Shot Through the Heart (5 page)

He reaches across the car after we turn into his driveway, careful to avoid the now-cold stainless steel mug of coffee sitting in my cup holder, and circles his hand around my arm, right above the elbow. “Thanks, Peyton. It’s really cool of you to help us, even if Josh paid you to do it.”

“No problem.” I should move my arm, but I can’t, not without making it obvious that he’s affecting me in ways he shouldn’t. He’s spent so much time with Josh, he probably thinks of me as a sister.

Right?

The warmth of his hand on my arm and the hint of attraction I see in his eyes—or
would
see, if he were any other guy in the world—make my stomach flip all over again.

I look away, pretending to study the flagstone steps leading up to his front door and the plants on either side to ensure no one’s skulking there. “I think you’re safe. Make a run for it. I’ll honk if I see the Delanos.”

He releases my arm and hops out of the car, his movements so relaxed I can’t decide whether his gesture was one of thanks or attraction.

Once he’s safely inside, I cradle my arms in front of me and will my heart to slow its rapid beat.

I have no idea what to make of Connor. Worse, I have no idea why I suddenly care.

•  •  •

“I heard that Connor and your brother have Drew and Grayson. Is that true?” Molly Cannon is holding onto my arm, her fingertips exactly where Connor had his hand only a few hours ago. She grabbed me in the hall as I was turning away from my locker, her face flushed as if she’d run to catch me before I disappeared into the mass of students making their way to fourth period. “Everyone was talking about it in my English class this morning. They said Josh nailed Grayson in the back with a water balloon and soaked him so badly that Grayson had to run back inside to change both his shirt
and
pants. So…did it really happen?”

“I heard the same thing you did,” I tell her, though my info was from the source. I saw Josh in the hall before second period, surrounded by several members of the girls’ soccer team. He wouldn’t confirm it to them outright, but he was more than happy to take credit for his killer aim when he talked to me. “But why are you asking me? You could always ask Jayne. She’s running the whole shebang.”

Molly waves off the mention of her best friend. “You know Jayne’s not allowed to tell me anything other than what’s officially posted to the tournament e-mail loop. Total conflict of interest.”

“Oh.” In other words, Molly’s asking me because Jayne used those exact words—
conflict of interest
—when Molly asked her.

“Apparently Josh set up a camera to capture the whole thing on video, just in case there were any doubts. At least, that’s what someone said during English. Did he actually take video? Has he posted it anywhere? I’d love to see it!”

“I really don’t know,” I tell her, though it sounds exactly like Josh to document his accomplishment for all posterity.

As we thread our way through the hall, I double-check the folders I’m carrying to make sure I have my lab report for AP Chemistry. I’m right on the A-/B+ borderline in that class and I don’t want to risk falling to the B+ side.

Okay, I’ll admit it. I don’t even want the A-. I want a full-on, fat A. Just like Josh and Tessa.

Molly lets go of my arm but keeps walking beside me. “Yeah, I guess he wouldn’t have had time if it happened right before school. I’ll look online when I get home. Maybe something will be posted by then?”

“I have no idea.”

Molly is about the nicest girl in school. You can tell just by looking at her. She has large, round eyes like an anime character, a dusting of tiny freckles across her face, and a smile so big that everyone notices her. If Hollywood were casting “Nice Girl #1” in a high school movie, they’d pick Molly Cannon. It’s hilarious that she’s openly showing her joy at Grayson being hit in cataclysmic fashion in Senior Assassin; she’s usually the first to console anyone when they’ve had a bad day, even people who aren’t always nice to her.

“So” —she glances around, then lowers her voice— “they still have to get Drew, right?”

I shrug. Senior Assassin is all about secrecy. People don’t discuss who’s targeting whom. The assignments are made at random through a computer program some senior wrote for a class project five or six years ago. The two seniors who run the tournament each year enter all the team info into the program, then it’s hands off. The name of their target team is automatically e-mailed to each entrant a few hours before a new round begins, and it’s kept hush-hush so that all the coordinators have to do is verify hits or mediate any disagreements. The last thing I want is be the mouthy junior who says something she shouldn’t. I’ve probably said too much already.

