The Guardian

by Katie Klein

  No one will believe him. I don’t believe him.

  I mumble, half under my breath, something about having special talents. I’m not sure what I say, exactly, or if they even hear me. I hurry back to the kitchen, heart pumping too fast, ready to pound through my skin.

  I did. I knew it was going to fall. I saw it falling in my mind. It was like, déjà vu only crazier because this wasn’t in my mind. It was something that actually happened. It wasn’t déjà vu because I’ve never done this before. Not Ever.

  Stu appears in the kitchen window, an impish smile on his face. “Order up!”

  I stare back at him, confused.

  What just happened here?

  ELEVEN

  Splayed across my bed, I have every intention of making up another one of the algebra sets I missed while I was in the hospital. Instead, my mind keeps slipping back to the night before. Specifically, I think about Seth. His eyes, his hands, his lips. The way we moved together. . . .

  After a few minutes I set my mechanical pencil down and shove my notebook to the side, hoping it will disappear. Hoping that algebra will disappear. That I’ll disappear. That Seth will appear and take me back with him—wherever it is he goes when he disappears. I lay my head down on my blanket and close my eyes.

  Tiny stars twinkle. There’s a burst of light. In a flash, my mind goes completely dark, and then there’s Mom, standing at the front door, laughing at something someone next to her is saying. The image is set in tones of gray: blurry, and hazy around the edges, but it’s her, and she isn’t alone. She’s holding something, reaching out to unlock the door.

  My eyes fly open.

  They dart around my room: the open closet, the photographs on the wall, my stolen from the dumpster dresser. I listen for any unusual sounds. Everything is quiet.

  I must’ve fallen asleep. It was a dream.

  I roll out of bed and walk into the living room. The house is dark. I shiver, turn on the lamp, and check the clock. It’s past midnight. Mom still isn’t home. I move into the kitchen and listen as the fluorescent light buzzes, humming to life.

  Outside, the screen door creaks. I spin around, the hair on my arms rising. A key inserts into the lock. It jiggles for a moment before Mom finally pushes the front door open. She walks inside, laughing. She’s not alone. I straighten.

  “Hi, Hon. We brought pizza,” she announces.

  “We,” I breathe.

  “Oh. I forgot you two haven’t met, yet. This is Mike.”

  Mike?

  The truth is that every move we’ve made was precipitated by one of two things: running out of money and not being able to pay our landlord of the month, or a break-up. I have a terrible, sinking feeling about this. It settles in the pit of my stomach and roots there.

  “Hey, Genesis. I’ve heard a lot about you. How’s the arm?”

  “Fine,” I mutter, folding it protectively across my chest.

  “It’s much better,” Mom says, heading into the kitchen. As if she even knows. Like her wrist snapped in half instead of mine. “The first of the hospital bills came in last week,” she goes on. “Thankfully the family attorney said I could mail them directly to him. The numbers made my head spin. Mike is a banker!” She calls out this last part. As if I care. As if it matters. And then: “Can you make us some drinks?”

  “Sure,” I reply, standing. “You can, um, have a seat, I guess,” I tell Mike.

  He thanks me and moves to the couch. I can feel his eyes watching me as I move away, his laser stare boring holes into my back.

  In the kitchen: “Isn’t he adorable?” Mom asks, keeping her voice low. I glance back at Mike, who has already spotted the remote and is flipping through the stations in typical male fashion. I take in his jeans and blue dress shirt, unbuttoned at the top. He isn’t entirely desperate-looking. He wears some fairly stylish glasses, even. It might’ve made him look younger had his hairline not already receded. And the dark color? Totally from a bottle. The slight paunchiness is just a bonus.

  “Yeah,” I reply, grabbing three cups from the cupboard. “He’s great.”

  * * *

  I jerk awake. Sit up. Panting.

  Clear moonlight streams through the window.

  “What’s wrong?” a low voice whispers.

  I recoil at the sound, clenched with fear.

  “Shh. It’s just me.” Seth sits down on the bed beside me, face hidden in the shadows. “What happened?” he presses.

  “I don’t know,” I whisper, wrestling with my thoughts, trying to remember. “I was having a dream. A nightmare.”

  “About what?”

  I sift through a thousand memories, concentrating, but come up empty. “I don’t know. What are you doing here?” I pull my comforter tighter.

  “I thought you might. . . . I don’t know. You were scared.”

  “I was. I mean, I am scared. These really, really weird things happened today.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like . . . I don’t know, I saw things,” I say, keeping my voice just above a whisper. “And they happened.”

  “What kinds of things?”

  “Tonight? At the diner? I saw this drink, tipping over in my head, and I turned around and snatched it before it fell. And I had a dream about my mom coming home with someone and she did. I know. It doesn’t sound like anything, really. But Seth, I had no reason to think these things, but I did. Before they happened.”

  “Maybe it’s a coincidence.”

  “You think I sound stupid,” I say, working to keep my voice even.

  “You don’t sound stupid.”

  “Is this even possible, though? That I’m seeing things happen before they happen?”

  “It’s possible, I guess. Some people have a ‘sixth sense’ about things. They’re what we call clairvoyant. They see things, hear things, have strong feelings. Do you remember the night nurse? In the hospital?”

  I nod.

  “She talked to me. She never looked at me, but she could feel me. She knew I was there. A lot of major historical events were predicted in advance.”

  “This has never happened to me before. And it happened twice. In one night.”

  He eyes me thoughtfully. “You don’t know it will happen again, though.”

  “You don’t know it won’t,” I point out, stubborn.

  He tears his eyes from mine, sighing in defeat. “You should get some rest.”

  “Will you stay?”

  “I’d like to, but. . . .” He trails off, unable to finish, forehead crinkling with concern. “I have to go now,” he whispers.

  Before I can even tell him goodnight, he’s gone.

  TWELVE

  “So I was thinking about prom,” Carter announces as soon as we pull out of the parking lot. He’s driving me to work again. On an afternoon like this, I would usually take my bike. My wrist brace, though, makes it impossible to steer, and the last thing I need is irreparable damage to an already non-functioning extremity. For a few more weeks, at least, I’m relying on Mom or Carter to drop me off and pick me up.

  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 plans 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 groceries. 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 explain 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 lengthens 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, but 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 back 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 snatch 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 my 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 at 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 living 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 case, 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. “Why 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.

  “Everyone 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 know 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 get 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 t
akes a moment before I can make out Seth’s features again. We lie there in silence.

  “I think I broke up with 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 flutter, lips touching my closed eyes, dancing me off to sleep.

  THIRTEEN

  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 been 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 middle fingers, trying to wake them up. “I guess you don’t sleep, either.”