Never (The Ever Series Book 2)

by C. J. Valles

  At the main road, I start walking in the direction of the coffee shop where I met Alex for the first time. I won’t make it that far today, but getting away from Jessica for a half hour sounds good. I’ve been walking nearly ten minutes when the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I shiver and look around. Suddenly I freeze when I notice a silver sedan with darkly tinted windows creeping along right next to me.

  The passenger-side window starts to come down, and the driver—a balding, overweight man in his mid-thirties or early forties leans toward the window and gestures for me to come closer. I feel a shock of fear, but before I can even think of what to do, a motorcycle roars up alongside the sedan. The bike stops, and the rider flips up his visor. As the guy on the motorcycle reaches over and taps the sedan’s driver’s side window, I stare in awe at the strangeness of the situation. Suddenly the car’s engine revs, and the vehicle takes off, disappearing around the curve in the road. Which leaves me staring at the rider of the motorcycle.

  His preternaturally green eyes seem to see straight through me for an instant. Then he flips the visor down, and just like that, the motorcycle tears off, too. Breathless and shaking, I do a three-point turn with the stroller. When Ben starts fussing, I reach over absent-mindedly and pat his head.

  “It’s okay, baby,” I murmur. “We’re going home.”

  And locking the door behind us, I add silently.

  Who’d have thought that Laguna Niguel was teeming with weirdoes and stalkers? I shudder. I’m already kind of used to Alex showing up at odd moments. But the creeper in the car, the motorcycle man, and the two miscreants from the weekend? God! I regret not being able to take my pepper spray on the plane with me. There’s only one solution: It’s time for me to find a good self-defense class and learn how to kick some serious stalker ass. For right now, though, I walk quickly. As soon as I’ve pushed the stroller into the garage, I unbuckle Ben and pull him from his seat. When we get to the kitchen, Jessica is standing at the counter drinking a diet soda. I carry Ben over to her, but she waves me off. With her trademark saccharin smile, she points at the high chair.

  “Thanks, hon.”

  All right, that is it! I now officially feel an eye twitch developing. I don’t know which is worse: Hon or Wrennie. I would kill to commiserate with Taylor over our step-monsters.

  “We’re going out for dinner tonight. … You can come with if you want.”

  I smile and shake my head.

  “That’s all right. I’ve got homework. I’m sure I can find something around here.”

  Despite Jessica’s distaste for cooking, Sylvie, their housekeeper, keeps the refrigerator stocked with food. As soon as I get back to my room, I take out my binder and make a plan for how I’m going to catch up in my classes. But what I really feel like doing is turning on the news to make sure there aren’t several serial killers wandering Southern California at the moment.

  Crawling into bed, I lean against the wall and pile my books next to me. My new English class is reading Moby Dick, which I already read parts of in Mrs. Rose’s class. Plus, I’m way ahead in the reading for History. French shouldn’t be too much of problem, which just leaves Chemistry and Algebra. I decide that if I spend all my free time reading or doing homework, maybe I’ll forget how wrong my life feels.

  When I get to school the next day, I spend every second with my nose in a book, aware that it’s very much like I’ve been transported back to the awkwardness of seventh grade. Reading has always been my best distraction. But it’s not enough this time, and eventually I have to admit to myself that I’m anxious to run into Alex. Because sometime between yesterday afternoon and this morning, I decided that if he can tolerate my strangeness, then I can tolerate his. And I’ve already sworn that I will officially ignore his hotness—because paying attention to how perfectly beautiful he is would just make a mess of things.

  At the lunch bell, I realize that I actually want to tell him everything—about why I came down here, how much I miss Portland, and what happened with my mom. Admittedly, this is partially because I have no one else to tell. It’s also because I’ve come to terms with the fact that I don’t want to talk to normal people and try to convince them that I’m normal, too. I’m not, and I think my brain would crack from the effort.

