Page 13 of Beautiful Lies
“What are you doing here?” I asked. “How did you get here?”
“My magic carpet. You need a lift to your next class?”
I laughed, earning a smile from him.
“Hey Connor,” Holly said, flashing him a big smile.
He jerked his chin in her direction. “How’s it going?”
“Great,” she said brightly. “I’m Ava’s friend, Holly? We have fourth period English together?”
Friend. Right. I brushed past them and weaved my way through the kids in the hallway. Knowing Holly, she’d tell Connor everything I’d confided in her, back in junior high when we told each other all about our secret crushes.
“You need to point him out to me,” she’d said. “If he’s as cute as you say…”
“I never see him at school.” It hadn’t been a lie. I’d catch glimpses of him sometimes in the hallway, but they were fleeting.
She’d pouted. “Well, then we have to make it our mission to find him. Or you need to invite me to church sometime.”
“You’re Jewish,” I reminded her, secretly thrilled about keeping Connor to myself, although I didn’t know why.
After that, I’d stopped talking about Connor and Holly had stopped asking about him. I didn’t even realize she had a class with him this year.
“Are you trying to get rid of me?” a voice next to me asked, and I caught the teasing tone.
I glanced at Connor. “I just need to get to class. So, you and Holly—” I stopped myself.
“I guess we have a class together.” He shrugged one shoulder. “And I’m guessing you’re not really friends.”
“We used to be. We don’t have a lot in common anymore.”
“It happens.”
“You can’t walk me to all my classes, you know.”
“Who says?”
“Why are you doing this?” I asked. “Did Killian…” I took a shaky breath. Killian couldn’t have known what happened. He’d only caught the part where Jake had tossed me in the dumpster. After Killian had helped me out of the dumpster, I’d run away and hadn’t looked back, although I’d heard the sound of Killian’s fist slamming into Jake’s face. I’d heard Jake’s grunts and his words, “You’re a fucking maniac. Get your hands—” Killian must have shut him up with another punch.
“Did you look at the paper I gave you?” Connor asked.
“Not yet. I was…saving it for later. This is me,” I said, stepping aside to let kids get past.
Connor ran a hand through his dark hair and squinted at the classroom door. “I gotta run. Art class is the only one worth going to. When do you have lunch?”
“Fifth period.”
“Same.”
“Really? I never saw you at lunch.” My eyes widened after I realized what I’d said. He gave me a lopsided grin, a mischievous gleam in his blue eyes. “I mean, not that I ever looked…”
“I usually hang out in the art room. Mr. Santos is cool with it. But I’m kind of flattered that you noticed. Meet you outside the cafeteria.”
“You don’t have to…”
But he was already gone, and I knew my words were wasted even if he’d hung around to listen to them. He’d be there, waiting for me. Leaning against the wall, his earbuds in his ears, the music blasting, his hand tapping out the beat on his thigh. He’d ignore his guy friends when they gave him shit for hanging out with the weird girl. If they hassled him about it, he’d tell them to fuck off. Connor, I would come to learn, didn’t march to the beat of anyone’s drum. He set his own rhythm. He was a law unto himself, a free spirit trapped in his own private hell.
Later that night, alone in my room, the hip-hop music in my ears drowning out the voices in my head, I unfolded the thick piece of paper and smoothed my palm over the creases. Unshed tears clogged my throat as I studied the drawing. It was the first of many Connor Vincent masterpieces I’d collected over the years. But this one…would always hold a special place in my heart. Bluebirds soared over the rooftops of Bay Ridge, their color vibrant against the gray, cloudy sky and the washed-out world below.
