10. Complications
COMPLICATIONS
The bus stop is empty. I sit on the silver seat and pluck at the lint balls covering my navy blue tights. Next time I’m on my work break, I’ll go to the shop across from the grocery store and buy a cheap lint roller.
When I have a handful of cotton balls, the Toyota slows to a stop at the bus stop. Conner winds down the window, a beaming grin on his face.
This time, I grab hold of my bag and enter his car before the bus comes.
“Morning, Noya,” Conner says as I enter the car, closing the door behind me. “Maccas for brekkie? My shout this time!”
“It’s fine. I can pay.”
He lifts his brow. “You’re stubborn with this, aren’t you?”
“I don’t like the concept of owing anyone money.”
“It’s not owing if I’m offering. So, take the offer.”
I sit back in my seat. Twisting the lint balls on my tights, I murmur, “Thank you.”
When we reach the drive-through, it’s empty compared to last night. Conner asks what I want, and I tell him I want a coffee with three sugars. Conner frowns and ends up ordering two sausage and egg muffins.
I bite my lower lip, and my fingers tighten on the leather to hold my tongue.
I’m not used to this sort of treatment. From a young age, I’ve learned that if I wanted something, I needed to work for it.
When I was old enough, I worked to earn money so I could buy food instead of eating dry cereal from the box.
My mother never left the house to get groceries, and my father spent most of his paycheck on alcohol.
Conner parks in the parking lot, then hands me the muffin and hash browns. I place them on my lap and then sip the coffee with the extra sugar hit.
He leans forward and turns the dial on the air-con until it reaches level two. Cool air brushes against my face.
“Do you want to hang out with my group today?” Conner asks after finishing his muffin.
“Uh…not really.”
“At least for lunch.” He places his arm on my seat and leans towards me. “My mates and I play board games in the classroom. You don’t need to socialise. You can sit there and say nothing. They won’t care.”
“Um…”
“You can leave anytime. No lock-in contract.”
I cover my smile with my hand as I struggle not to choke on the hash brown. Then, before Conner can persist, I nod twice while turning away from him, and I overlook the empty playground as the worker cleans the tables with a paper towel and a spray bottle.
Sadness sweeps over me momentarily, and the contracting, tightening feeling in my throat becomes unbearable. I sip my coffee, hoping that the drink will force the emotions down, suppressing them further.
“Did your siblings like it when you brought drinks home for them?” I ask.
“They were asleep when I got home, and when I left this morning, they were still asleep. Mum doesn’t work today, so they didn’t go to school to spend time with her.”
“They won’t get into trouble with the school?”
“What will missing one day in primary school do to them?” Conner questions, a crooked smile on his mouth. “It’s also healthy. At least, that’s what my parents tell me. Whenever I skip school, I text them to tell them I’m on a mental health break day and there’s no fuss.”
“Wow,” is all I can say.
“You said your parents are strict, right?” he asks, and I nod stiffly. “Is that the reason you come to school every day, even when you’re sick?”
“Sorry?” My hands tighten on the foam cup, my fingernails poking little indents into it.
“At the start of the year, you wore a mask for four days in Creative Arts. I knew you were sick because you tried not to sniffle a lot, but I wanted you to grab a tissue and blow your guts out instead of trying to conceal it with little sniffles throughout the duration of art.”
“Sorry…”
“But now I know it’s because your parents are too strict to keep you home to rest, I feel a little bad for being so bothered by the sniffling.”
Sadly, he doesn’t know that it’s by doing that I’m going to school. Yes, I can “skip”, as Conner puts it. But the thought of the school calling home or Dad’s emergency number and him finding out I skipped school scares me more than throwing up in the classroom.
I’d rather be extremely ill than stay home knowing Dad can come home anything he wants.
“Here, give me your number, and I’ll give you mine,” he says as he grabs his phone.
“Why?”
“I freaked out last night when I forgot to ask for your number,” he laughs awkwardly. “The idea of driving to your bus stop and finding you weren’t there scared me. At least if I have your number, I won’t freak out if something comes up on your end. You can just text me if you’re late.”
“You’re going to pick me up again?”
“Yeah—also, I’ll wait for you at the entrance to the school car park as well. Do you have work? I’ll take you.”
“Isn’t this inconvenient for you?”
“No. Why?”
“Where do you live?”
“You know the street across from the main entrance to the supermarket?”
I nod.
“Go down that street, and it’s the third street on the right. I live about four houses down on the left. So, for your information, Noya, doing this is no skin off my nose. I actually like it.”
“Why?”
“It means I spend time with the mysterious Noya.”
I give him a tight-lipped smile while looking down at my coffee. We exchange numbers.
“Are you finished?” he says once I set the phone down. With another nod, I place the wrappers in the bag, but keep my coffee. Conner puts them in the bin, and when he returns, we leave the parking lot and head towards the school.