  I rush through the line and look around. He’s not at the table where I saw him yesterday—or anywhere else. Disappointed, I give up and find an empty table. Reaching for my book, which is definitely not as literarily epic as Ivanhoe, I take a few halfhearted bites of my chicken Caesar salad. More often than I should, I look around for any sign of Alex. Then, at the very edge of the school grounds on the grass, I catch sight of him. He has his back to me, and he’s talking to someone—another guy even taller than Alex, which is freaking tall. Curious, I watch them for several seconds until I realize they’re not talking.

  They’re fighting.

  I can’t see them very well at this distance, but the stranger’s honey-colored hair is like a halo in the sunshine. Judging from all the gesturing and the generally hostile energy he’s putting off, I’m guessing this guy is not happy. When he points angrily and looks over Alex’s shoulder, I freeze in place. Did he just point at me? No. They’re just really far away. He could have been pointing at anyone or anything. I jump when the stranger grabs Alex’s shirt and yanks him roughly. Instinctively, I get up and start hurrying toward them, prepared to—what? Defend Alex’s honor? Rush someone twice my size? I slow down, and I’m trying to figure out the best approach when the stranger abruptly releases his hold on Alex and stalks off. I exhale a whoosh of air and wonder if I’ve been holding my breath this entire time. As soon as Alex begins walking back toward the lunch area, I meet him halfway.

  “What just happened? Who was that guy?” I demand.

  “I’m sorry you saw that,” he says, shaking his head.

  “Well, too late. I did. And I thought I was about to witness your murder in front of the whole school. What the hell was that about?”

  He shakes his head again.

  “He thinks I took something from him.”

  I look him up and down.

  “Did you?”

  “I’m keeping something safe for him, but he doesn’t see it that way.”

  I contemplate this.

  “But if whatever it is belongs to him, then that’s for him to decide, right?” I reason.

  “I take that back. It doesn’t belong to him,” Alex says.

  “Okay, are you gonna tell me what it is?”

  Suddenly what Alex said at the beach—about redeeming himself—hits me, and my eyes widen.

  “You’re not into drugs, are you?”

  He laughs, and I give him a sharp look.

  “Are you? ’Cause if you are, that’s it. We’re done. I’ve got enough trouble; I don’t need someone else’s.”

  “You have my word. No drugs.”

  Some of my tension dissolves, and I turn and walk back to my seat. I have to admit that I’m relieved when Alex follows and sits down across from me.

  “Good. … But whatever your deal is, that guy looked really pissed. I’d be careful if I were you.”

  “Did he look familiar to you?” Alex asks in his eerily intense way.

  I shrug and study him suspiciously.

  “Should he?”

  He shakes his head casually.

  “I thought that perhaps he had been hanging around.”

  My thoughts briefly drift to the stranger on the motorcycle, but I shake my head and pick up my fork. Alex obviously isn’t telling me everything, so I don’t feel any obligation to tell him every last thing.

  “Am I back in your good graces, then?” he says in his typically odd way.

  “You are strange,” I laugh. “But so am I. So I guess we’re even. … And I’m sorry about yesterday. You must have thought I was some kind of psycho brat from hell.”

  “Psycho, yes. Brat from hell? No.”

  Picking up a grape from my fruit cup, I l
ob it at him. When he catches it between his thumb and index finger, I gawk.

  “How did you … ?”

  “Reflexes.”

  “Yeah. Sure.”

  “Now, tell me. What’s caused you to become a psycho brat from hell, as you put it?”

  The bell rings, and I smile.

  “That’s a long story.”

  “Then I’ll see you tomorrow at lunch?” he asks.

  I nod and start picking up my stuff before looking up at him.

  “Question: why, exactly, aren’t you surrounded by a throng of adoring masses?”

  He smiles his beautiful, enigmatic smile, and I try once more to read something from behind his eyes without any luck.

  “I’m strange, remember?” he says, jarring me out of my concentration.

  “Right. Got it.”

  I start walking away and shake my head. It just figures that one of the bright spots of my move back to Southern California is my very own stalker.

