Shattered Castles 1 : Castles on the Sand

by E. M. Tippetts

  I blink and find myself face to face with Alex.

  He smirks, as if to say, “Well, it was worth a try.” And turns to leave.

  But my temper flares and I grab his arm. “What was that?”

  No response, just the usual stare.

  “You don't do that, jerk. I don't care how hot you are, you are not hot enough to get away with assaulting people.” I wonder if it counts as assault, though. I don't know the legal definition, but I bet he does, which means I'm insane to grab his arm and yell at him.

  He looks down at me, pulls his arm out of my grasp, and then glances around, though there isn't much to see besides the blank white sides of the vans we stand between. What's odd is how vulnerable he seems now, even though he's six feet tall at least, and all corded muscle. He shrugs again, as if this is supposed to explain why he planted one on me.

  And then it clicks. “That whole promise to Carson, the next guy who kisses me is gonna be my boyfriend? Dream on. Sneak attacks so don't count.”

  “What if you sneak attack me?”

  Really, I think, it's better when he's silent. I unzip my backpack, pull out his jacket, and try to shove it at him, only to discover that he has rock hard abs. I'd thought that was just a saying. It's like punching a brick wall and I wince in pain.

  He, however, stares down at his jacket as if I just handed him a brick of gold.

  “Why are you even in school today?” I ask. “Why aren't you in jail?”

  A sullen glare is the only reply to that one.

  “And listen, you are a loser, you are a creep, you threatened me with a switchblade-”

  “Was a joke.”

  “It wasn't funny! Let me add to that list of what it would take for a guy to be my boyfriend. He'd have to be nice to me. He'd have to talk to me sometimes. He'd have to not feel like he has to sneak around and catch me off guard. He'd have to act like he likes me.”

  “That all?”

  “What? It rules you out. Except for the talking thing. And what is with the talking thing? Why are you talking now?”

  He ignores that, lifts his jacket to his face, and sniffs it.

  “Oh, and smoking? Disgusting. I washed your jacket because it was giving me a headache.”

  A dig through his pockets, and he pulls out his cigarettes, then looks at me with a lifted eyebrow.

  “What? I am not a thief. Of course I put them back.”

  The pack crushes in his fist.

  “What are you doing?”

  He digs in his pocket again and retrieves his lighter.

  “Yeah, I gave that back to you, so you'll have it to burn down the school or whatever.”

  But rather than ignite it and shove the flame at me, as I expect, he tosses it to me and I catch it awkwardly with one hand. “Thanks,” he says. He leaves without a backwards glance.

  I collapse against one of the vans and take a few deep breaths. That, I have to admit, really frightened me. I'm glad it was during the day, because if he tried something like that at night...

  “You okay, Madison?” Carson peers in at me.

  “Alex is a scumbag.”

  “He came to church yesterday.”

  “He what?”

  “Yeah and he came to Seminary. That's why he was in the MAV today. Didn't you notice? He said you were the one who gave him the pass along card. He talked to me, with words. It was weird.”

  I brace my forehead against my palm. “How much you wanna bet he's going for an image makeover before he goes to court for attacking a police car?”

  “Well, if he is, we'll weird him out in a week, tops. He'll figure out that we're actually into this whole religion thing, and that if he stays with it too long, we won't let him leave. We'll come pile baked goods on his doorstep until he lets us in.”

  “Are you joking?”

  “Mmm. No. Not really. You coming inside?”

  I nod and together we walk into the school.

  JP walks past and I sneak a glance. He just looks away.

  At lunchtime I dig the lighter out of my pocket and take a look at it. It isn't a cheap little Bic. It's all metal with, “Alexander W. Katsumoto” engraved on the side in script. It feels wrong to have this, as someone clearly gave it to him as a gift. I just wonder what kind of strange person would give a kid a cigarette lighter, as Alex has been flipping this thing like a psycho for a few years now.

  Kailie slides into the seat next to me, and I stuff the lighter back into my pocket, then notice she doesn't have any food. “Can I borrow five bucks?” she says. “I will totally pay you back.”

  I pull out my wallet and hand her twenty. “Just keep it.”

