Crazy Little Thing II
**
How dare you say that my behavior is unacceptable?
So condescending, unnecessarily critical
I have the tendency of getting very physical,
So watch your step ‘cause if I do you'll need a miracle.
-Harder to Breathe, Maroon 5
**
[Jo]
Monday morning, Connor wasn’t in Calculus. I was initially pleased, and integrated almost giddily for half an hour before he showed up, hair mussed, plaid tie loosened and askew. He passed his tardy slip to Mr. Michaelson and dropped into his seat, two rows ahead of me.
I was distracted only momentarily, before the lure of integrands—I had a weird integrand-drawing fetish—drew me in once more. A tap on my elbow drew me back seconds later.
“What?” I whispered.
Sarah pushed the folded-up piece of notebook paper toward me. Raising an eyebrow, I checked to make sure Michaelson was still occupied explaining that Euler’s Method was only an approximation, and would not yield an exact result, then unfolded the note and read:
He’s watching you.
I looked up at Sarah. She usually enjoyed a hefty dose of intrigue, but in Calculus class, she was a machine, and would shoot me dirty looks if I distracted her at all.
“Who?” I mouthed.
My eyes followed her nod and met Connor’s stare. My face flared, and I looked down quickly. He was still staring, though; I could feel it. I looked back up.
His eyes dropped to my legs, then flicked back up to my face, and he winked. My ears decided to get in on the whole blush thing then, too.
I slid a piece of scratch paper out from under my current assignment and wrote in large, capital letters:
CREEPER.
I heard Sarah snicker beside me.
I curved it upward, holding it long enough for him to read it, then quickly flattened it again so Mr. Michaelson wouldn’t see.
Connor smirked and tilted his head, pretending to get a better look at my legs, neatly concealed in knee socks and a plaid skirt, beneath my desk.
I scooted my chair back two inches.
He tilted his head at an even more extreme angle, shifting in his seat.
I shifted my backpack with one of my black, loafer-clad feet.
Connor’s smirk deepened, and suddenly—he fell out of his chair.
Clapping our hands over our mouths, Sarah and I lost all vestiges of composure in a fit of giggles. Red-faced, we ducked our heads, shoulders shaking, fighting for control.
“Miss Fitzgerald, Miss Reese—is there a problem?”
“No sir,” I choked.
“Mm mm,” Sarah confirmed, shaking her head.
“Good to hear. And if Mr. Stone will return to his seat, we might be able to proceed with class sometime before the bell rings.”
Red-faced and more disheveled than ever, Connor scooted back toward his chair, but bumped his head against his desk. His calculator clattered off the edge, striking him on the head before it hit the floor.
I bit down on my tongue until it hurt enough to keep me from snorting with laughter.
Others were laughing now, though a couple of the girls appeared to be concerned about their god’s well-being.
He pulled himself back into the desk, shoulders slumped. There was a fine coating of sand on his navy blue blazer.
Mr. Michaelson returned to the white board and his squeaky marker inked out another problem.
Connor leaned over and picked up his calculator, setting it on the desk with more force than was really necessary, cursing under his breath.
“Stupid…motherf—“
“Language, Mr. Stone,” said Mr. Michaelson, without turning around.
Now who was blushing?
Deeply satisfied with the events of the morning, I drew a smiley face on a scrap of paper, turned it toward Sarah, and returned to integrating with glee.
[Connor]
No way in hell was she going to get away with that.
I spent second period plotting, but by third-period Spanish, was no closer to solidifying my vengeance. I watched Jo with narrowed eyes, as if the perfect plan would simply appear on her face if I concentrated closely enough.
She didn’t seem to notice. That, or she was much better at ignoring people than I was. I settled for obliviousness. After that little stunt this morning, I wasn’t going to give her credit for anything she didn’t earn.
She tapped her eraser on her desk, biting down on her lower lip.
“Jo, what’d you get on seven?” Loren asked, jabbing her in the arm.
The pencil flew out of her hand and landed on the floor, rolling beneath Loren’s chair.
