The Guardian (4 page)

*

Over our take-out dinner of Szechuan shrimp, Kate asks me how my first day was. Unable to remember anything other than Gabriel, I hesitate. But the memory of him is one of the few things that belong to me and I’m reluctant to share it. Instead, I shrug. “Uh, fine, I guess. It was school.”

“Did you make any new friends?”

My face starts to crack. Again, I’m surprised by the involuntary gesture. Tensing my muscles, I duck my head doing my best not to smile. “A few kids have potential.” I’m deliberately vague, but she doesn’t press. She has probably noticed my neck, but she doesn’t ask about that either. She just nods and returns to her dinner.

Kate’s sort of like a perky pixie. Her short platinum hair spikes expensively around her head. She has beautiful, petite features—even her hands and feet are tiny—and the richest, most expressive, chocolate-colored eyes I’ve ever seen. They’re even more penetrating than Derry’s gray-brown ones. Her champagne halo bubbles around her invitingly.

Always smiling, you get the feeling Kate’s a born nurturer. She doesn’t pry, knows when to back off and when to encourage, and always sees the positive. But at the corner of her mouth and in the hidden depths of her eyes, there‘s a grief so profound I can’t comprehend it. Maybe that’s why I feel kind of bad not telling her about Gabriel.

Steven arrives home a few minutes later. His job often requires him to work late, and Kate tells me, because of this, she’s grateful for my company. As he sits, I study his expensive blue suit, his pale green shirt, impeccably matched tie, and daffodil halo. His freshly cut hair’s the color of espresso with subtle gray streaks invading at the temples. He has the appearance of someone important, busy. But his astute hazel eyes really see when he focuses on something or someone. And if you look closely, you can see evidence of laugh lines in the contours of his face.

I’m in the process of passing Steven dumplings when his perceptive eyes focus on something they don’t like. Abruptly his countenance is severe, almost scary. “What happened to your neck, Alex?”

Kate has noticed it as well—the look they exchange is unmistakable.

Instinctively my hands rise to cover the area, to protect my secrets. But touching my neck’s a bad idea because the flesh is too tender. I wince, trying to stifle a gasp and come up with a plausible explanation at the same time.

“A locker,” I lie. “Mine’s low and I ran into the elbow of the guy whose locker’s above mine. It looks worse than it is. Really.”

Another glance is exchanged, and then Steven lets it go. As he settles into eating, he asks all the same questions his wife did earlier. Giving all the same answers, I wait until his curiosity is satisfied before asking to be excused.

In my room, I replay my interaction with Gabriel. All the confusing feelings come back—the fluttering, the trembling, the smiling—especially the smiling. I try to finish my homework, which is minimal being the first day and all, but Gabriel keeps distracting me. My neck throbs and my face aches from smiling.

I sleep like crap.

*

When I wake, the butterflies in my stomach are already rambunctious.
Will he be waiting for me?
After tossing all night, I’m still uncertain as to whether I want this. Briefly, I consider sneaking out early, just in case he shows. But I’m not a morning person and the extra time I spend on my appearance, for no reason in particular, costs me.

When I burst from the house at seven fifteen, Gabriel’s sitting on the porch steps. He’s even more beautiful—if such a thing’s possible—than the previous day. Without a word, he stands and reaches for my bag, his movements smooth and confident. The look he gives me, as his eyes search mine, is penetrating.

“Ready?” he asks, as if he would completely understand if I said “no.” I bob my head somberly, but in reality, I’m not ready for any of it—returning to school or this boy in front of me. As if knowing my thoughts, he stifles a small frown and shoulders our bags. Again, his hand rests at my back in a gesture so light the only way I can be sure is my skin’s awareness. His touch makes me feel connected—vulnerable. I want to ask him to stop touching me, but I can’t seem to get the words out.

Just seven blocks.

At the corner of Fort Thomas, Gabriel switches sides careful to keep his body between me and the busy street. The gesture is so protective, that I feel instantly comforted by it. But I can’t afford to depend on anyone beside Derry—even someone with a righteous halo and the face of an angel to match.