  “Thank you.” She gives me a hug and I notice how her bones dig into me. I watch her go through the cafeteria line and fill her tray full of food, then return to the table and wolf it down. I try not to stare, but other people in the cafeteria talk behind their hands and giggle. One girl mimes jamming her finger down her throat. I glare back at her. If they could see her barren room, they wouldn't be teasing her about an eating disorder. And even if it was an eating disorder, I don't see how that's funny at all.

  “Your parents not feeding you?” I ask.

  “I have to earn points to get meals, and I'm not earning the stupid points.”

  “How do you earn them?”

  “Finish my homework, do my shifts in the Inn. Total control.”

  I nod. Her parents no doubt think they’re setting the bar low, but I understand how Kailie sees it. To her, they’ve effectively said she’s not worth feeding unless she does her chores. I don’t think her parents are bad people, but I do think they’re clueless sometimes.

  She kicks me under the table. “Cheer up.”

  “People are laughing at you-”

  “I don't care. Stop it with the frownie face.” She scrapes her plate clean and licks her fork.

  “Don't kick,” I say. I lift my feet and sit cross-legged on the bench.

  She braces the sole of her shoe against my shin and shoves.

  “Ouch. What's with you?”

  She kicks hard enough that I stand up in order to avoid falling flat on my back.

  I gather my lunch and leave the cafeteria. She's in a mood again, and I know it's best to just stay away from her until she gets over it.

  At the end of the day, I pack up my things at my locker and swing the door shut with a metallic crash. Alex, Ryan, and the rest of that crowd all loiter at the end of the hall. Apparently going to church hasn't changed Alex's social set at all. Not a big surprise. As I walk towards the exit, I grasp Alex's lighter in my hand and my steps slow. Only when they all stop talking to each other and turn to look at me do I realize I'm staring at them. I stop, not sure what to say or do next.

  The hallway is just as cold as outside, because it isn't all the way enclosed. There are clerestory gaps along the entire length that let in the cold air, rain, snow, and whatever else nature throws at us. It's a pretty design, but far from ideal. Try opening your locker on a freezing cold day when you can't wear gloves to manipulate the little metal lock, or imagine the patches of rust that develop over time. A tile floor gets extremely slippery when it rains or ices over.

  Alex steps away from the rest of the group and comes over to me. All eyes are on us. Right now, the age gap feels enormous. Alex is an adult, and the way he towers over me with those muscular shoulders and broad chest makes me feel like I'm an elementary school kid. He doesn't talk, just waits.

  I hold out his lighter to him. “I assume you want to keep this. It's way too nice to just give away.”

  Again with the raised eyebrow.

  I feel like I'm babbling, like I should just duck my head and flee. The moral high ground I had this morning allowed me to yell my way through the encounter. Without that, I feel so nervous that I'm afraid my hand, holding the lighter, will shake.

  He looks me straight in the eye, then drops his gaze to the lighter. When his gaze returns to mine, he looks like he's considering somet
hing, like my gesture has a significance that he's weighing up. His friends all gape openly, and I have to admit, they're right. Why am I talking to Alex?

  With a jerk of his head, he indicates I should follow him, and we start to walk.

  Madison, I think, you're letting Alex take you somewhere. This will probably not end well.

  We don't go far, though, just several paces away from everyone who might overhear. When he speaks, his voice is so quiet it's barely audible. “You gave me this.” He points to his jacket.

  “That was already yours.”

  He touches the name on the front.

  “Yeah, yours. Your name on it.”

  “My dad's.”

  “Oh. I kinda assumed your dad was white.”

  For a moment Alex just fidgets with the name patch and doesn't look at me. After several beats he says, “He was. He took my mom's last name when they got married.”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  “He died when I was two. I never knew him. So, thank you. It's not like I could ever replace this.” He lifts his gaze to mine again.

  I smile, partly to be kind but mostly from relief. He hasn't taken me to a dark alley to beat me up.

  He relaxes, visibly.

  “Hope I didn't damage it in the washing machine,” I say.

  “You trying to make me feel bad?”

  “No. Why?”

  A few people walk past and Alex waits until they're at the far end of the hall. “I freaked you out this morning.”

  “Yeah, that was not cool.”

  “And you give me my jacket back, laundered, with all the stuff in the pockets. Now you're giving my lighter back and apologizing about theoretically damaging this jacket while you were washing it for me. Can you make me feel any worse here?”