Loren giggled. “Way to go, spaz-face. No, don’t move, I’ll get it.” She scooted back and ducked down to retrieve the pencil, but bumped her head on the way back up.
“Oh no,” Jo said. “This does not bode well for the weekend. You’re not going to get caught on fire again, are you?”
Loren huffed. “Shut up. I told you we weren’t going to talk about that. If we ignore it for long enough, I think they might finally forget it.”
“Oh no,” Jo said, laughing, then looking quickly to make sure our teacher wasn’t paying attention to the class. She continued more quietly, still grinning. “The boys will never let you live it down. I think it’s pretty much lore by now. You will go down in the history of the 11th Texas as the girl who caught her dress on fire at her first reenactment.”
“I know, I know, the disgrace of the cavalry,” Loren said, rolling her eyes as they both returned to work.
11th Texas? Reenactment? Cavalry?
Wait a minute. I’d heard them talk about these things before. They were into that Civil War reenacting thing. I hadn’t heard of it till I came down to Small Town Hell, Texas, but apparently people did this thing all over the country—dressing up in honest-to-God Civil War-era clothes and playing pretend for the weekend.
People actually invested money in the thing.
I watched Jo erase some marks on her paper, frowning. The image of her dressed her in a bonnet and poufy, lace-covered dress, shouting something about never going hungry again flickered across my mind as I watched, and a lazy grin slid onto my face.
That was it.
Satisfied that the rest of the information would be easy enough to gather, I returned to not doing my Spanish assignment, tapping my pencil against my desk.
**
Sarah Reese’s eyes nearly popped out of their sockets when I sat down at their table at lunch.
“Hey,” I said, resting my elbows on the table.
“Hey…?” Brad said.
“Hi,” Sarah squeaked.
Loren looked smugger than my mother did when she got checks from our relatives, who sent money sometimes just to make sure things stayed stable for us. Suckers.
“Hi, Connor,” she said, untwisting the cap on her water bottle and taking a sip. “What brings you over here?”
“Oh, nothin’ much…I’d just heard about your, uh, re-en…That Civil War thing.”
“Re-en-act-ment,” Sarah pronounced, then flushed a deep shade of red when I looked at her.
“Thanks,” I said.
“You’re welcome,” she said, high-pitched again. She was literally blushing to the roots of her hair; I could see her pink scalp where her hair was parted to one side.
“So yeah, that. The reenactment.” I pronounced it wrong, and glanced sideways at Sarah to see if she’d dare another correction. She didn’t. I looked at Loren, continuing. “You guys do those things often?”
“Few times a year,” Brad said.
I was surprised. “You do them too?”
He nodded. “Yeah. Since I was a kid. My dad loves ‘em.”
“Brad’s brother comes too,” Loren said.
“Yeah. Family bonding.” Brad grinned in a self-deprecating sort of way before tearing into a bag of potato chips.
“That’s cool,” I said. I looked at Loren again. She looked like she’d tell me just about anything I asked. “So…you guys are going to one…?”
“This weekend,” she supplied. “We’ll leave on Friday. Why?” She smiled slowly. “You interested?”
“Actually, yeah, kinda,” I said.
The surprise at the table was palpable.
Then Loren leaned forward, resting her chin in her hand. “Really, now,” she said. “That’s…wonderful.”
“You should come out this weekend,” Brad said.
I looked over, a little surprised he was still bothering to listen. But he was into the whole Custer’s Last Stand thing, apparently—wait, wrong war. But he was into the whole reenacting thing too.
“Oh, Connor, you just have to!” Loren was saying. “It would be so great. We could get you all set up—Brad and Josh—“
“His brother,” Sarah said.
“—have extra uniforms and rifles and stuff. It doesn’t take long to learn the stuff they do in drill, either, so you could totally fight in the battles on Saturday and Sunday. Do you want to go Union or Confederate?”
“Uh…”
“Confederate,” Loren decided. “The grey would suit you. I mean, the blue would too, totally, but you need to go grey.”