  My fifth period independent study class has turned out to be a great time to get ahead on my homework, and I’m feeling less nervous about catching up now. But when the bell for sixth period rings, I groan internally. I really liked ending the day at Springview with English and History. My last class here is Chemistry with Mrs. Dewan. As I sit down at my lab station, I glance at my seatmate and suddenly put two and two together. She’s the blonde girl who was watching Alex with rapt attention in the cafeteria the day before. Great.

  “Hey,” she says. “You’re Rhonda, right?”

  I smile.

  “Wren actually. Kayla, right?”

  “Did you just transfer?” she asks.

  I nod.

  “You know that guy you’ve been sitting with at lunch?”

  “You know him?” I ask curiously.

  She frowns.

  “You don’t? I thought you guys, like, came here together or something.”

  “Wait. He doesn’t go here?” I mumble in confusion.

  She shakes her head.

  “I never saw him before this week. I was hoping you knew something about him …”

  And that you aren’t going out with him, she thinks. I swallow.

  “Um, I just met him. His name’s Alex. … That’s all I know.”

  How’d she get so lucky?

  I look down, annoyed at myself for reading her thoughts. Funny, I don’t feel lucky. When Mrs. Dewan starts going over the details for today’s lab, I face forward and pretend like I haven’t already done the same one in Mr. Van Houten’s class. At the bell, Kayla turns and asks if I want to have lunch with her and her friends tomorrow.

  “Sure. Is it okay if I invite Alex?”

  “Uh, yeah!”

  Walking from class, all I can think is: Uh, yeah, I totally wasn’t the intended recipient of her invitation. Oh, well.

  On the drive to my dad’s house, I think about what my lab partner said—about Alex appearing in school the same day as I did. My skin prickles, but I refuse to get so paranoid that I think some guy I never saw before a week ago moved to Laguna Niguel just to stalk me. Parking at the curb, I go inside and change into my workout clothes. I’m still sketched out by yesterday’s parade of weirdo creepers, but that’s even more of a reason to get out for some exercise. I want to be able to outrun them if necessary. Looking down at my phone, I reach over and type out I miss you to my mom, but I stop just short of pressing send.

  Going down the hall into the kitchen, I open the refrigerator and take out some coconut water, which might be the only dietary preference I share with Jessica. Finishing it in a few gulps, I walk outside and continue to the end of the cul-de-sac before easing into a slow jog. When I take a right on Crown Valley Parkway, I pick up the pace a little. I purposely didn’t bring my music, and every time a car comes up behind me I make sure that it’s not slowing down. It only takes about fifteen minutes before I reach the coast highway, so I’m guessing I’ve gone about a mile and a quarter.

  On the jog back, I debate whether running away from things was the right thing to do. But I keep coming back to the same conclusion: there was no other choice. I couldn’t live in the same house with my mom knowing she didn’t really want me there. It wouldn’t be fair to either one of us.

  Later in the evening when my dad comes home, I look up from my spot on the carpet in the living room where I’ve been doing homework and watching Ben after Jessica disappeared into their bedroom. I’m not surprised to see he’s carrying two bags of takeout food. As he puts down his briefcase and scoops up Ben in his free hand, I trail behind him into the kitchen. Moments later, Jessica appears from the master bedroom reeking of perfume. She’s attaching a pair of gaudy earrings.

  “Oh! Tom, didn’t I tell you I have book club tonight? We’re going for Mexican.”

  She air kisses his cheek and picks up a giant purse that looks like it’s meant for an ogress.

  “Ben’s had dinner! I’ll be back in a few hours!” she calls as she walks toward the garage. “’Bye, Wrennie!”

  Going to the cupboard, I pull out a couple of plates, relieved I won’t have to sit through Jessica’s retelling of her day of shopping and spa appointments. My dad arranges Ben in the high chair and then sits down across from me.

  “How’s school?”

  I think of the almost-fight I witnessed, the fact that I’ve been having lunch with my stalker—and that the only reason my lab partner invited me to sit with her tomorrow is because she thinks it’s the best way to get to my stalker. Nope, nope, and nope. Nothing to tell there.

  “Fine. All my teachers gave me extensions to catch up.”

