The Boy Next Door: A Standalone Small Town Romance (Soulmates Series Book 3) (5 page)

Flashback: Laney

My first day of high school was
the first day the contents of my lunch were ever a surprise.

I told my grandma that I could
make my own lunch, that I’d been doing it since I was in second grade, but she
insisted.

And there was a real note inside,
written in her flowing cursive. It said she loved me and hoped I was having a
nice first day of school.

It might’ve made me cry if I
weren’t so good at not showing weakness, sadness, and anything else bullies
could smell that might make me a target.

I was used to getting picked on
enough at home. I wasn’t in the mood to deal with that shit at school.

But inside I was crying, crying
and thinking about all those fake notes I’d written myself over the years so
other kids might believe I had normal parents, too. Parents that didn’t shout
and break things and piss themselves.

I chose to sit alone that day.

Making friends wasn’t a priority
for me then. I suppose it never had been. Surviving was all that mattered. Surviving
and making sure Grandma Helly and my teachers liked me so I’d never have to go
home.

And I was ready to dine alone,
too. I had a pretty book Helly gave me and, thanks to her note, I had a
bookmark.

However, it was surprisingly hard
to concentrate on the words with the hostile sounds of the unfamiliar cafeteria
going on around me.

But I did my best, taking bites
as I turned the pages.

And then everything changed.

Because the last thing I was ever
expecting happened.

A handsome boy sat down across
from me. “Hey,” he said, popping his soda open.

I lifted my eyes from the page
I’d been rereading for the sixth time.

He had sun kissed blond hair and
blue eyes that were a much darker shade than mine. “Whatcha reading?”

“
I Capture the Castle
.”

“Never heard of it,” he said. “Is
it any good?”

“I don’t know. I just started
it.”

“You don’t recognize me, do you?”

I furrowed my brow and studied
his face. “Should I?”

“I live next door.”

“Oh.”

“We’re neighbors.”

“Right.” I prayed silently that
he wouldn’t ask me any of the questions I didn’t want to answer, any of the
questions that made me want to sit alone in the first place- like why I moved to
Glastonbury and where I came from.

I didn’t have answers to those
questions that I liked, and the truth certainly wouldn’t do. I could hardly
tell this fresh faced, obviously loved kid that I was here because my mom’s
boyfriend broke a beer bottle over my arm when I got between them during a
fight.

I couldn’t say I arrived with a
suitcase that had nothing in it but a box of perfectly sharpened colored
pencils, three pairs of clean underwear, and a duckling stuffed animal I still
slept with like a two year old.

He’d look at me like I was a two
headed liar.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Laney.”

“I’m Connor.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“You want to walk home together
after school?” he asked. “Since we’re going the same way?”

“Sure.”

“Cool,” he said. “I’ll meet you
by the flagpole.”

“Okay.”

“You doing anything on Friday?” he
asked.

I took a bite of my sandwich and
covered my mouth with my hand. “Like what?”

“A few of us are gonna go down to
the lake and have a bonfire.”

I squinted at him. “Why are you
telling me this?”

He swallowed the second to last
bite of his sandwich. “I thought you might want to come. Since you’re new and
don’t know anybody.”

“Oh.”

“Well?”

“Can I think about it?”

“Yeah, sure.” He tossed the last
bite of sandwich in his mouth.

There was something refreshingly
unaggressive about him, something gentle, something that made me feel
comfortable enough to lean forward so I could hear him better.

“Do you like lizards?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Why?”

“Cause I have one,” he said. “I
could show it to you if you want.”

“Okay.”

“Who’s your favorite superhero?”

I couldn’t believe how nice it
was to have someone ask me my opinion, especially about something so
meaningless. “Batman, I guess.”

“Batman?” He scrunched his face.
“I guess you’re not as smart as you look.”

“Just because I have glasses
doesn’t mean I’m smart.”

“I know,” he said. “I like them,
by the way.”

I swallowed.

“But in case you’re wondering,
the correct answer is Spiderman.”

“I didn’t know there was a correct
answer.”

“You have much to learn,” he
said.

I laughed at his seriousness and
the sound echoed through my body in a way I didn’t recognize.

“Have you seen Spiderman 2?” he
asked.

“I never saw the first one.”

His eyebrows jumped up his face.
“What?!”

I shrugged.

“Oh my god you have to see it. I
have it. You can borrow it. Or we can watch it together. I never get sick of
it.”

“Okay,” I said. “If you insist.”

“I do insist,” he said. “Urgently.”

I laughed again and my heart
lifted.

“Maybe we could watch it after
school today,” he said. “It’s not like we’ll have homework on day one.”

“I’ll have to ask my grandma.”

“Helly?” he asked. “She’s a huge
Spiderman fan. She’ll definitely be cool with it.”

“She’s a huge Spiderman fan?”

He nodded. “Maybe even bigger
than me.”

“If you say so.”

The rest of lunch was full of
surprises, all thanks to the handsome blond boy who talked to me like he’d
known me for years.

Even when his friends called him
over to their table, he waved them away with his hand and said we were in the
middle of a serious discussion.

Which of course we weren’t.

He was just telling me how
lizards can regenerate their tails with an obscene enthusiasm I’d only felt
once before when I got a free tiger spoon at the bottom of a bowl of Frosted
Flakes.

But his passion was so awesome to
witness I couldn’t believe my luck.

We walked home together that day
and watched Spiderman one and two.

And as I watched the scene with
the upside down kiss, I felt a pinch in my guts and realized I wanted to be
more than friends with the boy next door.

