Guardian (The Guardian Series Book 1)

by A. J. Messenger

  I hear a little voice behind me as I kick off my shoes and set them by the door. “Declan!” Charlie runs into the foyer and hugs my legs.

  I kneel down to his level so I can hug him back more easily. “Charlie! I’m so happy to see you, big guy.”

  “I hurt my toe today,” he declares with a frown.

  “Oh, no. Which toe?”

  “The one that had roast beef.” He points to his middle toe.

  I laugh. His toe looks unharmed. “You’re in luck because the roast beef toe heals the fastest.” I kiss the tip of my index finger and touch it to his toe and he smiles wide.

  “Come see my new castle!” He takes my hand and leads me to his room where we’re immersed in fiery battles with knights and dragons until the prince finally saves the princess (although it turns out she was pretty tough and didn’t really need saving) and it’s time to get ready for bed. Three bedtime stories later he’s fully asleep. I lean over and kiss the top of his head and step quietly out of his room, leaving the door open a crack. I walk down to the other end of the hallway and knock softly on Molly’s door. She hasn’t emerged from her room all evening and I want to make sure she knows I’m leaving.

  “Molly?” I call out.

  There’s no answer.

  “Um, Molly?” I repeat, louder this time, as I knock again.

  I hear some shuffling and steps coming closer. The door whips open, startling me.

  “What?” Molly barks.

  “I just wanted you to know I’m leaving.”

  The expression on her face tells me she has no idea why I’m bothering her with this information.

  “In case Charlie wakes up.”

  She stares at me blankly.

  “So you know that there’s no one else here to help him if he needs something,” I explain as I hold her gaze. I feel a nervous-y panic creep up the back of my throat but I gulp it down. This is for Charlie.

  “Got it,” she says and shuts the door firmly in my face. I release the breath I was holding in as I stare at the wood grain of her door only inches from my nose. I swear if I didn’t love Charlie so much I would never come back here again.

  I head back down the hall and peek in on Charlie once more to ensure he’s still asleep. Then I tiptoe down the stairs and quietly escape.

  The next two days, I busy myself getting organized with my classes and working at Jack’s after school. I push Alexander out of my mind. Every girl in school is pursuing him, including Malibu Barbie, and it’s lunacy to imagine a universe where Declan Jane ends up with Mr. Australia anyway. First of all, he towers over me. Being small (“petite,” as my mom insists) doesn’t bother me most of the time, but I have to admit that every once in a while I’ll catch my reflection in a window when I’m walking next to someone tall and stately like Molly Bing and I’ll be startled—absolutely gobsmacked, I swear—because I barely reach her shoulders. It’s like I forget that I’m short. In those moments I feel as if I’m seeing myself as others must see me and it’s jarring. There’s nothing wrong with being short, mind you, but let’s be honest, it’s not exactly a coveted feature by the world at large. Just look at the way the word “short” is used in everyday language: “I got shortchanged;” “He was short with me;” “She got the short end of the stick.” All negative. Even so, I’d have to say height is close to the bottom of my list of defects and insecurities. Nearer to the top would be too bookworm-y, too pale, I talk way too much when I’m nervous, and I can’t carry a tune even if you hand it to me in a sealed Ziploc bag. Finn literally used to beg me not to sing during circle time when we were kids. And let’s not forget the giant elephant at the top of the list: I’m a freak who has panic attacks all the time.

  Despite all my shortcomings (there’s that word “short” again), somehow I’ve had my share of guys come knocking through the years, telling me I’m cute (the bane of most short girls, but I don’t mind it), or funny, or even pretty. But none of them know the real me underneath—the girl who’s frantically throwing water on her face in the bathroom and sobbing to her therapist because nothing ever works.

  I’ve never been interested enough in anyone to want to risk revealing the true me. Until now …. Why can’t I stop thinking about Alexander?

  Ms. Tamen is marching up and down the aisles collecting papers. It’s Friday and calculus homework is due. She pauses beside a desk a few rows behind mine and makes a loud announcement. “Class, Mr. Crandall did not see fit to do his homework.” Pencils cease, mid-scratch, as everyone braces for what’s surely coming next. I pivot slowly in my chair to see David Crandall, a quiet boy I’ve known since kindergarten, looking worried.