“You really want to come?” Brad asked before stuffing a handful of chips into his mouth.
“Yeah, sure,” I said. “Can’t hurt to check it out.”
“Cool,” Brad said. A chip fell out of his mouth. “Just come by my place after school and I’ll hook you up with a uniform to get you started.” He picked the chip up off the table and popped it into his mouth.
Loren shot him a dirty look.
“Sounds good, man,” I said.
Loren twisted a lock of her hair around her finger. “Omigod, Connor, I can’t believe you’re going with us this weekend! We’re going to have the best time. What time on Friday can you leave? You can ride with us.” She flashed me a smile.
“Uh…I dunno. What time are you guys going?”
“Like, five-ish. Brad?” She looked to him for confirmation.
“Earlier,” he said, muffled through his mouthful of chips. He swallowed as Loren made a face. “Dad and Josh want to get there before dark, so I’m leaving early from school.”
Loren’s shoulders slumped slightly. “Oh that’s right. I forgot.”
“I can’t leave that early,” I said. “I have to go to my last hour class.” Not because I cared or anything. I was bombing it and they said they’d stick my ass in detention if I didn’t show up for every class.
Sarah, who didn’t know I was failing the class, summoned the courage to speak up again. “Well, of course,” she said. “But you could always ride with Jo.”
Oh, could I? I fought my rising sense of sadistic glee.
I pretended disinterest. “Yeah?”
Sarah nodded. “Sure. She’s not leaving until six or so.”
“Works for me. I’ll clear my schedule.”
Loren gave a half-squeal, then clapped her hand over her mouth and giggled before returning to her hair-twirling. “Oh, Connor, you’re going to love it! I’m so excited you’re coming.”
I envisioned the look on Jo Fitzgerald’s face when she realized she would be driving me to her weekend getaway.
“Yeah,” I said. “Me too.”
[Jo]
I was loading my backpack for the weekend when Connor’s head appeared at the side of my locker. I flinched, and dropped my Calculus book.
“God, you scared me.”
He closed my locker, leaned against it, and grinned. “Sorry.”
I rolled my eyes. “Right. Now move. I’m not finished here.”
He shrugged. “Sorry.”
I dropped my hand to my hip. “Seriously. Move. I’m trying to get out of here.”
“Yeah, me too. So what time should I drop by? Need your address, by the way.”
I leaned down and picked up my Calculus book, slipping it into my backpack before straightening. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Move.”
He moved, leaning on the locker next to mine, crossing his arms. “Your reenactment thing. I’m going. I need a ride.”
I laughed. “Right. In that case, you bring the keg, and I’ll be sure to fill up on gas.”
He frowned slightly. “I’m serious.”
I didn’t try to hold back the second laugh. “Of course.” I pulled a stack of papers out of my locker, dropped it into a folder, and dropped it into the backpack. I considered the books and folders inside my locker a moment longer, hands on my hips, then shut it and stepped back.
He was staring at me.
I tried to meet his gaze evenly, but found myself blushing. “Can I help you with something?”
“I already told you.”
“And I already told you—I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I unconsciously mimicked him, crossing my arms, one hip jutting out.
“I’m going to Jefferson.” He stood up and buttoned the single button on his navy blue uniform blazer.
“No, you’re not.”
“See you there,” he said, and began walking away.
“Leave me alone.”
He turned around and walked backwards. “Save me a dance?” he asked innocently, palms out. “At the dance thing?”
“Screw you, Stone.”
He grinned. “Only if you’ll help.”
Red-faced, I spun on my loafer-clad heel and walked away with as much dignity as I could muster. Ass. I couldn’t wait to get away from him for the weekend.
**
I was a moron.
There was no other possible explanation. Because if I’d possessed an adequate number of functioning brain cells, why, in the name of all that was good and holy, would I have agreed to take him to Jefferson?
I hadn’t fully believed it when Sarah had called, and asked me to take him, giving me details in her usual, orderly fashion. I gave vague uh-huh’s for all my responses and stood staring at the phone after I’d hung up, wondering what had just happened.
