“You see Laura and your brother this morning?” she questions, dragging me toward the food hall.
“Nope. He mainly stays at the garage now, so I don’t see him at home much. Laura stays there with him sometimes, right?”
Morgan worries her bottom lip with her teeth. “Most of the time, yeah.” It’s a simple answer, but her delivery tells me so much more than her words.
“Food?” I ask.
“Huh?” She looks up at me, confusion washing over her features.
I nod toward the food hall. “Want something to eat?”
Morgan looks between me and the entrance. “Oh, no… I mean I don’t want anything. Ermm… sorry, Caden, I need to get to… the…” her head darts from left to right, “…to, S-Sociology,” she stammers before running off.
“But you don’t…” I shout as she disappears into the river of students, “…take Sociology,” I finish in a whisper.
I scratch the back of my head. That was weird, even for Morgan. Pulling out my cell, I shoot a text to Laura.
Me: Need to chat. Morgan’s acting strange.
I watch the three little dots moving on the screen as she types.
Laura: Stranger than normal :-O
Me: Yep.
Laura: One word answer. This is serious. Be there soon.
Me: What do you mean, you don’t know where I am.
Suddenly slender arms wrap themselves around my waist from behind.
“You all right, Button?” I ask. Using my nickname for her.
Laura lets go and walks around to face me with a smile.
“Brother,” Tarrant’s voice is so low it feels like it’s chafing my chest. He gives me a chin lift and slides an arm around Laura’s shoulder. A couple of girls walk past giggling. Glancing over, one winks at me, obviously unaware I don’t swing her way. The friend pretends to slap her on the arm with embarrassment. However, she’s sporting a grin as her eyes wander over Tarrant’s frame. He doesn’t notice them. Not ever. He only sees Laura, and luckily she doesn’t get jealous of the attention he receives.
“So what’s going on with Morgan?”
“I don’t know? She seemed off this morning, stuttering and stumbling over her words. She seemed…” I pause and consider my words.
“What? She seemed what?” Laura urges, stepping out of Tarrant’s hold and nearer to me.
I stare down at her bright green eyes. She’s been through so much in her life, yet she’s still somehow so innocent. “Lost… she seemed lost,” I tell her.
Her mouth forms an O as she frowns. A resolve comes over her. “Tequila?” she asks.
“Tequila.” I smirk back at her.
Tarrant rolls his eyes. “Come on, Lemon, time for class.” His voice is soft, gentle when he’s speaking to her like she’s precious and delicate, and he wants her to remain that way. He tugs her back toward his body and kisses the top of her head. “Catch you later?” His question means he wants to have a chat, no doubt about Mom.
“Lunch?” I question back. He nods in the affirmative and slaps my back with his free hand as they walk past me.
The twisting sensation in my gut starts about five minutes after Art begins.
I walk in and take my seat—second row from the back. When I started at West Hayden the school year had already kicked off. The seat I occupy now was one of the few available. I love it, though, because I’m next to the window and can watch the world slip by.
The first few minutes are no different than any other. I pull out my books and go over some notes from the last class. Football practice has been kicking my ass lately, and I’ve not been studying in any subject as much as I should be. Luckily, this is my class, my peace. It’s something I love. So, I never struggle, I only relish it.
Mr. Stark instructs us to pull out our drawing pads and practice light versus dark in shading, using any object in front of us. Sighing with disappointment, I open my pad. This is commonplace, he asks us to do this when he hasn’t drawn up a proper assignment for class. Organizing some of my things, I set my water bottle and pen on my desk and pull my watch off arranging it in front of me. It’s not great, but it will have to do for now. My pencil makes the first strike against the paper when he walks in.
Casper.
I knew I’d see him around school, I’ve been expecting it. I guess I just wasn’t ready for him to appear in my favorite class. He’s bulldozed me by doing nothing except walking through an open door. If this is what my future looks like where he’s concerned, then I’m officially fucked, and I’m not sure it’s such a bad thing.
“Mr. Somerville, is that right?” The professor asks him almost the second he enters the room. Casper nods in reply. “Welcome to introduction to art. You have all the appropriate items needed for this class?”
“Yes, Sir,” Casper replies.
“Good, good. You’ll need access to a camera later on in the year. Not a phone camera, a proper one. Think old school,” Mr. Starks tells him with a grin.
“Noted,” Casper replies, an easygoing smile lounges across his lower face, like it’s at home there, as though you’ll only ever find him smiling.
“Find a seat. Draw something. Practice shading, and light versus dark,” Mr. Stark orders before looking back at whatever’s holding his interest on the desk.
Casper looks around the class, his gaze moves up and closer to mine. I feel my mouth drying out by the second. The moment his eyes clash with my own, I start
