Shattered Castles 1 : Castles on the Sand (12 page)

Madison:
I don't know.

John:
Up to you, but you've got my number.

“Dare I ask,” says Siraj, “what has you pounding the keyboard so hard?”

“Would you ever tell your sister if she was ugly?”

He blinks a few times. “Two of my littlest sisters have Down's Syndrome. I helped take care of them because our mother died when they were just babies. Other people don't see how beautiful they are. They got teased a lot.”

“But did you tell them they're beautiful?”

“They
are
beautiful. I don't care what anyone else says. They are.”

“Would you send them to an audition to become supermodels?”

“That's entirely beside the point.”

And I sense, from his quiet, determined tone, that for him it really is beside the point. “Sorry to get all personal, there,” I say.

“It's quite all right.”

Madison:
Okay, fine. I guess it's just a brother thing.

John:
We brothers see the truth so much more clearly than anyone else.

Madison:
Right. Anyway. I have work.

John:
Okay. Talk to you later. Love you.

I stare at those words for a minute.

Madison:
Bye.

John:
Bye!

M
onday morning, when Kailie and I step onto campus, Carson beckons me over to where he stands, by the MAV.

“Something going on with Carson?” asks Kailie.

“I don't know. I mean... he said he's interested in me and-”

“You are such a liar.” She turns on her heel and stalks away in the direction of the school.

I look after her, puzzled, and Carson waves to me in my peripheral vision once again. Since I'm not a big fan of being summoned, I let myself scowl as I head over to him. “Yeah?”

The rest of the Mormon herd is still piling out of the MAV through the sliding door, which is on the far side. I hear five sets of shoes hit the pavement, and the door slide shut.

“Just wanted to see how you were.”

“And now you've seen.”

“Listen, rumor has it you're back with Jean-Pierre.”

“Well, I don't listen to rumors.”

“I hope it's not true.”

“Thanks for the advice.”

“Promise me something? That the next guy who kisses you will be your boyfriend? He'll acknowledge you in public?”

“Yeah, sure, I promise.” Anything, I think, to end this conversation. Why is he back to bossing me around?

“Why do you have to be so short with me?”

“You are still telling me what to do.”

“Well, I didn't mean it that way. Give me a chance. Take a break from the selfish, cruel people you surround yourself with all the time and go out with me. One date.”

“Insulting my friends isn't the way to get on my good side.”

“Okay, well I didn't mean it that way either.”

But I've had enough. I turn away, head across the parking lot, and step between two large utility vans that are parked right in front of the school. Someone taps me on the shoulder, and when I turn, whoever it is plants his mouth on mine.

A
million thoughts flit through my mind as this mystery person kisses me. It's not a passionate kiss; it's an obnoxious one, the person sucking on my mouth in a really annoying way. I squirm and the person lets me go.

I blink and find myself face to face with Alex.

He smirks, as if to say, “Well, it was worth a try.” And turns to leave.

But my temper flares and I grab his arm. “What was that?”

No response, just the usual stare.

“You don't
do
that, jerk. I don't care how hot you are, you are not hot enough to get away with assaulting people.” I wonder if it counts as assault, though. I don't know the legal definition, but I bet he does, which means I'm insane to grab his arm and yell at him.

He looks down at me, pulls his arm out of my grasp, and then glances around, though there isn't much to see besides the blank white sides of the vans we stand between. What's odd is how vulnerable he seems now, even though he's six feet tall at least, and all corded muscle. He shrugs again, as if this is supposed to explain why he planted one on me.

And then it clicks. “That whole promise to Carson, the next guy who kisses me is gonna be my boyfriend?
Dream on
. Sneak attacks so don't count.”

“What if you sneak attack me?”

Really, I think, it's better when he's silent. I unzip my backpack, pull out his jacket, and try to shove it at him, only to discover that he has rock hard abs. I'd thought that was just a saying. It's like punching a brick wall and I wince in pain.

He, however, stares down at his jacket as if I just handed him a brick of gold.

“Why are you even in school today?” I ask. “Why aren't you in jail?”

A sullen glare is the only reply to that one.

“And listen, you are a loser, you are a creep, you threatened me with a switchblade-”

“Was a joke.”

“It wasn't funny! Let me add to that list of what it would take for a guy to be my boyfriend. He'd have to be nice to me. He'd have to talk to me sometimes. He'd have to not feel like he has to sneak around and catch me off guard. He'd have to act like he likes me.”

“That all?”

“What? It rules you out. Except for the talking thing. And what is with the talking thing? Why are you talking now?”

He ignores that, lifts his jacket to his face, and sniffs it.

“Oh, and smoking? Disgusting. I washed your jacket because it was giving me a headache.”

A dig through his pockets, and he pulls out his cigarettes, then looks at me with a lifted eyebrow.

“What? I am not a thief. Of course I put them back.”

The pack crushes in his fist.

“What are you doing?”

He digs in his pocket again and retrieves his lighter.

“Yeah, I gave that back to you, so you'll have it to burn down the school or whatever.”

But rather than ignite it and shove the flame at me, as I expect, he tosses it to me and I catch it awkwardly with one hand. “Thanks,” he says. He leaves without a backwards glance.

