Stuck In Savannah

2. What Connor Doesn't Know

Connor looked peeved that I even asked, as if I was prying somehow, but replied anyways, “How should I know? Probably still in Barbados, the Bahamas, or whatever the hell they went off to. No one tells me shit these days.”

“Poor baby, are you having attachment issues? Do you miss your mommy?” I asked sarcastically, cocking my dark-haired head to one side. Truth be told, Connor led the kind of life kids our age would kill for – no parental supervision, a platinum card to buy him whatever his heart desired, and a gigantic beach house that was all his half the time. He really had it rough.

Connor hurled a decorative pillow at me in reply instead of deigning me with an answer.

I laughed, shielding my face from his attacks, but the smile dropped off my face as my cell vibrated in my pocket and I saw the caller ID.

I put my phone back in my pocket, trying to play it cool, but Connor knew me well and he could easily tell when something was up.

“Are you still not talking to her?” he asked curiously as I flopped down on the sofa next to him and I knew exactly whom he was talking about, even though he didn’t mention her name.

“Nope,” I said eloquently, not wanting to get into this right now and ruin my good mood.

“You got to talk to her. She’s your sister, Sav,” Connor stated, trying to meet my eyes and convey some sort of silent message through his eyes.

“Yes, but not by choice,” I insisted, cringing at the mention of the girl, whose sole purpose in life was to ruin mine. “If only I could rewrite history…,” my voice trailed off as millions ideas invaded my brain at once and I shook my head to clear it.

“But you can’t,” Connor reminded me, the spoilsport that he was, “so call your damn sister, Savvy. Rachel’s not half that bad,” he assured me, which got my blood boiling until I felt like I was on the verge of imploding, or even better – combusting into flames.

“Whose side are you on again, you traitor?” I asked him accusingly, punching Connor in the upper arm and jumping to my feet. I didn’t mean to hurt him, but I rejoiced when he cringed in pain.

“Geez, Savvy,” he whistled, rubbing his arm soothingly, “keep the violence to a minimum, will you?”

“I can’t. You keep saying stupid things that make me want to hurt you,” I admitted to him, making him roll his eyes dramatically, realizing that I’d need a hammer or something of the sort to even scratch him, much less actually hurt him whereas he could snap my neck with bare hands.

“Fine,” Connor conceded, then patted the empty seat next to him, “I won’t say anything if you just sit down and stop throwing stuff at me, okay?”

Mutely, I folded my arms across my chest, weighed my options, and then reluctantly sat down, forcing myself to keep my mouth shut.

“Just so we’re clear, he liked me first, okay?” I blurted out, saying what had been bothering me all this time, the little something that should’ve meant nothing, but still I refused to let it slide.

A look of recognition passed over Connor’s face before he nodded in understanding and realization dawned on him at last. “So you’re still going on about that, huh?” he asked, making sure, as if I hadn’t made myself pretty darn clear how I felt about the situation.

“Sure I am,” I confirmed, not missing a beat, “Ian liked me, then Rachel found out he did, and stole him away from me. Simple as,” I explained to Connor, like I had dozens of times before, but he still seemed to be unable to get it through his head.