We’re in the depressing main hallway of the school building and I follow her out the entrance, down the stairs that lead into the courtyard. The grounds are filled with students, trying to get to class or getting some breakfast before the bell rings. Some are occupying the concrete benches, their books sprawled open in front of them, presumably trying to catch up on homework.
Callie stops at one such bench but the book that’s cracked open in front of the girl sitting there isn’t a book at all.
It’s a sketchpad.
And a pink pen is poised over it, making, from what I can see, the petals of a rose. Which is weirdly flanked by two eyes. Two very familiar looking eyes.
“Wyn!” Callie calls out and the pen stops scratching as she looks up.
Bronwyn Littleton.
The girl from the soccer field yesterday. The artist.
She’s been sitting bent over her sketchpad, her long braid slung over her shoulder and her brows furrowed. But at my sister’s voice, she looks up and a smile breaks out on her face.
She opens her mouth to say something but that’s when her gaze falls on something else and her smile vanishes.
Me.
Her eyes, light gray, silver actually, widen and she hastens to snap her sketchpad shut.
She also rushes to stand up, which not only bumps her knee against the concrete table but also sends her pen flying out of her hand to the ground.
“Oh my God, are you okay?” Callie rushes over to her and she looks away from me.
I bend down to pick up her pen.
Pink and sparkly.
I flick it between my fingers, looking down at it for a second before pocketing it, then glancing up.
And back at her.
“Yeah, no. I’m fine,” she says hastily, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. “I’m just stupid.”
Callie frowns. “Are you sure? It looked like you hit your knee really hard.”
Grimacing, she shakes her head and sets that recently tucked strand free and flying around her reddened face. “Yeah. Uh, no. It’s okay. Really. I think I just got startled. But it’s all good.” She throws Callie another smile and tucks that piece of hair behind her ear for a second time. “So what’s up?”
Callie beams at her enthusiastically before saying, “Well, I want you to meet someone.” She turns to me then. “This is my brother, Conrad.” Shaking her head, Callie turns back to her. “I mean, I know you met him yesterday at soccer practice. But I wanted to officially introduce you to him, my big brother. My oldest big brother, because, you know, I’ve got four big brothers. But Con’s the nicest and the most amazing of all. And Con,” she looks back at me, “this is one of my very best friends, Bronwyn Littleton. But you can call her Wyn.”
Bronwyn but-you-can-call-her-Wyn Littleton looks at me hesitantly, her cheeks flaming and her silver eyes apprehensive.
I wonder if it’s because of what happened on the field yesterday.
“Hi,” she says in a soft voice. “It’s nice to finally meet you. O-off the soccer field I mean.”
I take her in, her long braid, hanging down to her hips; her school uniform, the mustard-colored cardigan over her white blouse; and her neatly pleated skirt.
And her hands, small and fragile looking, not to mention smudged with ink, tightly clasped in front of her.
When I come back up to her face, her cheeks are as pink as her pen in my pocket. “Best friend, huh.”
My sister continues, giving her friend a side hug. “Yes. Roommate actually. Or ex-roommate since I moved out. But anyway, Wyn is amazing. She’s like the calmest person you’ll ever meet. She’s so good, Con. Such a rule follower. Ask any teacher here at St. Mary’s. They’ll tell you how much they love her.”
“Rule follower,” I murmur, watching her cheeks burn even brighter due to Callie’s praise.
She didn’t look like one yesterday.
And she’s probably thinking the same thing because her tiny nose wrinkles and she goes to say something but my sister speaks first and proudly. “Yup. In fact, she’s got the highest privileges around here. Even more than me.”
“I’m not,” she blurts out finally, averting her eyes away from me, and my lips twitch. “Such a good girl, I mean. Callie’s exaggerating.”
Callie’s not exaggerating, in fact.
Since we’re meeting at the end of the day today and I like to be prepared, I grabbed her file from the office yesterday.
Bronwyn Bailey Littleton.
The good girl of St. Mary’s School for Troubled Teenagers.
Goes to classes on time; turns in her homework on time; never gets involved in an argument or a fight; keeps her head down and does the work. And yes, teachers do love her.
Which makes me wonder what she’s doing here in the first place.
When Callie goes to protest at her friend’s comments, I get there first. “I disagree.”