I collapse against one of the vans and take a few deep breaths. That, I have to admit, really frightened me. I'm glad it was during the day, because if he tried something like that at night...

“You okay, Madison?” Carson peers in at me.

“Alex is a scumbag.”

“He came to church yesterday.”

“He
what?”

“Yeah and he came to Seminary. That's why he was in the MAV today. Didn't you notice? He said you were the one who gave him the pass along card. He talked to me, with words. It was weird.”

I brace my forehead against my palm. “How much you wanna bet he's going for an image makeover before he goes to court for attacking a police car?”

“Well, if he is, we'll weird him out in a week, tops. He'll figure out that we're actually into this whole religion thing, and that if he stays with it too long, we won't let him leave. We'll come pile baked goods on his doorstep until he lets us in.”

“Are you joking?”

“Mmm. No. Not really. You coming inside?”

I nod and together we walk into the school.

JP walks past and I sneak a glance. He just looks away.

A
t lunchtime I dig the lighter out of my pocket and take a look at it. It isn't a cheap little Bic. It's all metal with, “Alexander W. Katsumoto” engraved on the side in script. It feels wrong to have this, as someone clearly gave it to him as a gift. I just wonder what kind of strange person would give a kid a cigarette lighter, as Alex has been flipping this thing like a psycho for a few years now.

Kailie slides into the seat next to me, and I stuff the lighter back into my pocket, then notice she doesn't have any food. “Can I borrow five bucks?” she says. “I will totally pay you back.”

I pull out my wallet and hand her twenty. “Just keep it.”

“Thank you.” She gives me a hug and I notice how her bones dig into me. I watch her go through the cafeteria line and fill her tray full of food, then return to the table and wolf it down. I try not to stare, but other people in the cafeteria talk behind their hands and giggle. One girl mimes jamming her finger down her throat. I glare back at her. If they could see her barren room, they wouldn't be teasing her about an eating disorder. And even if it was an eating disorder, I don't see how that's funny at all.

“Your parents not feeding you?” I ask.

“I have to earn points to get meals, and I'm not earning the stupid points.”

“How do you earn them?”

“Finish my homework, do my shifts in the Inn. Total control.”

I nod. Her parents no doubt think they’re setting the bar low, but I understand how Kailie sees it. To her, they’ve effectively said she’s not worth feeding unless she does her chores. I don’t think her parents are bad people, but I do think they’re clueless sometimes.

She kicks me under the table. “Cheer up.”

“People are laughing at you-”

“I don't care. Stop it with the frownie face.” She scrapes her plate clean and licks her fork.

“Don't kick,” I say. I lift my feet and sit cross-legged on the bench.

She braces the sole of her shoe against my shin and shoves.

“Ouch
. What's with you?”

She kicks hard enough that I stand up in order to avoid falling flat on my back.

I gather my lunch and leave the cafeteria. She's in a mood again, and I know it's best to just stay away from her until she gets over it.

A
t the end of the day, I pack up my things at my locker and swing the door shut with a metallic crash. Alex, Ryan, and the rest of that crowd all loiter at the end of the hall. Apparently going to church hasn't changed Alex's social set at all. Not a big surprise. As I walk towards the exit, I grasp Alex's lighter in my hand and my steps slow. Only when they all stop talking to each other and turn to look at me do I realize I'm staring at them. I stop, not sure what to say or do next.

The hallway is just as cold as outside, because it isn't all the way enclosed. There are clerestory gaps along the entire length that let in the cold air, rain, snow, and whatever else nature throws at us. It's a pretty design, but far from ideal. Try opening your locker on a freezing cold day when you can't wear gloves to manipulate the little metal lock, or imagine the patches of rust that develop over time. A tile floor gets extremely slippery when it rains or ices over.

Alex steps away from the rest of the group and comes over to me. All eyes are on us. Right now, the age gap feels enormous. Alex is an adult, and the way he towers over me with those muscular shoulders and broad chest makes me feel like I'm an elementary school kid. He doesn't talk, just waits.

I hold out his lighter to him. “I assume you want to keep this. It's way too nice to just give away.”

Again with the raised eyebrow.

I feel like I'm babbling, like I should just duck my head and flee. The moral high ground I had this morning allowed me to yell my way through the encounter. Without that, I feel so nervous that I'm afraid my hand, holding the lighter, will shake.

He looks me straight in the eye, then drops his gaze to the lighter. When his gaze returns to mine, he looks like he's considering something, like my gesture has a significance that he's weighing up. His friends all gape openly, and I have to admit, they're right. Why
am
I talking to Alex?

With a jerk of his head, he indicates I should follow him, and we start to walk.

Madison, I think, you're letting Alex take you somewhere. This will probably not end well.

We don't go far, though, just several paces away from everyone who might overhear. When he speaks, his voice is so quiet it's barely audible. “You gave me this.” He points to his jacket.

“That was already yours.”

He touches the name on the front.

“Yeah, yours. Your name on it.”

“My dad's.”

“Oh. I kinda assumed your dad was white.”

For a moment Alex just fidgets with the name patch and doesn't look at me. After several beats he says, “He was. He took my mom's last name when they got married.”