The Boy I Was Warned About

The first time Liam Mercer broke my heart, he hadn't even kissed me.

He stood in my hallway with a black duffel bag slung over one shoulder, rain dripping from his dark hair onto my mother's clean floor, looking at me like I was the last person on earth he wanted to see.

And my mother, apparently determined to ruin the next eight weeks of my life, smiled and said, "Harper, sweetheart, come say hello to our guest."

Our guest.

Liam Mercer.

The boy Riverdale High School had warned me about since sophomore year. The boy who had been suspended for breaking Caleb Brooks's nose last spring. The boy whose name appeared in whispered conversations, disciplinary report the occasional anonymous confession on the school gossip page.

The boy my best friend had once described as a walking red flag wearing expensive-looking boots.

And now he was standing three feet from my bedroom door.

I stared at him.

He stared back.

Then his eyes dropped to the pink fuzzy slippers on my feet.

His mouth twitched.

"Nice shoes, Bennett."

I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me.

Instead, I folded my arms across my chest. "Nice criminal record, Mercer."

My mother's smile vanished.

"Harper!"

"What? I'm welcoming him."

Liam let out a short laugh, the kind that sounded like he was trying not to enjoy himself. "Don't worry, Mrs. Bennett. I've been called worse."

"That doesn't make it acceptable," Mum replied, giving him the gentle, apologetic smile she reserved for difficult customers and people she believed deserved a second chance. "Come in, Liam. You must be exhausted."

He stepped farther inside.

I stepped back.

Not because I was afraid of him.

I simply preferred to keep a reasonable distance from boys who had been suspended for violence.

At least, that was what I told myself.

"Harper, would you take his bag upstairs?" Mum asked.

I turned to her so quickly I nearly lost a slipper.

"Excuse me?"

"His room is ready. The guest room is at the end of the hall, beside yours."

"Beside mine?"

"Yes, darling. Where else would he sleep?"

I looked at Liam, expecting him to object. Surely he had somewhere else to go. A relative. A friend. An abandoned warehouse, perhaps. Anything that didn't involve my mother moving a strange boy into our house like we were running a charity for troubled teenagers.

But Liam merely shrugged.

"Your house, your rules."

His voice was calm, almost bored.

I hated him a little for that.

Mum picked up her handbag from the console table. "I need to stop at the pharmacy before it closes. Harper, please show Liam around. I'll explain everything when I get back."

"You're leaving?"

"I won't be long."

"Mum."

She kissed my forehead before I could dodge her.

"Be kind."

Then she was gone.

The front door clicked shut.

Silence settled over the hallway.

Liam looked at me.

I looked at him.

Somewhere outside, thunder rumbled over Maplewood.

"Well," he said, glancing towards the stairs, "this is awkward."

"You're not staying here."

He lifted an eyebrow. "That's funny. Your mother seemed pretty convinced otherwise."

"I'll talk to her."

"Great."

"I mean it."

"So do I."

He picked up his bag and walked towards the staircase as though he had been living here for years.

I followed him, furious that he wasn't even pretending to be intimidated.

"You can't just move into someone's house without warning."

"Technically, your mother invited me."

"Without warning me."

"Should I have sent you a calendar invitation?"

I stopped halfway up the stairs.

He turned around.

Up close, Liam was even more irritating than he looked from across a classroom. His dark brown hair fell messily over his forehead, and his hazel eyes carried an expression of permanent amusement. There was a faint scar near his left eyebrow, one I had never noticed before.

He looked like the sort of boy who knew exactly how much trouble he could cause and enjoyed discovering whether anyone dared to stop him.

I had absolutely no intention of becoming his next experiment.

"Listen carefully," I said. "I don't know what my mother promised your mother, but this arrangement isn't going to work."

Something changed in his expression.

It was subtle. A flicker of exhaustion, perhaps, or something heavier that disappeared before I could identify it.

"Believe me, Bennett," he said quietly. "I'm not exactly thrilled either."

For one strange second, I almost believed him.

Then he walked past me.

I stood on the stairs, listening to his footsteps move down the hallway towards the guest room.

Eight weeks.

My mother mentioned eight weeks on the phone that morning, though she had conveniently forgotten to mention whose life she intended to turn upside down.

