NP1 – Beginnings

Description: In which we meet and get to know Laura Mason, learn the circumstances in which she meets Connor O’Brien, and explore the beginnings of their completely unforseen friendship.

Chapter 1

I’m usually not one to complain. Well, not nearly as much as most people, at least. And I don’t like drama. But, it seems, drama follows me no matter what I do. I am in high school after all. But this time? This time, Connor O’Brien was my one-way ticket to Drama-land. You see, we met in one of those, ‘seriously-those-things-don’t-really-happen’ ways. We took the same bus home at the end of the day. Well, technically, I just took it after my end-of-the-day Chemistry class at this local Christian school, since I’m home schooled. But that’s just mechanics. Connor really seemed like a great guy. He had a ton of personality, liked kids, and honestly, he wasn’t exactly unfortunate in the looks department. My little sister and I spent September through November’s afternoon bus rides listening to my iPod. One of the first things I noticed on our rides on the bus were the seriously inappropriate things said and talked about by this group of sixth grade boys from a local public school that I did not want Kate to be exposed to. So, I made a playlist – comprised of mostly loud pop songs like Miley Cyrus and Justin Bieber – and brought my portable iPod player and cranked it up. Mostly, the kids enjoyed it well enough – with the exception of that group of boys who hate artists like Taylor Swift on principle – until Connor came along.

One day, as we climbed onto the beat-up, stinky, dark bus, he was just there, surrounded by enamored little second grade girls and boys who thought he pretty much hung the moon because he was a fifteen year-old guy who went to a military academy nearby. I’m not going to lie to you – the uniform . . . it added a lot of charm to his look. What girl doesn’t fall for a guy in uniform, right? And he had this tall, thin, Irish look that really got me. Do guys study the ‘impish grin?’ He had it down to an art form, I swear. At this point, though, I wanted to play it cool. So Kate and I sat down as usual around the middle section of the bus and I got out my playlist – I think the first song that day was ‘Party in the USA’ – and cranked it up. Well, Connor, it turned out, wasn’t a huge Miley fan-boy – big surprise to all, right? But, as my whole family will surely tell you, I’m sort of a fan of flirting. You’re not? I don’t understand you. I was a fifteen year old girl with a normal life, and here was this cute guy I didn’t know. It seemed like a perfect opportunity to hone up my skills in the art of flirtation. So…as you might have guessed, I let him go on, loudly complaining and ‘begging’ Kate and I to turn something else on. Which, of course, I did not listen to; I just smiled at him sweetly and turned the volume up a little bit louder.

Kate’s no fool. As soon as we got off the bus, she gave me this knowing, nine-year-old-sister-look and said,
“You like him, don’t you?” But I just smiled and said,
“Yeah, I mean, he seems like a nice guy, don’t you think?” She shook her head at me.
“You’re so boy crazy!” She was right again. I am boy crazy. It seems natural at my age – I never do anything about it, I just like boys. And for the most part, they like me. No, no, not in that way. I’d only ever had one guy want to date me at that point – Seth. We had been friends for a long time; then, when I felt I had to be honest with him and tell him that even when our parents thought we were old enough to let us date, I probably wouldn’t be interested in him romantically, he hadn’t really taken it well. As much as honesty may be the best policy, it’s definitely not always the easiest. After that had all gone down, Seth and I hadn’t exactly been close. It saddened me – I really did value him as a friend – but I understood. Rejection hurts. Personally, even if my parents had allowed it, I had decided a long while ago that I wasn’t interested in dating in high school. How could I be for it, when the percentage of teen relationships that ended quickly in heartbreak probably came in at about 90? I’m a huge fan of guys, but high school seemed a bad time to have my first love.

Please don’t get me wrong, though – I’m not some heart breaker. I make it a policy never to lead guys on or make promises I have no intention of keeping. My feelings and opinions on dating were always out in the open with Seth – he just chose not to listen to them. But that’s not the story I’m here to talk to you about. I should probably introduce myself – I’m Laura Mason. At the time of our story, I was fifteen and a sophomore in high school doing the majority of my school at home with my mom. Even though she’s a registered nurse, my loving mother made it very clear from the start that she would not touch a high school Chemistry book with a ten foot pole; so the matter was settled – I would attend an advanced Chemistry class at the nearby Ludlow Christian School, where my little sister went for third grade. When my mom asked me to ride the bus home every day after Chemistry to keep Kate company, I had acted like it would be an imposition, but really, being home schooled all your life makes you wonder what a school bus is really like. There’s all these first grader curiosities that you never got to explore – like how I always wanted a Pocahontas lunch box, a brand new back pack every year, and to go shopping for special outfits for going back to school.

Of course, my mom was always really great about it. Most years she would buy us a back pack just to make us feel special, or a set of clothes for the first day of school – there was always something. But that romanticized feeling about the unknown things like the cafeteria and the prom had still stayed in the back of my mind all this time. So when it turned that I’d get to flirt with – I mean befriend – a cute guy . . . well, it seemed like the school bus might not be such a bad thing after all. After a few bus rides featuring artists like Hilary Duff, Justin Bieber, and Hannah Montana, Connor and I had our first real conversation.
Shouting over the combined mayhem of my music and fifty children in elementary school, Connor grinned at me and said, “Hey, Laura!”
“Yeah?”
“Got anything worth listening to on that iPod of yours?”
I feigned a scowl, “Like what?”
“Maybe something chill, like Michael Buble?”
“As a matter of fact . . .” I paused to select one of my many Michael Buble albums, “I’m a big fan.” As we listened to the first few bars of ‘Everything’ by the aforementioned artist, our truce became somewhat solidified. Connor made his way to the middle of the bus and sat across from me in an empty seat so that we could carry on a conversation at a normal level, and I started playing music that we could both agree on. For the rest of the ten minute ride to my house we discussed our favorite artists – which were surprisingly similar – and exchanged last names in order to become Facebook friends.

Sure enough, as soon as I checked my notifications that night, I see – ‘Connor O’Brien wants to be friends’ – now I could get all the dirt on this guy in a matter of minutes. It annoyed me that he only had a few Profile pictures, but what could I do? I clicked on ‘info:’ ‘Born: August 1, 1994. School: St. Charles Military Academy, Class of 2013.’ Again I was disappointed; besides the basics – including the fact that he was male and interested in women – there wasn’t much to be learned. Apparently, I would have to find out by having an actual conversation with him. However, this proved rather easy, since after our ceasefire on the bus, it became a regular occurrence for him to sit with Kate and me and talk to us, or, as Kate would have you know, mainly to me. We learned that, as I had suspected, he was an intelligent, considerate, rather mysterious fellow with a bit of an unknown past. So, you can understand that my curiosity about him only increased when, one sunny Wednesday afternoon, Connor wasn’t on the bus.
“Where do you think he is?” Kate asked me, almost as disappointed as I not to see our new friend.
“I don’t know . . .” I told her, shaking my head and acting like I didn’t really care, “But he’ll turn up eventually, I’m sure.” Except he didn’t. Not the next day, or the day after that, or even next week. Where was Connor? What had happened to him? And why hadn’t he said something to us beforehand? Our questions needed answers like the bus needed Connor.