Connor couldn’t possibly want to go to Jefferson.
Then Loren had called, squealing and giggling and plotting, and I felt dread steal over me.
Then the doorbell rang.
Why, why, why couldn’t my father be home to scare him off? But Dad was making rounds at the hospital this afternoon, and I was on my own. Deep barking from downstairs made me smile. At least Xerxes was here.
Sighing, I closed my bedroom door and plodded down the stairs. My five-year old German Shepherd, Xerxes, was planted in front of the door, ears back, barking at the door. I could see Connor peeking in the window.
I could let Xerxes eat him. That would definitely be preferable to driving for three hours with Connor Stone in the front seat. Maybe I could make him ride in the trunk.
“Down, boy.” I patted Xerxes on the head and he backed up a few steps. He gave a couple more barks.
“Sit,” I told him.
He looked up at me with big, pleading eyes and I shook my head. “Uh uh. You can only eat him if he asks for it. Of course, that could be in the first ten seconds of this interaction. I’ll keep you posted.” I scratched him behind his ears and his tail thumped on the carpet.
With a heavy sigh, I turned back toward the door and opened it. “Hey. Come in for a sec and I’ll grab my stuff.”
He had changed out of his uniform, and was now wearing jeans, a t-shirt, and a baseball cap. His hands were stuffed in his front pockets. “Were you just telling your dog that it could eat me if I pissed you off?”
I looked at him, wide-eyed. “Why would I do that?”
He cracked a half-smile. “Yeah, okay. Whatever. Where’s your stuff?”
“Next room over. If you grab yours we can just get to the garage from here.”
“Why do we need to get to the garage?”
“Because that’s where my car is,” I said, mentally tagging on a, duh.
He heard it. Connor raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, well, great. But we’re taking my car.”
I laughed. “Like hell we are. No way am I letting you drive me all the way to Jefferson.”
“Sarah said you had to get your tires fixed or something, so I’d need to drive.”
Damn.
He was right. My tires needed air, and my dad had said there was no way I was allowed to take a major road trip until I fixed it. And, having been busy all week, I’d forgotten to do it.
He seemed pleased at my irritation.
“Fine.” I clenched my teeth. “I’ll just get my bag.”
“You do that.”
Struggling for control, I grabbed my large duffel bag out of the living room and returned to the doorway. I couldn’t help it; I laughed.
Xerxes had scooted forward and was now enthusiastically licking Connor’s wrist, landing slobber everywhere. He looked utterly disgusted, and I reveled in it.
[Connor]
“What is wrong with your dog? She’s like—“
“He.” Jo slung a bag over her shoulder. “He’s a boy.”
“Fine, he—just, make it stop!”
“Him.”
Shooting her a look, I tried to hold my hand out of reach, but the shepherd jumped up on his hind legs, tongue zeroing in on my wrist.
“His name’s Xerxes,” she told me, opening the front door and walking out.
“Hey, hey—wait a second…” I shook the slobber off my hand as I followed her out the door. Checking to make sure the dog’s nose wasn’t sticking out, I closed it behind me and caught up with Jo.
“Here,” she said, shoving her bag in my arms. “Don’t put it somewhere it’ll get crushed.”
Mutely, I popped the trunk and stored her bag inside. Slamming the trunk shut, I looked toward the house. Jo’s big dog was looking out the window, tail wagging. I glanced down at my hand, then wiped my wrist on my pants. Stupid dog.
I walked to the passenger side of the car and found Jo already in the front seat. Shrugging, I walked around the front of the vehicle and sat in the driver’s seat, slamming the door.
“I was gonna open the door for you, you know,” I said, putting the key in the ignition.
Jo rolled her eyes. “Oh, you were not.”
“Yes, I was!”
“It doesn’t matter,” she said, crossing her arms, slightly hunched over, staring out the window. “Let’s just get this over with.”
I grinned and started the car. “Whatever you say, bookworm.”
i can't wait for the next part!