  He should be.

  Finn, Liz, and I call Ms. Tamen “the Trunchbull,” after the viciously cruel headmistress in Matilda by Roald Dahl.

  “Perhaps that’s why he scored only 48% on our quiz today,” Ms. Tamen adds. Shaming is her trademark. She wields it like a weapon to supposedly motivate students, but David just looks humiliated.

  She folds her arms and rests them on her thick belly as she continues the onslaught. “Mr. Crandall, I would like you to tell the class you’re sorry. When you don’t master the concepts, you can’t contribute. And when you can’t contribute, you’re not pulling your weight. Please explain to your classmates what was more important than doing your homework last night. Then you can apologize: To me first, and then to the class.”

  David shifts uncomfortably in his seat. His face is telegraphing panic mixed with stinging embarrassment as his eyes slowly trail over our faces, searching for the least damning thing to say. As the seconds tick by and we wait for him to speak, the only sound is the low, steady buzz of the fluorescent lights above our heads. My heart pounds sympathetically in my chest.

  “Well?” demands Ms. Tamen.

  The electric hum of the lights grows excruciatingly loud.

  “It’s my fault!” I say finally. The words spill out before I even realize my mouth has opened.

  The whole class turns as one and gapes at me. David’s face flashes astonishment followed by intense relief. Ms. Tamen’s eyes bore into mine and panic rises in my throat as I continue speaking.

  “I’m sorry,” I stammer. “I um, I borrowed David’s book yesterday … because I couldn’t find mine. He said he would lend it to me and then I forgot to return it … so he couldn’t do his homework last night.” As I’m speaking I notice David’s book, open on his desk. “I, uh … I only gave it back right before class this morning. So it’s my fault.” My eyes meet David’s. “Sorry, David.”

  David nods slowly, an expression of utter bewilderment on his face.

  “Your book is on your desk, Miss Jane,” Ms. Tamen replies, her words dripping acid.

  “Yes … um, no. I mean yes. I did lose it, but then I found it … this morning … in my locker.” I try desperately to maintain my breathing. What I really want is to lie down flat on the floor in corpse pose.

  “That’s fortunate. Because you’ll need it to complete the problems on pages twenty to thirty-nine. Due Monday.” She turns to the class abruptly. “Let this be a lesson to all of you to keep track of your belongings. Miss Jane is going to be a very busy girl this weekend. And Mr. Crandall, consider this your one and only ‘get out of jail free’ card. Have your homework on my desk first thing Monday morning. No errors.”

  The bell rings and I feel all eyes on me as we gather our books and pile out. As I walk through the door I spot David across the hall, waiting for me.

  “Wow, Declan,” he says. “I don’t know what to say. I have no idea what came over you, but thanks. A lot. I was dying in there and you saved me.”

  “I can’t stand it when the Trunchbull does that to people,” I say.

  “The trunch who?”

  “It’s just a nickname—a character from a book.”

  “Oh. Well, hey, I feel bad that you got assigned all that extra work because of me. Do you want help? The only thing is, I may make it worse for you. My parents made me
take this class and I think I’m in way over my head.” He looks down, embarrassed.

  “That’s okay, David. Don’t sweat it.”

  “Seriously?” His shoulders go slack with relief. “Thanks again, Declan. I owe you. Big time.” He smiles and touches my arm before he runs off to his next class.

  “Why did you do that?”

  The voice comes from behind me and I turn around, startled, to see Alexander.

  “Do what?” I ask.

  “Why did you say you borrowed David’s book?”

  “How do you know I didn’t borrow David’s book?”

  He smiles. “Let’s just say that acting may not be your strong suit.” The glint in his eyes makes me smile back.

  “I beg to differ. I was in the school play three years in a row in elementary school.”

  “Interesting … what parts did you play?”

  “Um, lemme think … a tree … the dog in Annie … and ‘jungle animal number four.’”

