Goodbye Yellow Brick Road ✔︎

8 | Heartless

|photo by Cottonbro from Pexels|

Mr. Cummings seems to be having difficultly finding me a locker. His gigantic orange mustache twitches with his frustration and I feel myself slipping into that manic state where I laugh at things inappropriately. I bite my bottom lip, look into my purse for a distraction and remember my busted phone. I pry out the battery, put it back in and...

It reboots!

I've missed five calls from Megan and a text that says: CALL ME!!! There's also a good luck text from Glenn and a message from a number I don't recognize: Request Conner Barlow as your official one-man tour guide. :)

Shit-for-brains, my ass. Conner is some kind of prodigy.

Mr. Cummings finally returns my schedule, with a locker number and combination written in very neat, very small print across the top.

"The headmistress said you would assign a student to show me around?" I ask. He nods and goes back to his computer. "May I please request Conner Barlow?"

There's a slight hitch in one corner of Mr. Cummings' mouth. I take that as a yes and reply to Conner: Done. Where are you?

He opens the Administration office door—almost immediately after I press send—looking immensely pleased with himself. He salutes Mr. Cummings and the man actually smiles. Then Conner gives me the after-you gesture and it's all I can do to wait for the door to close behind us before I ask, "How did you get my cell number?"

"I didn't. My best friend sort of interned here over the summer. Your application came in and she took notes." His smile flatlines. "That sounds messed up when I say it out loud—but I promise, Paige is a really good person."

"It's okay," I say. And I'm a little surprised that it really is. There's something familiar about him—something more than his physical similarities to Glenn. Or maybe it's just the situation that's familiar. Conner has adopted me the way Megan did at Mason.

"Let me see your schedule," he says, smiling again.

I hand it right over.

Conner leads me back through the entry hall. The mural inspires the same ache of longing in my chest, followed by the same surge of frustration. If this keeps up, I'm going to need to find another way into the building. 

"Did you really come in early today because of me?" I ask.

"I'm early every day. My mom's an English teacher in the lower school." 

"Oh, wow. My mom teaches English at the public high school back home."

Something about my proclamation amuses Conner. He has an adorable smile—and it's not just the deep dimples. There's also a charming front-tooth overlap.

I'd bet a year's worth of Zachary tuition that his "best friend" Paige thinks so too.

We climb an open stairwell to the third floor, which looks mostly normal for an old New York building: wood floors, plaster walls painted a calming shade of moss green. Dark wood outlines the doors and the expanse of small windows that hang over a bank of lockers, which have a high-gloss, metallic green finish.

Yeah. Mostly normal.

Conner returns my schedule. Then looks away while I open my locker, even though he had the combination in his hand long enough to memorize it. "How did it go with Ambroise?" he asks.

"Why do I get the feeling you already know?"

He gives me a half-shrug-half-nod of concession. "You don't get into Zachary without meeting Ambroise unless some serious strings were pulled—and the headmistress isn't a big fan of string-pullers."