  “Have you talked to your mom?”

  I look up at him and swallow.

  “No.”

  I wait for him to tell me that I should call her, but he doesn’t. I start telling him about the trip to Aliso over the weekend and my attempt to get to West Street Beach—leaving out the part where I got chased by drunken lunatics. He frowns.

  “West Street? Didn’t you nearly drown there when you were a little kid?”

  I nod and take a bite of my stir-fry.

  “The cove is really pretty.”

  “Yeah, well remember there’s a bad rip current. Be careful if you go out there by yourself. The lifeguards don’t come on ’til Memorial Day.”

  When we’re done with dinner and I’ve cleaned up, I go to my room and find several more shopping bags lined up next to the door. Taking them, I stack them in the closet with the others. I sigh. Jessica, methinks, has a serious problem. I spend a few minutes organizing my school stuff. Then, since I’m pretty much caught up on homework, I shower and brush my teeth. As soon as I’m in my pajamas, I prop myself up in bed and pick up my book. But I only manage to read a few chapters before I start feeling sleepy. I keep reading anyway.

  Opening my eyes, I look down at the book, which has slid onto the comforter. The lamp on the nightstand is on, which means I must have drifted off. Reaching for my phone to see what time it is, my eyes travel to the chair sitting in front of the glass desk across the room. My breath hitches at the sight of someone sitting perfectly still less than ten feet from me. Without the overhead light, I can’t see much—only his otherworldly green eyes and a halo of golden hair. Several seconds pass with us staring at one another before it occurs to me that I should scream.

  But I don’t, because I’m transfixed by the sight of this creature. He’s beautiful, impossibly so. When I finally blink and my eyes refocus, he’s gone. I shake my head. Was it a dream? I sit for several minutes wondering if I’m going insane before deciding that it had to be a dream. A really realistic dream. I reach over and switch off my lamp. When I wake up in the morning, I stare warily at my surroundings. I’m alone, and in the daylight, I can see the small window on the opposite wall is impenetrable from outside without breaking the glass, which remains perfectly intact.

  I shake my head. My dreams are usually weird, but I don’t ever remember them being so beautiful before.

&nb
sp; It makes me wonder, though. Rather than making up something, why didn’t my brain just conjure Alex’s image? He’s certainly dream worthy. Then again, I’m glad. Dreaming about him would complicate the whole just friends thing. And complicated is the last thing I need.

  At school, when I get to French, I have another pang of homesickness. I liked Mrs. Gilbert. My new French teacher is snippy and takes every little mispronunciation like it’s a personal offense. However, I like my new Algebra teacher Mr. Dennis, since he actually takes the time to explain each lesson. But I would take Mr. Bellarmine back in a heartbeat if it meant going back to Portland.

  When the bell rings for lunch, my pulse spikes at the thought of seeing Alex again, which is so not good. Walking into the lunch area, I look around and see him at his table. He looks up and smiles at me when I stop beside him and then gestures to the empty seat across from him. I shake my head, and he frowns.

  “Are you having another brat from hell episode?” he asks playfully.

  I shake my head.

  “Not today. Come on. We’re having lunch with your fan club.”

  He doesn’t move, so I go over and grab his hand. The resulting shock of electricity reminds me what a bad idea physical contact is.

  “Only because you asked,” he says, rising, but not releasing my hand.

  I pull away and start looking for my lab partner. I spot her, mostly because she’s waving furiously.

  “I had been enjoying our alone time.”

  “Seriously? Are you sulking? I’m doing you a favor! This school is swarming with girls dying to meet you.”

  “And I’ve already met the only one I want to meet.”

  I spin around and smile crookedly at him.

  “Don’t tease me. It’s not nice.”

  “I’m not.”

  When I see the serious expression on his face, I look down.

  “Well, I’ve got issues, so—”

  “As do I.”

  Looking at his beautiful face—and the completely serious expression on it, I’m suddenly irate.

  “Oh my God! That does not make us a good match, you lunatic.”

  “No, it makes us a perfect match.”