Chapter 9: Laney

“Morning,” I said, pushing the screen door open.

Helly was pottering around the garden with a basket full of
weeds in one hand and a pruner in the other. “Morning,” she said, bending over
to yank something offensive out of the ground. “I thought you might want to
sleep in.”

“I tried,” I said. “But my room is so sunny, and the birds are
so loud. Lovely, but loud.”

“As long as you’re rested,” she said.

I sat on the back stoop and set my tea down beside me. “I am.”

“I’ve only got a few more fugitives to track down,” she said,
scanning the flowerbed at her feet. “Then I’m going to make you the delicious breakfast
you refused yesterday.”

“That sounds great.”

“Oh- and I wanted to show you something,” she said, chucking
another weed in the flat basket.

“What is it?”

She set the basket down and wiped her hands on her thighs. “Come
here.”

I stood up and followed her over to the shed.

She pulled the metal latch to the left and swung the creaky red
door open. “Ta da!”

“What’s all this?” I asked, looking around. The first thing I
noticed was my old easel at the back, which was covered by a familiar paint
splattered sheet.

Next my eyes were drawn to several clear garbage bags lining the
walls. The closest one was full of empty toilet paper rolls. Another was full
of packing peanuts. Across the shed there were two more, one full of old
newspapers and another with what appeared to be pieces of broken lawn ornaments.

Finally, I squinted at a bucket on the floor filled with broken
shards of colored glass.

“It’s stuff I’ve been saving for you,” she said.

“For me?”

“Yeah,” she said. “In case you get a hankering to make something
crazy like you used to. I want you to know I’m prepared.”

I furrowed my brow. “Are those broken lawn ornaments?”

“Are you opposed to working with new mediums?”

“Not opposed,” I said, struggling to find the words. “I just
haven’t made anything out of junk since I was at school.”

“It’s only junk until you make something out of it,” she said,
stepping in the shed and spinning around as if she were in Aladdin’s cave.

“It was very thoughtful of you to do this, Grandma.”

She smiled. “Wasn’t it, though? Remember when you made that life
size chicken out of macaroni?”

“I do.”

“And when you made that Rube Goldberg funnel that drained water
into the cat’s trough?”

I nodded. “That’s another weekend I won’t soon forget.”

“I thought you might make a snowman with the packing peanuts,”
she said. “Wouldn’t that be fun to have a snowman in the middle of summer?”

I pursed my lips. “I’m not sure the neighbors would love it if
you put a trash statue in the yard.”

“Who gives a scratch what they think? What matters is that you
enjoy yourself.”

She was so excited I wasn’t sure how to let her down gently. How
do you tell someone they’ve been wasting their time when they’re inexplicably
excited about the mundane trash they’ve been hoarding?

“I was thinking you could try making your own stained glass, too,”
she said, pointing at the bucket. “The stuff in the shops is so dated, and I’d
love something for the back window in the sitting room.”

I didn’t know what to say.

“I don’t expect you to get started on an empty stomach, of
course,” she said, stepping back onto the grass. “I just wanted to let you know
this was all in here for you. And as always, I’m happy to get anything else you
think you might need.”

I glanced back at the easel once more. It looked smaller than I
remembered and sadly neglected.

I stepped into the shed and lifted the felt parcel hanging off
the top of it. Then I unrolled it and examined the brushes inside. I used to
take such good care of them, and I’d be lying if I said they didn’t call to me.

Because they did.

But at the same time, they didn’t seem real. Or maybe I just
wasn’t ready to touch them for fear that I might lose myself under their spell
like I used to so often. After all, there was a time when they made me feel like
Harry Potter with his wand- unstoppable, optimistic, and full of untamable potential.

“It’s nice that you kept all this stuff,” I said.

“Of course,” she said. “Your art used to bring me so much joy I
can’t even tell you.”

“Me too.”

“Your grandfather was an artist, you know?”

I nodded. “I remember you telling me.”

“Right then. Let’s get creative in the kitchen and gear up for
the day ahead.”

“Sounds good,” I said, stepping back into the yard and closing
the shed. It was such a confusing feeling to hear her belief in me.

Part of me wanted to forget about art- and for everyone else to
forget what it once meant to me- and the other part wanted to dive back into
the shed and not come out until I’d made a castle out of toilet paper rolls,
painted it from top to bottom, and made stained glass windows for all the
turrets.

I was following Helly in the house when I heard a car pull into
the driveway.

“You expecting someone?” I asked, raising my eyebrows.

She shook her head and her voice dropped to a whisper. “No. Go
see who it is, and if it’s that lady from the church trying to raise funds so
the priest can treat himself to new robes, tell her I’ve got whooping cough and
that I’ll call her when I’m no longer contagious.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously,” she said. “And I’ll go put the breakfast on.”

“Okay,” I said, heading around the corner.

“Laney,” Henry said, closing his car door. He was standing in
his suit, looking far too dressed up to be in such a pokey town.

“Henry. What are you doing here?” I asked, forcing a smile.

“I had to make sure you were alright.”

I walked up to him and gave him a hug. “I’m fine.”

“You sounded weird last night.”

“I told you not to come.”

“You also tell me not to make you two pieces of toast when I
bring you breakfast in bed, but you never seem to mean it. So I don’t know what
to believe.”

“But your work-”

“Can wait,” he said. “For a few hours anyway.”

I gave him another hug and held him tight. How was it that he
always seemed to do the right thing?

Except when it came to picking me.