“Are you all right, Alexia?”

“Fine.” Even as I answer, I feel the frown puckering my features. But Gabriel lets it drop.

As we walk, I sneak sidelong glances at him. Encircling him in a thick ring of gold extending outward in spiky white tips, his halo still makes it seem like he’s backlit by the sun, despite the cloudiness of the morning. Overcome with the urge to gawk at his radiance, I try to distract myself by focusing on the features of the stunning boy inside the ring of goodness. My heart stutters as I admit how breathtakingly gorgeous he is. Even with my new wardrobe and haircut, I feel completely inadequate by his side.

Distracted by his perfection, I don’t notice we are nearing Orchard Avenue until we’re at the corner. Awareness hits me like a sucker punch. Short of breath and in physical pain, I freeze, unable to cross the street, unwilling to get closer to the source of my new nightmares. The pressure of Gabriel’s hand increases. His fingers brush my back in small circular strokes.

I suck air noisily through my nose but can’t seem to take a deep breath. My yogic breathing doesn’t work this time, and terror threatens to overtake me. Gabriel’s warm hand cups my chin, forcing me to focus only on him. “It’s okay, Alexia. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

And I desperately want to believe him.

He moves to the inside of the sidewalk, becoming a buffer between me and the dark memories of that particular street. His head leans close to mine, his breath tickling my neck as he whispers into my ear, “You’re strong. You’re brave. You can do this.” Over and over, like a litany.

Before I can give in to my panic, we’ve moved beyond the corner. But it’s still awful because I’m leaning on Gabriel, in the literal and figurative senses. The feeling of security’s so huge, such a relief, that I can’t trust it. I can’t depend on him.

“I’m fine,” I lie, pasting a bright smile on my face and stepping away from his warmth. The minute our contact breaks, I feel cold and strangely bereft. “Let’s go.”

Gabriel keeps pace as I charge my way toward school. At the crosswalk, I reach for my bag, which Gabriel surrenders with a barely noticeable amount of reluctance. It’s better if we part company before anyone notices us. After all, my goal is to be invisible, and Gabriel’s about as visible as they come. With his celebrity looks, he couldn’t be inconspicuous if he tried. Something akin to physical pain settles heavily in my chest, as I mentally dismiss him.
Crap!

“Thanks, Gabriel. I’ll be fine from here.” With a drop of his hand he nods.

The light changes and I hurry across the street in the middle of a yellow mob of kids, determined not to glance back over my shoulder. My heart twists, as if it misses him already—totally ridiculous since I just met the guy. Walking straight to Algebra, I keep my head down carefully skirting around any dark ones in my way. In the classroom, I sit in the same front seat as the day before. About as far away from Jonah Wilkes as I can get.

A second later Gabriel slips quietly into the second row, one seat from the end. As he adjusts his desk, I realize he’s directly between me and Jonah. He grins, despite my scowl, and the effect he has on me is more powerful than ever. My stomach somersaults while I grip my desk so hard my knuckles whiten. The whole class is focused on him—for he’s too beautiful to be overlooked—chattering excitedly. Out of the side of my mouth I hiss, “What do you think you’re doing?”

He answers me the same way. “Math.”

Girls are twittering about him, using words like
hot
and
doable
. As the teacher calls the class to order, I glance over my shoulder and whisper, “You have
this
class?”

He leans forward causing his sandy-blonde hair to flop over one eye. “I do now,” he whispers back with a conspiratorial wink. Everyone’s staring at him—and me.

Mr. Ramirez clears his throat and I’m out of time to suggest to Gabriel that he sit somewhere else. My face is burning as I sink down in my seat. For the next hour I pay rapt attention to the teacher, but it might as well be Greek. I don’t comprehend a word.

I do learn Gabriel’s last name is
Kustosz
.

