Page 7 of Saving Sparrow
“Eres un puto idiota.”I shoved him back, but he just laughed and interlaced our hands.
“I’m taking Spanish my first semester at Wembly.” His green eyes were full of mischief. “Eventually I’ll be able to decipher all the bad things you say to me.”
“I guess I’d better spend senior year doubling up then, huh?” I smiled, never able to stay upset with him for long. Kind of hard to hold a grudge against someone who loved you so much. “How do you even know you’re getting into Wembly?” We’d already started the application process. I had the test scores to get in. Quentin, not so much, but he had football to pick up the slack.
“Oh, I know,” he scoffed. “They’d be stupid not to recruit me.”
“And what about me? What if I don’t get in?”
“You go where I go.” He said it like he’d move mountains to make sure it happened. I was confident I’d get in. I just loved hearing him say stuff like that.
“Come on, I want to show you something.” Quentin took off running, dragging me along while I shouted for him to slow down. Being physically fast was a requirement for football, but I only needed mental speed to read books.
We reached the tree line that separated our property from the Lenox House’s backyard. It was big like ours, but with an old English manor vibe. It had been a while since we’d looked over here. The last time we nosed around, it was still in an abandoned state. Someone had cut the overgrown grass and trimmed the wild hedges. They’d even gotten the mold off the marble lions at the top of the patio stairway.
Quentin grinned at me like he’d accomplished some great achievement by bringing me here. The afternoon sun glinted off his freckled nose, and the look in his eyes made my stomach go warm.
I scanned the backyard again, noticing the pool hadn’t been filled yet. “So, it’s been fixed up. You could’ve told me that from the house.”
“It hasn’t just been fixed up. I saw a moving truck out front while driving home from school. You know, while you were asleep and drooling in the passenger seat. Figured it’d be fun to do some recon.”
“Recon? This is why I couldn’t go to Jessica’s party?”
“Are you still pretending you wanted to go? What kind of party starts at five in the afternoon anyway? What are we, ten?”
I’d been about to claim I wasn’t pretending, but the snap of a twig startled us.
“Who’s there?” Quentin demanded, positioning his taller, broader frame in front of me. I pinched his side in reprimand, coming to stand next to him.
A pretty, thin girl with long red hair and pale blue eyes crept from behind the trunk of an oak tree. Her gaze widened as she took in Quentin.
“Who are you?” Quentin asked, and she took a step back. He hadn’t said it in a mean way, but he could be a wrecking ball without even realizing it.
“Elliott?” A woman’s voice called from the house. We all turned that way. “Elliott? Are you out there? We’re going to be late for your appointment.” A slim woman with short black hair stood near the stone patio railing overlooking the backyard.
“Told you someone lived there,” Quentin whispered. I rolled my eyes as we ducked to prevent being spotted. We watched until she disappeared into the house. I remembered the girl then, but when we looked, she was gone. We found her hiding behind the tree again. Her dress hung loose on her, one of the thin straps hanging off her pale shoulder.
“Is she… Is she praying?” Quentin asked. Her lips moved swiftly, but I couldn’t hear what she was saying to herself.
“Hey, are you okay?” I asked. Her eyes snapped open. “Where do you live?” I took a step forward, and she pushed harder against the bark of the tree.
“It’s okay. We’re not going to hurt you.”
“Elliott!” The woman was back, and she sounded frustrated now. The girl’s gaze bounced from us to the house beyond the trees. Quentin and I looked at each other in confusion.
“Do you live there?” Quentin asked. “Is that your mom?”
She shook her head, but I didn’t know which question she was answering. Maybe both.
A familiar look sparked in Quentin’s eyes. “Did someone hurt you?” He sounded angry, which freaked her out even more.
“Don’t mind him,” I said. “He’s just looking for a reason to punch something. Not you,” I rushed to add. “What’s your name?”
She didn’t answer, and that’s when I took a closer look at her. She didn’t have shoes on, like maybe she hadn’t expected to run into the woods. Her arms were long, slim but toned, and her shoulders were round and strong too. I stopped when I reached the lump at the front of her throat.
“You’re Elliott, aren’t you?”
“What?” Quentin said, then, “Oooooh… Who’s that lady? And why are you hiding from her?” he asked. “Are you afraid of her?”