  He pretends to look impressed and I laugh. “I stand corrected,” he says. “You clearly have a great deal of acting experience under your belt.” His eyes crinkle irresistibly as he smiles and I feel my legs turn into flimsy foam pool noodles beneath me.

  “But that still doesn’t answer my question,” he continues. “Why did you do it? Is David your boyfriend?”

  “What?! No,” I say, startled out of my wobbliness. “He’s just a friend. Sort of. I’ve known him since kindergarten. He used to throw tanbark at me during recess. He lives on the next street over from mine. But he doesn’t anymore. Throw bark, I mean. He still lives near me.” Oh God, I’m rambling.

  “So you did it because he stopped throwing bark at you?”

  I laugh. “No … I guess that’s just a bonus.”

  Alexander smiles but doesn’t say anything. I can tell he’s waiting for my real answer.

  “I don’t know why I did it,” I say. “I guess because I couldn’t stand to see the Trunchbull shame him like that. She’s a bully. And I hate it when people with power use it for intimidation.”

  He stares at me for a long moment with an expression I can’t pin down. His eyes slowly trace a path around my face before focusing on my eyes again. When he speaks, it’s as if to himself. “The Trunchbull? That must make you Matilda.”

  As he holds my gaze I seize the opportunity to study him up close. His eyes are soulful, intelligent pools that I could lose myself in for a day. All of his features come together in classic harmony but I notice a slight imperfection—a jagged scar on his temple, near his left eye. Instead of marring his good looks, however, it only serves to make him more gorgeously human.

  As we stand, silent, I feel the same soothing calm rippling over me that I sensed the first day in homeroom, only now it’s combined with an undercurrent of electric intensity. Alexander’s eyes hold mine but he doesn’t speak a word. How can he make me feel so serene yet flustered at the same time? His expression is bewildering—a mixture of surprise, confusion, and something else that’s turning my legs into pool noodles again. I don’t know what to say or do so I mumble that I’d better get to class and I turn to walk away while my legs are still semi-operational. Immediately, I realize my mistake. Alexander’s morning schedule is identical to mine and he’s surely following directly behind me to our next class. I silently curse the wedge sandals I’m wearing to make me look taller. My right ankle wobbles slightly and I tip to the side before steadying myself as I walk self-consciously. Please oh please let me make it to Chemistry without falling on my face.

  Chapter Three

  “I heard what happened in the Trunchbull’s class this morning. Brutal. I hope David Crandall knows how lucky he is that you have a ginormous heart and a complete disregard for your own self-interest.” Liz is driving us to Jack’s for our afternoon shift.

  “It was awful. You would have done the same.”

  “I doubt that very seriously. But I’m glad I had a dentist appointment. How did that woman ever become a teacher anyway? I mean, c’mon, she must have considered career choices at some point. I wonder what was next on her list?”

  “Prison warden?” I suggest, and we both laugh.

  “Dominatrix?” says Liz. We laugh even harder.

  “Why the hell anyone ever let her become a teacher, I’ll never understand,” Liz mutters as we pull into the parking lot.

  We’re both scheduled until closing but it slows after eight, so Jack asks if one of us wants to go home early. Liz jumps at the chance because she has a forensics competition to prepare for. She and Finn have won practically every debate award that exists in California. Last year their team even went to the nationals. I’ve attended a few events and it’s actually fun to watch them skewer the competition with their well-constructed arguments and rebuttals.

  “Oh wait, I was supposed to drive us home,” Liz says as she’s gathering her things, “I’ll come back for you after closing.”

  “Nah. Don’t worry about it. I’ll call my mom.”

  “You sure?”

  I nod. “Yes. Now go study. What are you guys arguing this time?”

  “The United States government should substantially increase its exploration and/or development of space beyond the Earth’s mesosphere,” she says as she grabs her purse and heads out the door.

  “Good luck with that!” I call out after her.

