Wild Reckless (Harper Boys #1)(30)

“This is a record for you, isn’t it?” I say, pushing his heavy Converse-covered feet from my seat before sitting down and pulling out my notebook. I can hear Owen leaning forward, and I know his face is close to the back of my head, but I will myself to face my desk and not turn around.

“What’s a record?” he asks.

“You’ve been here every day this week. Seriously, they should give you an award. At least a certificate,” I say, not feeling as proud as I usually do when I take digs at him.

“Didn’t have to work this week,” he says. I can hear him lean back in his seat. “Got fired.”

I turn around when he says that, wanting to evaluate the look on his face, make sure he’s being real. His eyes meet mine the second I lean over the back of my chair, and there’s a heavy seriousness to them.

“I’m sorry. That…sucks,” I say.

“Yeah, it does,” he says, bending forward to pull a pencil from the side of his backpack. He slides a notebook out and flips through the pages, and I can’t help but notice that his paper is filled with notes, and his handwriting is actually decent.

“Well, at least now you have time for school,” I say, moving my gaze from his hands to his eyes and back again; the intensity of the way he looks at me makes it hard to stare at him long.

“Ha, I guess. I’m getting a new job, though. Have to. We’ve got bills,” he says, and I feel like one more page of his story has turned for me to read. Owen Harper is responsible, more than any teenager should be.

“What about your mom? Or…does she live with you? I’m sorry. I just…honestly, I’ve only ever seen you and your brother,” I say, not wanting to admit how much I know about his personal life, not wanting to give credence to the rumors.

“My mom works nights. She’s a security guard at an impound lot. She’s taking online classes to be a medical tech, so she usually studies while she’s sitting in the booth. Her job pays shit, and with gramps in the nursing home…” he looks up at our teacher as he walks in, then taps his pencil a few times on his notebook and nods forward.

We’re dissecting next week—baby sharks. We spent the hour looking at slides of the various parts we’ll be required to identify. I didn’t write down a single thing. All I could do was listen to the sound of Owen’s pencil scratching paper behind me, the sounds of his breath, of his feet sliding along the floor, of the noise his hands make when they scratch at the stubble on his chin and his knuckles crack.

It was a two-minute conversation, but I feel like I know more about Owen Harper than anyone else in this entire school. And all I want to do is learn more.

When the bell rings, I gather my things quickly and turn to face Owen, hoping he’ll pick up where things left off. But he’s already gone—vanished.

I spend my last hour in health class doing the same thing I did in science—piecing together sections of Owen’s life. I never see his brother Andrew at school, and I have yet to meet James, the one everyone says is real trouble. Owen seems to always be alone.

Alone.

When the bell rings, I pack up and pull my phone from my pocket to text my mom and let her know I’ll be staying at school and grabbing dinner with Willow. I worry about her eating on her own, spending the night by herself. My mom and I have fallen into a routine the last few days—homework, dinner, and a movie. I think that routine is distracting her from my father. He tried to call last night, and my mom turned her phone off. I hope she’s strong enough to do the same when I’m not there watching.

“Hey, so Jess wants burgers. You good with burgers?” Willow asks as she slips her arm through mine while we exit the main hallway out onto the front lawn of the school.

“Sounds good. I’m hungry,” I say, my voice trailing off when I notice Owen sitting on the tailgate of his truck, parked next to Willow’s car. He’s waiting for me, and Willow sees him, too.

“Unless, of course…you’d like to maybe have dinner with someone else?” she teases.

“Stop,” I whisper harshly, my face burning. I’ve never been a fan of being teased about boys. It was something Gaby always did to me. One of many thoughtless things my so-called best friend did to disregard my feelings it seems.

“He’s waiting to talk to you. He’s never here after school, Kens. There’s a reason he’s here,” she says, and my stomach flutters with the same sensation I get when I’m climbing up in a rollercoaster. I think this is thrill.

As we get closer, Owen swings his long legs outward and stands up, closing the tailgate behind him and leaning his arm over it, his head covered in a dark gray beanie, and the ends of his hair sticking out a little on the front and sides.

“Hey,” he says, looking up at me quickly, then back down at his feet. He leans out from the edge of the truck with his arm still holding it while he stretches his long body. He looks nervous and uncomfortable, and it’s giving me hope about the reason he’s here…waiting for me. I hate that it’s giving me hope. I know what that means.

“Hey,” I say back, looking to Willow for help, a life raft—anything!

“Wow, well that was deep you two,” she says, and my eyes grow wide with embarrassment. Owen laughs lightly and pushes his hands into the pockets of his black jeans before stepping closer to me. Willow glances at me before unlocking her car and tossing her bag inside. Jess is walking up, which now has my heart racing even faster, pulsing harder, and my mouth has forgotten how to work.