Eight weeks of sharing a roof with Liam Mercer.

Eight weeks of explaining his presence to my friends.

Eight weeks of trying not to murder him before my scholarship application deadline.

I closed my eyes.

This was fine.

I was seventeen years old. I had a near-perfect GPA, a journalism portfolio that needed polishing, and a scholarship application that could determine where I spent the next four years of my life.

I had plans.

Carefully organised plans.

Liam Mercer was not in any of them.

By dinner, I had established three important facts.

First, Liam took his coffee black.

Second, he had a talent for making perfectly ordinary sentences sound insulting.

Third, my mother apparently decided his comfort was more important than my sanity.

"He can use the Wi-Fi in the evenings," she announced, passing him a bowl of roasted potatoes. "And Harper, you can show him how the washing machine works tomorrow."

I lowered my fork.

"He knows how to use a washing machine, Mum."

Liam glanced at me. "I appreciate your confidence in my domestic abilities."

"You're welcome."

"Although, for future reference, I usually wash my clothes before they become sentient."

Mum sighed. "Both of you, please."

I concentrated on my food.

The worst part was that Liam wasn't behaving like the dangerous criminal everyone had warned me about. He was irritating, certainly, but he hadn't threatened anyone, thrown a chair, or punched a wall.

He had even thanked Mum for dinner.

It was deeply inconvenient.

Because if he continued behaving like a normal human being, I would have to find another reason to dislike him.

And I had a perfectly good reputation for being reasonable.

"So," Mum said, turning to him, "how is Rachel feeling?"

Liam's fork paused.

"She's okay."

"She told me the treatment was going well."

"Yeah."

"She must miss you terribly."

He looked down at his plate. "I miss her too."

For the first time that evening, nobody had a clever response.

I glanced at him.

His shoulders were tense, and he was moving his food around his plate rather than eating it. The expression on his face had changed completely.

I remembered hearing that his mother was ill, but nobody at school seemed to know much beyond that. Rumours had filled the gaps, as they always did.

I wondered if any of them were true.

Then Liam caught me looking.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Then stop staring."

There he was again.

I rolled my eyes.

Mum placed her glass on the table. "Liam, I want you to feel comfortable here. You're welcome to stay as long as you need."

"Thank you, Mrs. Bennett. I appreciate it."

"And Harper will help you settle in."

I nearly choked on a potato.

"Why does everyone keep volunteering me for things?"

"Because you're helpful," Mum replied.

"Because you don't like disappointing people," Liam corrected.

I turned to him.

His expression was unreadable.

"What would you know about me?"

"Enough."

"Really? And what exactly do you know?"

He held my gaze for a moment before looking away.

"That you're the kind of person who would rather swallow broken glass than admit she doesn't want to do something."

My mouth fell open.

Mum looked between us.

I forced a laugh. "And you're the kind of person who thinks being rude is a personality."

"See? We're already learning about each other."

I decided then that I would survive eight weeks without speaking to him unless necessary.

It was an excellent plan.

It lasted approximately twelve minutes.

Later that night, I was in my bedroom reviewing the scholarship requirements when I heard a noise from the hallway.

A door opening.

Footsteps.

Then the unmistakable sound of someone entering the kitchen.

I checked the time.

11:43 p.m.

I slipped out of bed, pulled on my cardigan, and opened my bedroom door.

Liam stood at the kitchen counter, drinking water from a glass.

He looked up when I entered.

"Can't sleep?"

"I could ask you the same thing."

He set the glass down. "You could. But then we'd both be asking questions nobody wants to answer."

I ignored that.

"Do you always have to be so difficult?"

"Only when I'm awake."

I walked to the refrigerator and took out a bottle of water.

For a while, neither of us spoke.

The kitchen was dim except for the light above the stove. Rain tapped against the windows, and the clock above the doorway ticked loudly in the silence.

Without the usual audience of teachers and students, Liam seemed different. Less confrontational. More tired.

I wondered what he thought about when nobody was looking.

Then I remembered who he was.

Curiosity was dangerous.

Especially when it involved a boy like Liam Mercer.

"Can I ask you something?" I said before I could change my mind.

He leaned against the counter. "That depends."

"Why did you really get suspended?"

