The Guardian (11 page)

I tense. “Carter . . .”

“I know,” he interrupts. “We’re still taking it slow. But we only have a month. I thought that maybe we should get our pla
ns straight.”

“Carter.”

“Don’t worry about a dress,” he goes on. “We’ll go shopping.”

We went shopping for the winter dance. Carter put everything—dress, shoes, new eyeliner and mascara—on his mom’s credit card like it was no big deal. And to him, it wasn
’t. I couldn’t bear to tell him that, a few weeks later, we sold the dress to a re-sale shop. The manager—his oily, salt and pepper hair pulled back into a tight ponytail—gave me thirty-five bucks for it, which Mom happily accepted because we needed grocer
ies. Meanwhile I went home and cried because I’d given away the most beautiful thing I ever owned.

I sigh. “Carter,” I repeat, shaking my head. “I’m not sure.” I pause for a moment. “About prom, I mean.”

His hands tighten around the steering wheel. “What’
s not to be sure about?” he asks. “Of course we can go together. We always have a great time. We had fun at the library gala. You had fun. We have fun together.” The words are choppy.
Quick.

“I know we do,” I agree. “But this is just. . . .” How do I expla
in that there’s someone—something else? “It’s complicated, Carter. I’m not sure if I even
want
to go to prom.” I gaze out the window, taking in the spring traffic and the storefronts, the businesses which have officially re-opened for customers in the last
several weeks, energizing the entire town.

“Then why are we even doing this?” he asks, his voice rising. “All I’ve done the past two months is
cater
to you, Genesis. After the accident . . . I did everything you asked.”

I bite my lower lip. The silence le
ngthens between us.

He slants a look sideways. “So this is how
it’s
gonna
be now?” He doesn’t wait for a response. “I was an asshole that night. You didn’t deserve any of that. You didn’t deserve being in the hospital because of me. It’s
all my
fault, and
I’m sorry. I’m the bad guy.” He inhales, and lets the air escape completely from his lungs before continuing. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what you want from me. I’m doing the best I can.” His voice cracks, wavering.

“You’re not the bad guy.”

“So what’s the
problem?”

For this, I don’t have an answer.

“Shit. Do you even know what you’ve done to me? I
love
you, Genesis!”

“
Why
, Carter? You can have any girl you want.”

“I don’t want anyone else. I want you. I picked you. I love
you
.”

He wants me to say it back, b
ut I can’t. “I can’t give you that right now.”

“I said you could have as long as you need,” he reminds me.

“I know!” I cry. “And I don’t deserve it, Carter. I don’t. I don’t deserve you. But you can’t keep wasting your time, thinking I’ll eventually come b
ack around.
Because right now I don’t know if I can.
Ever.”

“Is this about the accident? I mean, do you not trust me anymore? Is it my parents? I want to know. I want to fix it.”

“It’s not about any of that,” I confess. “It’s me. And I’m not . . . fixable,
” I add quietly. I pause for a moment, trying to gather my muddled, screwed-up thoughts. “Things are just . . . they’re different now.”

Carter slows as the Ernie’s sign comes into view. He pulls into an empty space, and I gather my things.

“It doesn’t have
to be all or nothing, you know,” he says as I reach for the door handle.

I offer a half smile. “I know. I just . . . I have some things that I really need to work out on my own.”

Mom is on the phone when I walk inside. I head over to the counter and sna
tch my apron from the cabinet, tying it in the back.

“How’s my favorite waitress?” Stu asks, flipping over a pair of chicken strips with his spatula.

I blow an angry sigh, swiping the hair off my face.

His hazel eyes meet mine, friendly, caring.
“
That good, huh?”

“Long day,” I mutter, rubbing my temples in a circular pattern.

“I know all about those. I’m a long day expert. And. . . .” He tosses the chicken strips onto a plate, adds some fries and a garnish and calls: “Order up!”

“And I happen to
know exactly how to medicate long days.” He cleans off the grill and goes to work.

Five minutes later he slides a plate of pancakes, eggs, and bacon in front of me. I reach for the jar of maple syrup. Stu, pleased that he’s discovered what appears to be m
y food weakness, waits for me to take the first bite.

I cut my pancakes into triangles and douse the pieces in the thick, sticky sugar. And when I bring the first bite to my mouth . . . a smile lifts the corners.

*
             
*
             
*

“
Psst
.”

Seth’s reflection smiles a
t me in the mirror, eyes teasing.

I force a scowl. “You know, for someone who’s only supposed to come around to calm my nerves, you certainly do your share of rattling them. Can’t you like, call before you show up or something? Send me some kind of sign?”

Seth walks over to my bedroom door and quietly closes it. “What fun would that be?”

With every breath my heart drifts closer to its normal pace, closer to my forgiving him for these unexpected intrusions.

“So what brings you here?” I finally ask as I work
to straighten the makeup scattered across the top of the dresser. “I mean, I assume we’re past the whole ‘only showing up when I’m in imminent danger’ thing.”

He collapses on my bed. “I can go if you want.”

“No. It’s fine,” I say, quickly. “I’m curious is
all.
”

“I was actually wondering what’s up with that new beau of your Mom’s.”

“Who?
Mike?”

