Page 3 of Where the Little Birds Go (Little Bird Duet 1)

The hotel worker greets me again as I open the door, gesturing toward the tray on the cart between us. Whatever rests under the serving tray smells delicious, but it doesn’t lessen my confusion.

“I think there’s been a mistake,” I offer, giving him a grateful smile. “It smells amazing, but I didn’t order anything.”

The man shakes his head. “No mistake, ma’am. It was called in for you to be delivered straight to your room.”

I blink. “By…?”

He just smiles. “I’m only the delivery man, ma’am. Somebody will come by to collect the tray outside your room when you’re finished. Enjoy your dinner.”

Dismissed, I accept the tray and close the door behind me with a murmured thank you. The faint smell of salt and something familiar wafts into the air, leaving my curiosity piquing. Setting the silver on the table closest to me, I take off the lid and stare at what lays underneath.

When I notice the note sitting beside the burger and fries, I pluck it off and open it. I don’t expect to see what’s scrawled in decent handwriting across the hotel stationary. My eyes travel to the smaller tray off to the side, still covered with something peeking out of the corner. My fingers hesitantly lift the lid, freezing when the packaged plastic of Twizzlers appears.

Leaning my hip against the table, my fingers smooth over the inked letters.

We’ll keep making the same mistakes because we never want to learn.

-Ryker

I remember reading those very words a thousand times after I received the script from the screenwriter. They were straight from my book—a sentence I’d debated on deleting countless times because they’d been a truth I hadn’t wanted to accept.

Corbin Callum is a mistake I’ll keep making because I’m not ready to learn from him yet. All of the pain that comes from old memories should turn me away for good, but something holds me back from cutting the string that ties me to those silver eyes I looked directly into when I said I loved him back then.

The sad part is, I’d tell him again if I thought it’d make a difference.

Chapter Three

Kinley / 16

From the corner of my eye, I notice a boy with messy brown hair drop into a seat outside of the principal’s office. As if he can feel me staring, he turns and locks eyes with me through the glass that separates us. He’s got one earbud in his ear, the other dangling freely against his shoulder, and his legs spread like he’s prepared to stay a while.

I don’t recognize him, and I would. Not just because Lincoln is a small town with an even smaller school district, but because he’s got that look I read about in books. The carefree boyish one that screams charm and trouble. Quirked lips and a challenging gaze—he’s daring me to look away.

Adjusting my backpack on my shoulder, I walk into the main office and smile at the secretary. She’s typing something a mile a minute with her acrylic nails tapping in a blur of dark red. It seems fitting for the start of fall that’s bound to hit central New York in the coming weeks. The leaves haven’t started changing, but the temperature has dropped.

Mr

s. Lewis, the white-haired secretary, tells me she’ll be just a second. Knowing her, she’s got something due in a matter of minutes. She loves playing Bejeweled Blitz on her phone all day until deadlines near. Then she’ll ignore everybody until her work is done.

It gives me time to study the new kid. I try doing it subtly because his eyes are still pointed in my direction. My fingers dig through the candy bowl, searching absently for something to nibble on despite it being eight in the morning. Through my lashes, I peek at the boy whose lips are twitching upward at me.

Shifting from one foot to the other, I glance down at my dirtied combat boots. I found them at a thrift store in town, practically new. One of the laces is coming undone, so I drop down and redo them. The new kid is wearing a pair of black ones like mine that look shiny and new. They match his black ensemble—black jeans and black shirt with white words faded across his chest like he’s owned it a while. His leg is bouncing, and I wonder if it’s to the music he’s listening to or impatience.

Standing back up, I move loose pieces of hair behind my ear. The color is usually brown, but I asked Mom to help me dye it before the new school year started. Now I have auburn and caramel highlights that makes my hair look anything but brunette.

When my gaze wanders back over to where the boy sits, we lock eyes until I flush under his direct stare. He doesn’t seem ashamed to be openly gawking at me like I am him. That’s when I notice how unnerving his eyes are. They aren’t just any normal gray, but a striking shade of silver. From here, the light hitting the mischievous gleam of the hues turns them almost white.

Grandma told me once that you can tell a person is bad news by the way they smile. It’s the way their lips curve, Kinley. It’s even worse if they have a twinkle in their eye.

And this kid, whoever he is, has the very twinkle Grandma always warned me about. She said she's had decades of experience, making her an expert on who to avoid. Yet, my interest is piqued by the boy sitting across the room from me. The way he’s perched in the chair is both casual and not, like he knows he needs to be here, but doesn’t want to be. Who are you, New Kid?

Wetting my dry, chapped lips, I examine the thin layer of dust on Mrs. Lewis’s fake plant. I’m half tempted to grab a tissue and wipe it off, but I force my hands to remain at my sides.

“Um, Mrs. Lewis?” The clock on the wall shows that homeroom is almost over, which means I’ll be late to first period if she doesn’t tell me why I was called down here.

“Just one more moment, dear.”

Internally sighing, I plop down into the closest seat. It’s an uncomfortable plastic chair that belongs in the elementary wing, but I don’t complain too much because it puts distance between me and the boy with silver eyes.

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