“Totally between us, if there’s a way I can help Connor and Josh get Drew, I will. Okay? Can you tell Josh?”

“Um, sure.” I’m stunned. This is very un-Molly-like, and I doubt I can hide my skepticism at her wish. “I know you’re not Drew’s biggest fan, but I had no idea you’d be revved to plot payback.”

Her face goes blank when I say
payback.

“I’m sorry, Molly, I didn’t mean—”

“No, no. It’s okay.” She smiles and waves off my apology. “I wasn’t even thinking about revenge, so you threw me there for a sec.”

“Then…?”

“I just want to help.” We’re outside my AP Chemistry class now, so I stop walking. “Connor and Josh are really great guys. If my partner and I don’t win, I want the money to go to someone like them. That’s all. Plus, if I help them now, maybe they’ll help me in a later round. You know how it goes.”

I nod along as she’s talking, even though I get that same flippy sensation in my stomach at the mention of Connor’s name that I had in front of his house this morning.

“Promise you’ll talk to Josh? Tell him that if I can maybe act as bait or something so they can target Drew, then I’m happy to do it.”

I promise. She beams a thanks before taking off for her next class, a bounce in her step as she makes her way down the hall.

“Was that Molly?”

I start at the sound of Connor’s voice behind me, nearly dropping my chemistry folders. Given how jumpy I’ve been around him since yesterday, he’s going to start thinking I’m a freak.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to surprise you.” He sends a pointed glance in the direction Molly walked. “I was just wondering if that was Molly Cannon.”

“Yeah.” Before I can ask why he’s so anxious to know, he tilts his head toward my classroom. “You never said this morning. Did you finish your lab report?”

“I did.”

“Good.” His brown eyes warm in a smile. “Fair warning, I had Mrs. Wheeler for AP Chemistry, too. She’s not the type to let you make up work if it’s late. Or if she does, it’s a huge deduction.”

“She told us the first day of class never to be late with homework. I took her at her word.” I drop my voice to a whisper, since I’m standing right outside her classroom. “Josh says she’s great, but I don’t know. She’s intimidating, don’t you think?”

He nods. “She gets better as the year goes on. I think she’s extra strict in the beginning to get everyone into good habits early.” He leans against the wall beside me, putting his body only inches from mine. If anyone walking by didn’t know better, it’d look like we’re boyfriend-girlfriend. “You probably don’t need my help—Josh always talks about what good grades you get—but I kept all my notes and tests from last year. They’re a lot neater than Josh’s. Give me a shout if you’re stuck on a lab or studying for a test. You can use whatever you want. Least I can do after you saved me from Joe and Jimmy.”

“Thanks.” Typically, I’d be far more stunned that Josh has said flattering things about me than the fact Connor’s offering me a treasure trove of information. But the way Connor’s looking at me right now, as if we’re really boyfriend and girlfriend, is distracting me from everything else.

I wonder if he realizes how good he looks in the shirt he’s wearing today. Not only does it hang in a way that shows off his arms, which are seriously cut, the steel blue is a fantastic color on him.

He reaches out, spreading his fingers at the junction between my shoulder and neck to give me a quick, casual squeeze as he pushes off the wall. For a split second, my instinct is to kiss him, but he moves away. “See ya later.”

“Later.”

He gets about five steps down the hall before turning back. “Hey, Peyton? What are you doing after school today? Why don’t you come over when I’m done with soccer practice?”

“To your place?”

“Sure. That way, I can give you everything now. I have it all stored under my bed.”

Three girls, all seniors, steal peeks at us as they walk by. I can only imagine what they’re making of our conversation. “I can’t today. I have plans to meet up with some friends at Sal’s Pizza. But tomorrow works. Or whenever.”

I sound like a babbling idiot. Urgh.

He doesn’t seem to notice. He turns and calls over his shoulder, “Tomorrow’s good. See you then,” as he jogs toward his class, zigzagging through the crowd as effortlessly as a hawk might swoop between trees.