“Yeah.”

“I have no idea,” I mutter, keeping my voice low. “He’s just some guy who comes into the diner.” I glance toward the door. He’s here now. They’re in the li
ving room watching a movie. “What can you tell me about him?”

Seth smirks. “I’m a Guardian, not God.”

“Don’t you have, like, insider information or something?” I ask him. “You have to know more than I do.”

“We’re protectors. We aren’t omniscient. In this c
ase, everything I know I got from you.
Namely that you don’t like him very much.”

“Mom just . . . I don’t know . . . has this history with guys, I guess. Things always seem to end badly.” A silence settles between us, but I will not go on or elaborate. “Wh
y am I even telling you this?” I ask. “Shouldn’t you know it already?”

“I told you. I’m not omniscient. And I haven’t been guarding you all that long.”

“Oh.” I finish stacking and organizing my makeup and walk over to my bed. “I just assumed you’
ve always been around.”

“It doesn’t work that way,” he informs me. “Generally, Guardians don’t move very much. In fact, every time you and your mom relocated, you were assigned new ones.”

“My mom has a Guardian?” I sit down on the edge of the bed.

“Everyon
e has a Guardian,” he replies.
“Unless you’re a reprobate.”

“Reprobate?”

“Not savable. Well, you still might have a Guardian, but he or she spends more time protecting others
from
you than protecting you.”

I lie down on the bed across from him, stretching
until I’m comfortable. I tuck my arm beneath my pillow and stare into his transcendent brown eyes. “So . . . where have you been?” I ask quietly.

“Watching,” he replies.

“I know that, but where do you go? When you disappear, I mean.”

He shrugs. “It’s hard
to explain.”

“Try me.”

He clears his throat. “We, um, live on a different plane.
In sort of a different dimension.
We’re here, on Earth, but it’s not the Earth that you know. We can see what’s going on, but unless we materialize, we can only see in shadows
, mostly.”

“So when you’re hiding in my room, you can’t really see me or what I’m doing.”

“I can see what you’re doing, but you’re like a silhouette. You’re dark.
Shadowed.
I can’t always make out your face, and I can’t always hear what you say. I only kno
w what you’re feeling.”

“How did you become a Guardian?” I ask.

“I’m not sure. I guess I’ve always been one. It’s all I remember knowing, anyway.”

Outside, there’s a tapping. I turn toward the window, where a monster of a moth flaps manically, trying to g
et to the light. He hits the glass with a dull thud—again and again and again—leaving a powdery film behind each time he makes contact. I spin out of bed and move to the light switch. With a flip the room plunges into darkness. I wait for my eyes to adjust
. The streetlamp shines brightly through my window, lighting the floor and reflecting in the mirror. The moth flies away. I climb back into bed.

It takes a moment before I can make out Seth’s features again. We lie there in silence.

“I think I broke up wi
th Carter,” I finally tell him.

“I know.”

“I thought you said . . .”

“I said that I can’t
always
see you or make out what you’re saying,” he interrupts. “That implies that sometimes I can.”

“So you heard.”

“I was there,” he affirms.

“Good to know.”

“It was
a smart decision. You’re too good for him.”

I roll my eyes. “You keep saying that. Is there something you know that I don’t?” I ask.

“You,” he replies, matter of fact.

I feel a smile pulling at my lips, even as the weariness of sleep washes over my body.

“Strange. I’m so tired,” I say, yawning. I never tire this early, and even exhausted I usually struggle to fall asleep.

“So sleep,” he whispers, running his fingers gently through my hair.

“I’d rather stay here with you.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“
But the last time you were here you said . . .”

“I know, but you couldn’t
make
me leave you right now.”

“Why?”

I yawn again, eyes closing, beginning to drift as I wait for him to say something else.
To answer.
He never does, and I just do feel a warm flut
ter, lips touching my closed eyes, dancing me off to sleep.

T
HIRTEEN

When I awake the following morning, Seth is still beside me. I squint at the light streaming through the blinds and move my hand to shield my eyes from the glare.

“Have you bee
n here the whole night?” I
ask,
voice raspy and full of sleep.

I just can make out the corners of his mouth, turning up in a smile.
“Yeah.”

“Staring at me like that?”

“Possibly.”

I groan. “That’s kind of creepy.” I rub the corners of my eyes with my midd
le fingers, trying to wake them up. “I guess you don’t sleep, either.”

“Not much of a need.”

“That’s great. You spent. . . .” I reach for my alarm clock. “Nine hours watching me sleep?” I let out another low grumble, and pull myself upright. I’m still wea
ring my street clothes. They’re warm and sticky and not at all comfortable. Gross.

“Actually,” he begins, “you sleep peacefully. It’s nice.”  

I run my fingers through my hair, untangling it. “I can think
of
a million things I’d rather do than watch me s
leep,” I mutter.

“Like what?”

I yawn, covering my mouth. The sun is already warming the room. “Go to the beach?”

“What?”

“We could go to the beach,” I clarify. “That’s what I’d rather do.”

“Together?”

“Yeah, together.
I mean, you’
re pretty much stuck with me all the time, right? So . . . how about instead of lurking in the shadows, you spend some real time with me.”