Page 11 of The Rejected Omega

“Thanks.”

He turned and resumed staring out the window, never saying a word.

Getting Ma Clover to keep money in my lunch account beyond the required allotment at the beginning of the semester was a trial. So when my lunch account hit the maximumnegative charge the school allowed, I was denied at the cafeteria register. Connor walked up behind me and whispered the pin for his account in my ear.

The closer we grew, the more he came out of his shell. He idly played with my hair in class, winding stray curls around his fingers. His hands in my hair never failed to send tingles zipping through me. Being on the receiving end of his casual touches was my personal Elysium.

He braided my hair for me when I forgot a hair tie, or sometimes just because. Eventually, he told me he used to braid his mom’s hair for her when she was sick. That it was nice to be able to do it again, now that she was gone.

“She would’ve liked you, kid.”

When he got his license and a shiny new SUV for his sixteenth birthday, I lost my seatmate on the bus.

“Who’s sitting next to you on the bus now?” he asked the very next day.

I rolled my eyes. “Some senior who lost his license and doesn’t shower after gym. I miss you.” Even when I lingered in the bus line until the final call to board, he still managed to get on after me and squeeze me against the window.

“I’ll give you a ride from now on.”

“You don’t live anywhere near me, Connor.”

He shrugged. “So?”

Every day after that, Connor was in my driveway in the morning and waiting for me in the parking lot after school. If he was out sick or had an appointment, he sent Mac to drive me. It was completely ridiculous. Totally unnecessary. I loved him for it.

During blistering hot summers, we bought cheap matinée tickets on Tuesday, then spent the rest of the day sneaking from theater to theater, watching whatever was screening next. We gorged on snacks secreted away in my purse and Connor’s jacketuntil we finally stumbled out of the theater at midnight, blinking at the shift from daylight to night.

In junior year, I started crying in the middle of class after being called to the office to discuss how they were cutting need-based scholarships like mine from the budget.

Our classmates kept asking me what was wrong, which only made me cry harder.

Connor dragged me out of my seat without saying a word, skipping the rest of class to drive me to the lake and walk around it until I was ready to talk.

The next week, I received a letter saying my scholarship was secure. And while I wasn’t eager to accept charity from the Masters, starting a new school—going through the rest of high schoolwithout him—was a misery I couldn’t afford.

Summers in the Masters’ pool once Connor hit his growth spurt were a trial all their own. He was popular in a way I never was, so his friends and teammates would join us at his house. My sexual awakening happened during a game of ‘chicken fight’ where Connor slipped beneath the water and between my legs to lift me onto his shoulders. We lost. I was too distracted by the slip of my shaved thighs against his sunscreen-slick shoulders. By his hair tickling my abdomen when I tightened my thighs around his head to try and keep my balance.

In retrospect, puberty was our death knell.

I became interested in Connor, and Connor became interested in…everyone else.

There were small moments. In the dark of a theater, the warmth of his broad shoulders pressing against me as we battled over the armrest until we reached a détente. Midway through the movie, I opened my palm to the air, hoping he’d take my hand.

I should’ve been bolder, should’ve taken the initiative, but I was so afraid of his rejection. Wasn’t sure our friendship would survive it.

Once, when I was grounded and could only talk to Connor over the phone, I worked up the gumption to float the idea ofus. I was always better at confessions that weren’t face to face. I preferred them written—tucked into a letter, sent through a text, lost in a DM.

I was tired, drifting back and forth on that boundary between sleep and wakefulness that loosens inhibitions and lowers barriers.

“In the future, do you think you and I ever get together?” I asked, the phone cradled against my cheek.

“Like boyfriend and girlfriend?”

I chewed on my lip as my heart tried to escape my chest. “Yeah.”

I was met with interminable silence. He hesitated so long that I almost wished he wouldn’t answer. Then, almost too carefully, “Lana…you’re my best friend. The person I can turn to when everything else falls apart. I’d take that over a girlfriend any day.”

I went quiet on the other end of the line, holding my hand over the speaker so he couldn’t hear my shaky breaths as a hot tear streaked down my face.

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