  At nine thirty, Jack locks the doors and we start closing procedures. He plugs his iPod into the speaker dock and starts blasting some of his favorite ‘80s tunes—which I have to admit have now become some of my favorites, too—as we clean. Tonight’s playlist is a bunch of one-hit-wonders. He sings “Ah! Leah!” by Donnie Iris dramatically into the pull-out faucet as he washes dishes and I sing backup as I dance in and out of the walk-in refrigerator, putting bins away. As I reach for the last tub of cheese slices from the prep area I see Jack’s phone vibrating across the counter so I turn down the music and hand it to him. It’s Jack’s husband, Al, calling to say their dog threw up again all over the living room floor. I tell Jack to go on ahead and I’ll finish the final mop and lock-up.

  “You sure?” he asks. When I insist he says, “Let me check that night security is here.” He goes outside and comes back a few minutes later. “Okay, Declan, security’s here. It’s Antonio tonight. I told him you’re still inside. Is your mom picking you up?”

  “Yep, I just need to call her. I’ll be fine. I know you’re worried about Coco. You should go home and make sure she doesn’t need to go to the vet.”

  “Okay, thanks. You’re really sure?”

  I nod.

  “All right. I’ll leave my iPod so you can keep listening if you want. Al made the playlist. “867-5309” is up next I think. You don’t want to miss out on Tommy Tutone.”

  “Thanks,” I laugh. “Now go.” He walks out the back door and I lock it behind him.

  The ‘80s hits aren’t the same without Jack’s theatrics so I plug my phone into the speaker dock instead and sing along to the songs in my latest playlist. One upside of being alone is that I can belt them out as loud as I want—basically murdering each melody—and no one’s around to complain. When I’m nearly finished mopping, I hear the chime of a text arriving. It’s my mom, reminding me that she’s at a realtor awards dinner downtown and won’t be home until late. Shoot. I forgot about that. I shift to plan B and decide to take the San Mar Metro home. There’s a bus stop across from Jack’s and the next bus arrives in about twenty minutes.

  Antonio waves to me as I emerge through the back door. He’s doing his perimeter walk around the large parking lot that serves not only Jack’s but also the Greek gyro place next to us and the falafel bar on the other side. A familiar figure is sitting on a bench in the eating area outside. “Hi, Jimmy,” I say as I hand him a bag of food. This is our routine. Antonio knows Jimmy, too, and he always lets him wait here.

  “Thanks, Declan,” Jimmy says as he accepts the bag and peeks inside. “How you doin’ tonight?”

&n
bsp; “Pretty good, I guess. There are two cheeseburgers in there—the customer wanted no sauce so we had to make new ones—and a bunch of fries, too, from our last batch.”

  Jimmy nods in approval.

  “You headed to the shelter later?” I always ask and he always gives the same answer: “Maybe. Maybe I will.” Jimmy has his ways and he makes up his own mind about things.

  “Well here’s bus fare in case you want to catch a ride downtown.” I hand him a few dollar bills from my share of the tip jar. I know he won’t accept more than that.

  “You’re always good to me. Thanks, Declan,” he says as he meets my eyes.

  I smile back. I like Jimmy. He has his problems, but I sense his innate goodness. He’s kind and gentle at his core. They say everybody has a story to tell and I’ve always felt in my heart that Jimmy has a particularly sad one.

  With a mild climate and a welcoming city council, San Mar has a large homeless population. I volunteer at the shelter and I’ve read all the debate in the local paper and what I’ve come to understand is that the reasons for homelessness vary so widely that no “one” solution can solve it all. Some people try to paint the issue with a broad brush, but the only connective tissue, as I see it, is that every human being deserves to be recognized as an individual, not lumped into a category.

  I say goodbye to Jimmy and exchange chitchat with Antonio before I walk across the street to the bus stop. After a few minutes, a couple in their twenties walks up. They’ve obviously been drinking and the woman is clearly seething as she sits down hard on the bench and folds her arms, turning away from the man. Each time he starts to speak, she whips back around and shouts over him, “You were kissing her, Daniel! Don’t insult me by lying about it!”

  Finally “Daniel” manages to get a word in, but he’s not helping his case. “Aw, Cara. I don’t know what you think you saw but that’s not how it was. Look at you. How many drinks have you had?” His tone is condescending and he plants his palm unsteadily on the plexiglass wall of the bus stand in an attempt to stay upright.