The Guardian (31 page)

His fingers sift through my hair at the base of my head, applying gentle pressure to move me forward until our lips touch. Tender at first, our kiss turns hot as we admit we’re loving on borrowed time and any moment could be our last.

In the aftermath of our kiss, we silently stare out at the stars, lost in our own thoughts. As fruitless as worrying is, I can’t help but dwell on the certainty Gabriel will eventually leave me, even if he would wish it otherwise. According to him, we both have our destinies to fulfill. Automatically reaching for my precious angel wing pendant, I close my hand around Gabriel’s heart as if the gesture could keep him with me for always.

“Summer,” I promise him. “As soon as school’s out, I’ll start learning everything I can about the Gifts of the Saints and my destiny.”

CHAPTER 16

It’s amazing how the realization of living on borrowed time influences our choices. When Gabriel looks at me with his celestial eyes and declares, “I want you to go with me to the end of the year dance. I’ve got to dance with you.” I’m too stunned to say no. As much as I detest dances, I can’t help but wonder how much I would regret my decision later if I refuse him. As if sensing my dilemma, he adds, “I already talked to Becke and Jonah and they’re in if we are.”

The undisguised longing in his gaze is overwhelming. How could I refuse him anything? But instead of agreeing, I find myself asking, “What about Derry?”

“He’s invited too. We can make it more like a group thing, as long as I get one slow dance with you.”

Sparks leap from Gabriel’s eyes onto my skin infusing me with warmth. The desire staring back at me makes my stomach do funny flips. Even though I’ve got concerns about Derry feeling like a fifth wheel, dancing with Gabriel suddenly seems like something too precious to be missed. “Okay—I  mean –yes. I’ll go to the dance with you.”

Later when I ask Derry to come with, he puts an end to my worry about being a pity date by declaring, “Dances are for douches.” No matter which argument I use, he doesn’t relent. Even the fact Jonah’s going doesn’t change his mind. “Besides,” he says rubbing his hands together, “Kate’s gonna be gone for work, so Steven was gonna buy the latest Guitar Hero for us. It seems rude to ditch him.” 

When I try again to influence him, he declares, “While you’re dressed up like a Naomi clone wallowing in the adolescent equivalent of the Death Star trash compactor, I’ll be eating pizza and playing video games. There is no comparison.”

Despite his denials, when the big night comes he’s unable to completely mask his emotions. Wearing the little black dress from my fall shopping excursion with Kate, I enter the Fosters’ living room and am  greeted by two very different boys with surprisingly similar reactions.

Gabriel strides forward to take me in his arms. “You look beautiful,” he declares before kissing my cheek.

Thanking my boyfriend, I can’t help but turn to Derry and seek his approval as well. “Well?” I ask feeling strangely nervous about his reaction.

After closing his mouth and carefully arranging his features into some semblance of feigned indifference, he looks me over from head to toe and slowly back up to my face before admitting evenly, “You don’t look nearly as ridiculous as I imagined.”

His backhanded compliment hurts, especially since I noticed his eyes pop when I walked in the room. Maybe that’s part of being a teenage boy—you can’t just express straightforward appreciation. Or maybe it’s just Derry. He’s practically my brother, after all.

My throat tightens as I cover my reaction with sarcasm. “Thanks, I think.” I can’t help but feel I’ve let him down in some vague way.

Sensing my disappointment, he backpedals, “No, I mean you look good. Pretty. I mean girlie.”

Putting an end to his pathetic attempts at flattery, I hold up my hand. “It’s fine. Really. You don’t need to make stuff up.” Then taking Gabriel’s arm I say in the haughtiest tone I can achieve, “Come on. Let’s go join the other douches at the dance.”

Whatever Derry’s about to retort is halted by the withering glance I shoot in his direction before exiting. Although I shouldn’t really be surprised by him, or bothered for that matter, it takes nearly an hour for me to shake off his criticism and get into the spirit of the evening. Never having had a girlfriend, Derry doesn’t get it. For me the night isn’t about conformity or popularity—it isn’t even the rite of passage like Kate suggests—it’s about spending special time with the boy I love. It’s about each and every grain of sand that drops away and shortens our time together. About fighting the inevitable by clinging to the moment.