If I tried to maneuver through the crowd that way, I’d crash into someone. At the very least, I’d be breathing hard from the effort. Even so, my heart’s racing as I enter class and take my seat. As much as I’d like to attribute it to the last minute rush to sit down before Mrs. Wheeler starts her daily lecture, I know that’s not it.

Chapter Six |
Peyton

I
t’s been at least a year, maybe two, since I’ve set foot inside Connor’s house, and then it was only to help Josh carry extra food home after a party.

I wonder, not for the first time in the last twenty-four hours, if I should ask Josh to come with me. But the more Josh talks about Senior Assassin, the more I realize that I need to go alone because, a) Josh won’t step foot outdoors once soccer practice ends each afternoon, and b) I can’t stand his obsession with water guns and how-can-we-shoot-Drew scenarios anymore.

There’s a reason c) I prefer to go to Connor’s alone, but I hate to admit it, even to myself.

Stupid freakin’ hard-to-say-no-to dimples.

Truth is, Connor’s all I can think about since we stood outside Mrs. Wheeler’s classroom yesterday. Even while crammed in a booth at Sal’s last night with my friends Tina and Kendall, treating myself to a rare weeknight out listening to gossip while eating mega-slices of pizza, I replayed the hallway conversation in my head.

If Josh went with me to Connor’s, would he pick up on the odd vibe between Connor and me? Worse, would he see from my expression that I’ve developed an unhealthy fixation on Connor’s smile?

Not that I’d fall for my brother’s best friend, but I suppose there’s no harm in enjoying the scenery. That is, as long as Connor and Josh never find out. Yeesh. It’d make Connor twitchy about hanging at our house and I’d never hear the end of it from Josh.

I check my watch, then hitch my purse strap over my shoulder and tell myself to get a grip. I’m becoming as anxious about talking to Connor as Josh is about taking Buster outside for a walk. Totally unacceptable.

After snagging my car keys from the basket in the front hall, I tap on the glass-paneled double doors of my mom’s home office to signal that I’m heading out. She waves back, but I can tell she’s not paying attention. Her eyes are locked on her computer screen as she listens to someone speaking at a hundred miles an hour. I’ll have to remind her later that yes, I did let her know I was leaving, but she was busy on a video chat and didn’t register the information.

“Sucks being the youngest, doesn’t it?” Josh says from behind me. There’s a brand-new box of cereal tucked under his arm and he’s holding one of Dad’s sodas, the ones we’re not supposed to drink without asking first. His backpack is slung over his other shoulder as he cuts through the front hall toward the staircase. Grass stains streak his soccer shorts and his shinguards are sticking out the top of his socks. His dark hair is matted with sweat.

“What do you mean?” I wish every girl in school could see him like this. They might stop fawning over him for a few seconds. The constant female adulation drives his ego into the stratosphere and I’m the one who suffers for it.

“I mean that Mom’s online with Tessa. For the next hour or two we’re the forgotten children, which is why I plan to enjoy a gourmet dinner of Pibb and Cheerios. It’s that or starve.”

I roll my eyes. I should have known. Tessa’s a junior in college—barely. As in, she barely made it through her freshman year, having gone through one guy crisis after another and neglecting her classes in between. She had to spend her entire second year playing catch-up on class credits. She’s incredibly intelligent, but emotional drama has threatened to derail her ever since she was asked the identity of a classmate back in eighth grade and answered, “That’s Keith. Isn’t he gorgeous?” instead of, “That’s Keith. He’s in my English class.”

“You’re going to love this one.” Josh arches an eyebrow in the direction of Mom’s office.

“Do I even want to know?”

“His name is Maaaatttt.” Josh bats his eyelashes as he says the name. “He’s a yoga instructor. Tessa told Mom that attending his classes has given her, and I quote, a ‘new level of clarity’ about what she wants in life. She wants to enroll in yoga teacher training to help others reach this amazing level of clarity.”