Page 1 of Having Henley
One
Henley
2009
March
I swear to God, I’m five seconds away from turning around and punching Jessica Renfro, right in her dumb, loud mouth.
“… Well, I heard her mom is cheating on her dad with a guy who owns a used car lot in Charlestown,” she says behind me, her voice loud enough to carry. She’s talking about me.
My mother.
And it’s probably true.
On cue, her sidekick bitches join in.
“Well, maybe her new daddy can buy her some shoes that actually fit,” says one.
“Yeah, maybe he can pay to get those freckles removed while he’s at it,” says the other.
I wish Tess was here. Her dad called her in sick to school today. Either he’s backed up at the garage and needed her help doing tune-ups and oil changes, or she didn’t study for our history test. Either way, if she were here, I could at least pretend I couldn’t hear what they were saying.
As it stands, I can feel my hands tightening into fists, one anchored around the strap of my backpack, the other swinging free at my side, itching to be used. I can see myself dropping my backpack and launching myself at Jessica. Grabbing her by her perfectly straight, perfectly blonde hair and knocking out her perfectly straight, perfectly white teeth. I want to, but I won’t. Can’t.
If I get caught fighting again, my mom will kill me.
Ladies don’t use their fist to solve their problems.
Which is rich, coming from her.
“Come on, guys,” Jessica chides them in a snide tone. “I think her freckles go with her orange clown hair perfectly.”
That’s it.
My mom’s gonna have to kill me because I’m punching this bitch.
Out of nowhere, Conner Gilroy is walking next to me.
“Hey,” he says, slightly out of breath from running to catch up to me, his shoulder nudging mine as he falls into step beside me.
“Hey,” I say cautiously, looking around for my big brother, Ryan. The two of them are always together. There he is, walking about two blocks behind me, with Conner’s older brother Declan and a few of their friends.
Even though we’re all in high school, I’m just a lowly Sophomore. Like Conner, Ryan’s a Junior and would never lower himself to walk home from school with me. I’m the little sister, which makes me uncool, at least in public anyway. But here’s Conner, out of breath and slightly awkward—both of which are out of character for him—walking beside me. I can’t help but wonder what he wants.
Behind us, Jessica and her mini-girl gang fall silent. The Conner Gilroy is less than ten feet in front of them. With me.
“What do you want?”
His mouth twists for a second like he has to think about it. “Did you take notes in math today?” he finally says to me, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans.
Relief floods through me, with disappointment, not far behind.
“I take notes every day, Conner,” I say to him, hitching my ratty backpack up on one shoulder. One of the straps is broken, and it’s heavy which makes it hard to carry.
He laughs at me, not in a mean way but in a way that makes me feel like I’ve made a joke. The kind only the two of us would understand. “I know that, Hennie,” he says, reaching for the not-broken strap of my backpack and pulling it off my shoulder. “I guess what I mean is, can I borrow them?” He shoulders my backpack without breaking his stride. Behind us, Jessica and her girl gang start to whisper.
Math isn’t just math. It’s advanced calculus. The only class we have together. Conner is not the AP type.
