Page 22 of Conner's Luna

We kneel down, collecting papers and stacking them up. I eye Conner, watching how carefully he moves as he bends and straightens. He's in pain, more pain than he should be in from the fight with Trey.

"Conner, are you feeling alright?" I ask him. My own hands are trembling, but I'm proud of how nonchalantly I'm taking the violent outburst. Yay, me. I just need to focus on cleaning up the mess and not on the blood soaking the wall and floor and my notes and my clothes and... I'm going to throw up.

Conner comes to my side and nods in an abrupt, quick motion. "Fine," he replies. He picks up a page of project notes from my shaking hands and pauses, then snorts, shaking his head.

"What?" I think my teeth may be chattering.

"Nothing, it's just... how smart are you?" he asks me.

I snatch the paper from him. "Smart."

"I took advanced math classes; did I tell you that?"

I look at him in surprise. "No. I never see you around the math building."

"I said Itookthem." He smirks at me as he helps me stand with stacks of my poor, disheveled notes in our hands. "I'm taking other classes now."

I narrow my eyes on him suspiciously. "What's your favorite math class?"

"Statistics," he brags as he takes my backpack and slings it over his shoulder.

"Really?" My eyes narrow on him. "I'm not in love with that class," I lie.

"Oh?" he unsuccessfully hides his grin behind his hand. "What do you love, babe?"

"Chemistry," I announce loftily. The urge to vomit is fading, thank goodness.

He snorts, tapping the papers in his hand thoughtfully. He takes my stack, wraps his arm around my waist, and starts to walk with me out of the building. "You like chemistry over math?" He shakes his head, clucking his tongue. "Why?"

"Chemists are better. We're great for solving problems." We walk outside and the rush of cold air makes me shiver. Now I wish I had my blood-soaked scarf back.

He takes the bait with a quirk of his lips, "why?" He tightens his arm around me and I'm thankful for the additional warmth. He feels like a furnace.

"We always have a solution."

He stops short as we walk out of the building. "Please don't," he begs jokingly. "That was awful." We start walking again. "I just think that math is the only subject that counts."

I almost gasp with joy. "If you're not part of the solution, you're part of the precipitate, Conner."

He snorts derisively, "you're too cute. Statisticians are a little mean and slightly deviant. So much more interesting."

His jokes are better than mine. I pout, then brighten, "maybe you're too basic? Because I don't see a reaction."

He doesn't have to think about it, just laughs and tucks me closer to him. "If your jokes aren't funny, just try two more times until they're statistically significant."

I let out a little shriek of fury. Embarrassing, but he's one-upping me too easily. "Your jokes are a little bad, Conner, maybe all the good one's argon?"

We arrive at my car as he laughs. "Alright Bailey," he stops and tilts my chin up to his. Bright green eyes examine me carefully. "Are you going to be alright to drive home?" he asks.

I nod, suppressing the thoughts of the fight. They were so fast, so brutal. It was over quickly, but all the blood and those bruises on Braxton's neck...

"Right," Conner grabs my hand in his and brings me to his truck parked just a few spots away. "Let's get you something to eat." He helps me into the cab, taking my papers and shoving them into an empty bag he had in the back.

"My adrenaline is wearing off," I tell him. I look at him closely as he settles in the driver's seat. His hands are steady on the wheel. "Why isn't yours?"

He tosses me a smile. "That little fight is nothing, babe."

"Sure," I slump over, feeling drained. "My notes have blood on them," I tell him sadly.

---