His expression hardened.

I immediately regretted asking.

"Everyone says you broke Caleb Brooks's nose because he insulted you."

"Everyone says a lot of things."

"Did you?"

He looked at me.

"Break his nose?"

"Yes."

"Yes."

I blinked.

At least he wasn't denying it.

"Why?"

"Because I hit him."

"That's not an explanation."

"It's the one I've got for you."

I tightened my grip on the water bottle.

"Do you ever answer a question normally?"

"Do you ever mind your own business?"

I should have walked away.

Instead, I heard myself say, "People think you're dangerous."

Something flickered across his face.

"Do you?"

I hesitated.

It was the wrong answer.

I could tell from the way his jaw tightened.

"I don't know you," I said.

"Exactly."

He picked up his glass and moved towards the hallway.

For some reason, I felt compelled to stop him.

"Then why do you act like you don't care what anyone thinks?"

He paused.

For a moment, I thought he wouldn't answer.

Then he turned his head slightly.

"Because caring doesn't always change anything."

The words landed more heavily than I expected.

Before I could respond, he disappeared down the hallway.

I stood alone in the kitchen, listening to his bedroom door close.

Outside, the rain grew heavier.

And for the first time since he'd arrived, I wondered whether the stories about Liam Mercer were missing something important.

I didn't know what that something was.

I wasn't sure I wanted to find out.

I was brushing my teeth when my phone vibrated on the bathroom counter.

An Instagram notification.

Then another.

Then three more in quick succession.

I rinsed my mouth and picked up the phone.

A message from Tessa waited at the top of our chat.

TESSA: PLEASE tell me your mother did not actually let him move in.

I stared at the screen.

ME: Who told you?

Her reply came almost immediately.

TESSA: Harper, the entire school knows about Liam Mercer. Someone saw him getting out of your mum's car this afternoon.

Of course they had.

I typed a response, deleted it, then typed another.

ME: It's temporary. Eight weeks.

The typing indicator appeared.

Disappeared.

Appeared again.

TESSA: You need to be careful around him.

I frowned.

ME: You've told me that approximately six hundred times.

TESSA: I'm serious. You don't know what happened last year.

I stared at the message.

ME: Neither do you. Nobody does.

Her next reply took longer.

TESSA: I know enough.

Before I could ask what that meant, another notification appeared.

This one was from an account I didn't recognise.

No profile picture.

No posts.

No followers.

The message contained a single sentence.

UNKNOWN: Ask Liam Mercer what he did to his sister before you start feeling sorry for him.

My stomach tightened.

I read it again.

Then a second message arrived.

UNKNOWN: And whatever you do, Harper, don't let him find out you know.

A cold feeling crept up my spine.

From somewhere down the hallway came the faint sound of Liam's bedroom door opening.

I looked towards the bathroom entrance.

Then back at my phone.

A third message appeared.

This time, it contained a photograph.

I tapped it.

The image was grainy, clearly taken from a distance. A boy stood outside Riverdale High School, his dark hair falling over his forehead, his right hand clenched into a fist.

Liam.

Beside him stood a girl with long brown hair, her face turned away from the camera.

Ruby Mercer.

And on the ground between them, partially hidden by the boy's legs, was something I couldn't quite make out.

A schoolbag.

Torn open.

Books scattered across the pavement.

My phone vibrated again.

UNKNOWN: He didn't get suspended for no reason.

I heard footsteps approaching.

My heart began to pound.

Then Liam's voice came from the other side of the door.

"Harper?"

I couldn't speak.

The handle turned.

"Harper, open the door."

I stared at the photograph, my fingers trembling around the phone.

Because the girl in the picture wasn't just Ruby.

Around her wrist was a thin silver bracelet with a tiny star charm.

I had seen that bracelet before.

Not at school.

Not in a photograph.

But on someone who had stood beside me for years, smiling as though she had never done anything wrong.

The bathroom handle rattled again.

"Harper," Liam said, his voice suddenly sharper. "What are you looking at?"

I looked at the door.

Then at the message on my screen.

UNKNOWN: The girl who ruined Ruby's life is closer to you than you think.

And suddenly, I wasn't wondering whether Liam Mercer was dangerous.

I was wondering who else in my life had been lying to me.