I don’t like standing out, but Conner makes it apparent he’s entering the school.
Apart from being one of the few flashy cars, he doesn’t care who listens to his music as he carelessly swerves into the car park and parks in the student parking lot on the side of the car park. It faces the fence overlooking the sports oval. Students run around, kicking the football.
“So, lunch is after art. We can walk together to where my friends are.”
I nod, unable to speak.
“Are you okay?”
“Everyone will notice me leaving this car.” I tighten my grip on the strap of my school bag. “I don’t like people noticing me.”
“If anyone causes you problems, tell me. After all, I am the school captain.”
It won’t help the staring.
People staring is the worst. But I keep Conner from worrying by nodding as I shuffle out of the car, then I power-walk away from him. I sense him following, but I make my escape when a few guys from his year call him over to the car they’re hanging out at.
Samantha and Dylan notice me when I exit the car park gates and make their way over to me. Samantha darts a look at me and then behind, putting two and two together. Her brown eyes widen, and every freckle on her face creases her forehead as she says my name.
“Hey! Were you in Conner’s car?” she asks when she walks beside me.
“Yeah…”
“When did that happen? I didn’t know you guys talked.”
“We bumped into each other when I was working, and he offered me a lift to school this morning.”
“Wylan told me he stopped at the bus stop yesterday afternoon and asked you to get in,” Dylan inputs.
Please, Dylan. I don’t want to keep talking about this. Samantha’s eyes widen even more, and I imagine them popping on impact and rolling across the dirt-covered path.
“Uh…yeah. I didn’t expect that to happen,” I admit lamely.
“Oh, my God!” Samantha links her arm with mine. “You need to tell me everything in English!”
We head to the back of the school as the bell rings. My heart eases a little at the idea of prolonging my visit with Andy. What Conner said about him being my bodyguard bothers me more than it should.
When I see Andy next, I want to prove Conner wrong.
He won’t freak out after I tell him Conner gave me a lift to school.
Samantha writes notes to me in class. I keep my answers brief enough to know that they will suffice. I have never seen her this excited, and either she is projecting, or she really is enthusiastic about Conner driving me to school.
However, as soon as I leave the class, whispers move around the school quickly. Most students who were unaware of my existence look at me—watching.
Recess comes by quickly. Since I don’t have any friends in Ancient History (Dylan and Samantha didn’t choose that as their elective), I dawdle to the back of the building, to where the smokers squat.
Andy is with Wylan, and Dylan and Samantha are leaning against the building, sharing a cigarette. She calls me over, which causes Andy to turn at the mention of my name.
My focus darts away from me, and I sit on my heels, my back resting against the wall as I overlook the cars driving past.
“Hey,” Andy says.
As I look up, Andy’s towering over me. His brown hair falls forward, and those blue eyes narrow. I can read him like a book. He has that “I’m going to interrogate you” look, and I’m not ready for that.
“Hey,” I reply.
“So,” Andy begins with a grunt as he crouches beside me, “Samantha told me Conner drove you to school.”
I pick up a twig from beside me and poke it into the dirt between the cracks of the path. “And?”
“I don’t know. You tell me, Noya. I didn’t think you and Conner were that close. It looked like he was bothering you in Creative Arts.”
“He has no boundaries,” I agree. “But he’s harmless.”
“You’ve spoken to him for, like, what? A day? How do you know he’s harmless?”
I murmur, “I know what bad people look like.”
The pressure on the twig snaps. With a sigh, I slump further to the ground and glare at the sky. “I’m spending lunch with him and his friends.”
“You’re bailing on us already?”
“It’s just lunch, Andy.”
“Do you like him?”
“What?” My brows furrow for a second before I shake my head and rise. “I’m leaving.”
“Noya, stop.” He grabs my arm, and his grip makes me turn rigid. “I’m sorry. It’s just weird seeing you two together. Forget I said anything. Just chill with us.”
“Okay,” I mumble.
Andy’s grip relaxes, and he lets go of my arm. I follow him to where Samantha, Wylan, and Dylan are smoking. As I somewhat listen to their conversation, my thoughts drift as I rub my arm where Andy grabbed.
He has never shown that side of himself before. He has never held onto me harshly enough without realising it.
But I doubt he knew what he was doing. So, I will brush it off for now.
Still, he scared me. Enough for me to suppress expressing my feelings to him because now I’m afraid of his reaction if I tell him that grabbing my arm makes me uncomfortable and scared.
I observe him. He holds a brimming smile as he talks to Dylan about the football game.
Conner is right. Andy acts like my bodyguard.
No—he acts like an older brother. But I need to tell him that not every guy in my life will hurt me.
Will he accept that?
And why am I too scared to tell him to take a step back and trust that I know an evil person when I see one?