When we get to the dance, I experience a momentary lapse in conviction. When faced with a room full of writhing kids surrounded by their undulating halos, my chest feels like it’s in a vise. As much as I want to go home and hide in my room, I don’t want to disappoint my date and I certainly DO NOT want to give Derry the satisfaction of saying, “I told you so.” Still I’ll never be one of those girls who likes to party or is even remotely comfortable in a situation like this. Too many dangers lurk in the shadowy corners of my imagination.

Pulling my thoughts away from their dark, wandering route, I force myself to take a deep breath, smiling broadly as I exhale. This is the experience most girls dream of having. Wearing the perfect dress, on the arm of the best looking guy in the room—and while it feels like everyone is judging me, they’re probably a bit jealous, too.

Mid-stride, Gabriel slows to a halt. As I turn to look at him, he stuns me with the intensity of his smile. “Tonight’s about us. No one else Alex. Just us.” His sandy hair falls across his face making him seem boyish despite his blazing halo.

“Keep telling me that.”

“Okay.” The beginnings of a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. “The only thing that matters tonight is us.”

Over Gabriel’s shoulder, I see Becke and Jonah wave from their corner table. As we pick our way over to them, Naomi steps in our path. “Gabriel!” She draws out his name in an overly-enthusiastic high pitched voice. “Come dance with me.”

Brazen, even for her, she places her perfectly manicured hands on his biceps and proceeds to pull. From the squint of her eyes, and the loud, stretched-out sentences, it’s clear she’s been drinking. Her halter dress, silver to the rest of the room but dingy to me on account of her halo, barely hides her ass.

Immovable, Gabriel stares as she loses her grip and falls on the floor flashing us her hot pink thong and a bit of what it’s inadequately covering up. While my date can’t help but notice her exposure—heck, the whole room can probably see—he quickly averts his eyes.

Making no move to cover herself, Naomi giggles. Boldly she smiles up at him, drunkenly asking, “Do you like what you see?”

Not even dignifying the question with a response, Gabriel takes my arm and leads me across the floor to our friends. Becke, who looks fabulous in a vintage emerald dress, raises her eyebrows as we approach. “What was that about?”

A slight blush creeps across Gabriel’s cheeks, his only indication he has a reaction to what he just saw. Jumping to his rescue, I answer, “Just Naomi being Naomi. She’s drunk and she just flashed half the room.”

“Ewww! Nasty!” Becke rolls her eyes as Jonah chuckles. Shaking her auburn ringlets in disgust, she admits, “I’m so sorry I asked.”

“Classic!” Jonah, who also cleans up well, has a mischievous glint in his eyes as he holds out his hand expectantly. “Hey babe, can I borrow your phone?”

“Why?” Becke hands it over without a second thought.

“Because I want to text Derry about Naomi’s snatch. He asked for updates.”

“About Naomi’s snatch?”

“No.” By this point Jonah’s heaving with laughter. “About the dance.” This surprises me considering Derry’s rather critical opinion. Smiling from ear to ear, Jonah glances at his lovely girlfriend and then to Gabriel and me. “I don’t suppose one of you’d head over there and take a picture for me?”

All three of us answer in unison, “No!”

“Come on,” he pleads. “I can make it viral in like ten seconds.”

While the thought is tempting, I remind myself we’re the better people. Taking Becke’s arm in mine, I orchestrate our escape from all things inappropriately Naomi by suggesting, “Why don’t we get something to drink?”

Once we’re safely by the punch, I ask, “Do you like to dance?”

Becke grimaces, instantly trying to cover the response with a wan smile. The result is unconvincing. “Not really. I’m way too self-conscious of how I look.’ She indicates the tightly packed dance floor with a tip of her head. “I think I’d rather walk through school naked than do that.”

I follow her gaze to where kids are bobbing and grinding and seem to be having a great time displaying their inner exhibitionist. “How can they just have fun and care so little about what people are thinking?”

