lied!”
Harley raises her hands, but I’m already on top of her, throwing punch after punch. Using the techniques that Connor taught me, I guard my face, untuck my thumb, and lay into her.
I don’t get enough hits in before I’m yanked off of her while she cries with blood pouring out of her face.
She lied. She lied, and now Connor is hurt.
The rest of the day is a blur. The cops come, and I can’t understand why. They talk to me, then call my parents. My parents don’t pick up. They’re in some other country, probably partying it up with no service. I keep waiting for news about Connor.
I wait by my phone for the rest of the day, but Connor never texts. By the end of the day, rumor has it he’s in the hospital in a coma.
My stomach sinks, and dread washes over me. I’ll go see him. I need to see him.
I find my way to the hospital in town, but no one will tell me if he’s there or not. I don’t know Connor’s mom, nor do I have her number.
The next week passes in agonizing slowness. I get Connor’s mom’s number, but she can’t tell me anything. There’s no news. Every day it’s the same: no change. Which I keep telling myself is good news. Right? No news is good news.
On day nine, Harley has a meltdown in the lunchroom that results in screaming between her and the other bitch squad.
She acts like she’s distressed, but she never really knew Connor, so I can’t find it in me to care.
Performative bullshit. On day eleven, I pass out from not eating, and the nurse has to call Dad.
On day thirteen, I skip school. I can’t eat.
I can’t sleep. I’m a shell of a person at school.
Things feel even more empty than when Connor showed up.
I shouldn’t have believed something this good could last.
On the fourteenth day, Connor dies. When I get the call, it’s like my whole world crumples in on itself until all I can see is Connor lying on the ground, eyes open.
I hear the shouts. I feel the heart palpitations.
Over and over and over again. And during it all, it feels like my soul is being ripped in two.
I sit on the floor of my kitchen, that same open pack of Peeps in my lap, and stare at the cabinets. Only now, the Peeps are hard and stale. Stiff, like they’re frozen in rigor mortis.
It never stops.
I can’t make it stop.
I’m alone, Connor’s dead, and I can’t stop reliving it.