When the bell rings I’m one of the first ones out of my seat, but before I can escape, Gabriel’s at my elbow following me down the hall. Although I'm ignoring him, we’re too close not to be together. I’m hyper aware of his heat, his halo, his amazing woodsy smell. All around us, I hear bits of conversations—kids talking about us—about me. Feeling their scrutiny, I don’t dare look at anything other than my shoes as the humiliation burns in my cheeks. Inspiration flashes and I halt, suddenly.

Pausing to let Gabriel get ahead of me doesn’t work. He stops too, his familiar hand coming to rest against the small of my back. I stare straight ahead, keeping my voice discreet. “What’re you doing?”

His voice is also low—low and amused. “Going to
our
next class, Alexia.”

Unable to help myself, I turn and glower at him. My response is out of control and louder than I want it to be. “There’s no ‘our’, Gabriel. There’s ‘yours’ and ‘mine’. No ‘us’!” Everyone within earshot is curiously watching, ravenous for gossip

He’s tranquil in the face of my anger, his smiling eyes radiate patience. Looking down at me, he tucks an errant strand of hair behind my ear. His fingertips softly graze my cheek causing me to shiver. Instantly, I feel as fearsome as a fuzzy kitten.

“Maybe there should be.” He stuns me with his easy smile.

Without a word, I make a beeline for French.

In class, Madame Mimi showers an inappropriate amount of attention on Gabriel. She flirts outrageously, giggling and flipping her hair, but I seem to be the only one who notices. I decide to call her Madame Putain. It fits.

On the way to third period, I pretend he doesn’t exist. Only I can feel the searing heat of his hand against my back. When we enter class, he keeps himself between me and Jonah all the way to our seats.
Coincidence?
I wonder as he sits behind me again, one seat over. Although Jonah’s halo is the deep slate of a stormy ocean, with Gabriel between us, he barely affects me.

Gabriel, on the other hand, I am keenly aware of…every movement, every shift, every breath. For the next hour, I try to concentrate on biology, but all I can think about is chemistry.

After science, I try another tactic and hide in the girls’ bathroom until the bell rings. The space has a cold, institutional feel I find comforting. From inside my stall I stare at the cracked blue floor tiles and read the graffiti that covers the walls. I learn
Naomi is a slut
. At least in someone’s opinion.

I’ve spent a lot of time hiding in bathrooms.

Not caring if I’m late, I actually consider ditching Government altogether until the Fosters’ concerned faces fill my head.
Crap!
When I finally emerge into the empty hall, Gabriel’s lounging against the wall, unconcerned. He grins at my unconcealed annoyance, pointing out smugly, “
You’re
late for Government.”

His smile
, I want to slap it off his face…
or kiss it away
.

Crap! Crap! Crap!

My words—short and clipped to cover my traitorous thoughts—sound angrier than I feel. “If you care so much about punctuality, you should’ve left me.”

That gets the smile off his face. He grips my shoulders firmly but without hurting me. It actually feels sort of nice. “I’m not going to leave you,” he insists.

It feels as if he’s talking about something other than class, something I don’t understand but sense is bigger than I can handle. I grumble, “Even if I ask you nicely?”

As my words sink in, he blinks several times. “Would you do that?”

“What?” My sullen response causes his eyes to widen.

“Ask me to leave you?” There’s surprise with an undercurrent of something I can’t quite identify in his voice. It almost feels like panic, but since we’re practically strangers the emotion makes no sense.

Ducking my head, I avoid the answer with a question of my own. “Even if I did, would you really go?” A red thread-like fiber curls on the ground near my feet. I stare at it while waiting for him to answer, afraid of what he’ll say.

Soft as a feather, his fingers trace my jaw line. Gently, he lifts my head until we’re staring into each other’s eyes. His narrow with the seriousness of our topic. “If you really wanted me to leave, I would.”

I believe him.

The air between us is heavy with his unspoken plea. It hits me that he doesn’t want to be sent away, and I don’t really want him to go—at least not for today. The stark vulnerability of need twists in my stomach. I feel weak and scared, because I don’t
want
to need him.
I don’t want to need anybody.