“I have no clue.” With a shrug, she hands me two glasses of punch then takes two more.

Walking back to the table I ask, “So you’re not going to dance?”

“Just the slow ones.” Again she tries to smile with disastrous results. And while she might fool some people, her halo gives her away.

For the past week, Becke’s halo has continued to flicker, as if struggling to survive. And while I first thought it was due to illness, it has become clear something else is going on. When she excuses herself to go to the ladies’ room, I invite myself along.

As Becke fixes her lipstick, I study her reflection in the mirror. Her makeup does a good job of rounding her thinning face and hiding the dark circles under her eyes. When her mirrored image gazes at me with haunted eyes, I refuse to break the contact. “I know something’s wrong. It might help to talk about it.”

Denial flashes across her reflection, chased by some complex emotion causing her resolve to crumple like paper. Letting her mask drop, her fatigue is evident as she regards me though the mirror. Her eyes are suddenly raw, like she has been crying for hours.

“I haven’t slept in a week. Every time I close my eyes—” Letting her head drop forward in embarrassment, she asks, “Do you ever have uh—uh—sexual dreams?”

Trying to remain neutral and calm in spite of the heat suffusing my cheeks at the “s” word, I take a slow breath before answering. “Like about my boyfriend?”

She shakes her head in quick jerky motions, still refusing to look up. “No. Like violent, totally messed-up  nightmare type dreams.”

The vehemence with which she admits this makes me almost afraid to continue the conversation. Dread, like an oppressive weight, settles on my chest as I stare at my friend’s back. “Who are you dreaming about?”

Turning around so we’re face to face, Becke lifts her head, and I’m able to read the anguish, the utter hopelessness, in her large green eyes. “Mr. Creepy. They’re so disgusting—so graphic—and I just sit there staring, like a rag doll, while he does all sorts of depraved stuff to me.” Lurching forward she pushes past me to an open stall. Dropping to her knees, she heaves as if vomiting up the source of her torment. Between gags, she labors to dispel the rest of her thoughts. “The whole time it’s happening he tells me how much I like what he’s doing. And inside my head I’m screaming, but no one hears.” She retches again. “The details are so vivid—so real—that I’m afraid to sleep.”

Finished retching, she struggles to stand and I place my hand under her elbow to assist her. I’ve got no reference for what she’s going through, and no words of encouragement. But knowing what it’s like to be terrified and helpless, I say the only thing I can think of. “You’re not alone. What can I do to help you?”

Back to staring in the mirror, adjusting her makeup and hair, she meets my reflection’s glance. “I don’t know. But it’s gotten so bad, I can hardly stand it when Jonah’s too close. Please, don’t say anything, Alex. I don’t want to hurt him. And I especially don’t want him to know what’s bothering me. It’s so gross. I just don’t understand why this is happening to me.”

“Sometimes things happen we can’t help. They’re chemical or psychological, like from too much stress, maybe you should see a doctor.”

“Maybe,” Even as the words fall from her lips, her veiled expression tells me the subject’s closed. “I told Jonah I’ve got mono and it could take a couple of months to completely kick it. So please, please keep this between us. Not even Gabriel can know.” When I nod, she gingerly touches my arm. “You’re a good friend, probably the best friend I’ve ever had.” Then turning toward the door before I can form an appropriate response, she resolutely sets her jaw. “Let’s get back to the guys.”

When we reach the table, Gabriel takes my arm and leads me onto the crowded dance floor of swaying couples. Warily, he glances from Becke to me. “Is everything okay?”

I know Gabriel senses things are off. Not wanting to lie to him, or betray Becke I answer, “Becke’s having some stress issues related to—uh—sex.”

“Oh.”

The pink creeping into his cheeks turns crimson as he fits his hands into the hollows above my hips and pulls me close. Although we begin to sway, the
“s”
word settles uncomfortably between us, making his touch feel hotter against my waist, his breath nearly painful as it brushes against every nerve ending of my neck. Pulling away, I look into his glazed eyes. “Can we go get some air, maybe?”