  I shrug. “I could try.”

  “Go for it.”

  “No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't pick on you.”

  He rolls his eyes in disbelief. “That works. I feel worse. Why shouldn't you pick on me?”

  “Because I don't even know you. Clearly you've got stuff going on and it's probably none of my business. I mean... you talking to me? That's hard for you, isn't it? You don't talk to other people much.”

  He looks me up and down.

  I feel very, very short and plain right now. I have strayed way too far out of my social niche and now not only his friends have taken notice. Everyone passing by in the hall stares at me as if I'm an alien who just beamed in.

  Alex waits again until everyone's out of earshot. “I used to only talk to my mother. That way they always kept us together. Never took her, never made me stay in foster care.”

  That, I have to admit, is one of the best reasons imaginable for choosing to be mute. “I am really sorry about what happened to her.”

  He looks away and shrugs his shoulders uncomfortably.

  “Again, none of my business,” I say.

  “I think bashing a police car on Main Street kinda makes it everyone's business.”

  “Well, okay, there is that.”

  He smirks, and I can't help but notice how good looking he is. It's like I'm standing next to a model for jeanswear. A psycho model for jeanswear.

  I push the lighter at him and he takes it. “See you around,” I say. I turn to go, but he grasps my elbow. I look up at him, stunned.

  He lets go and holds up his hand apologetically. “This morning. I'm sorry, okay? I was completely out of line.”

  “Yeah,” I agree. Then turn and make my escape. I can not get out of the hall fast enough.

  That afternoon, at work, there's another email from John.

  Hi Madison,

  It's okay if you're mad at me. Or maybe you're busy. I don't mean to be needy here, but I want to make sure you aren't still angry after our IMing on Friday.

  I love you,

  John

  I click open the reply box.

  Dear John,

  I'm fine. Just busy. Thanks for caring.

  Madison

  Two hours later another email arrives from him and the subject line is “Our grandparents”.

  Hi Madison,

  So, Mom's parents live in St. George, which is kind of the stereotypical place to retire in Utah. They've got three other kids besides Mom: Aunt Jill, Aunt Kate, and Uncle Roy. Aunt Jill is widowed, Aunt Kate is married to Robert, and Uncle Roy just got remarried to our new Aunt Amy. It's kind of a scandal because she was with him before he filed for divorce from Aunt Heather, so no one in the family's gotten to know her real well.

  We've got seventeen cousins on that side. Let me see if I can name them: Trudy, Tessa, Rachel, Heather, Miriam, Georgette, Robert, Michael, Deacon, Spencer, Joseph, Keiran, Connor, Zach, Jackson, Owen, and Christopher. Okay, I'm not gonna list all their ages and stuff because I'm sure I'd get it wrong. Mom was the oldest in her family, so Lance and Logan are the oldest of the cousins on that side.

  On Dad's side, we have one aunt, Aunt Janet, and she is married to Uncle LaBob. They don't have any kids. They're inactive in the Church, live in Arizona, and I barely ever see them.

  I've attached more pictures.

  Love you,

  John

  The pictures are a lot of group photos of kids of all ages piled on a couch in some random living room somewhere. There are no captions to tell me who's who, so I just get a sense of overwhelming numbers. All my life I've been from a small family, so to learn that I'm from a big family torques my whole universe. Everyone in the pictures seems to smile all the time. They remind me of the beaming girl on the pass along card – the one who Alex decapitated with scissors.

  Hi John,

  Thanks. Wish I could send you something in return.

  Madison

  Hi Madison,

  Just talk to me. That's all I want. I've wanted to be in your life for so long. Give me a chance?

  Love,

  John

  Hi John,

  I don't have much to say. I'm not very interesting.

  Madison

  Hi Madison,

  Hey, don't say that about yourself. I know for a fact that it's not true.

  Love,

  John

  I read this and my temper flares.

  John,

  You don't even know me, so stop saying stupid stuff like that. I'm boring. My entire social life is me being the designated driver for my best friend. I work in a library. If you look up “dull” in the dictionary, you'll find a picture of me.

  Madison

  A chat window pops up.

  John: Are you happy?

  Madison: Happy with what?”

  John: Life. Do you wish you did more social stuff? Went to more parties?

  Madison: No. I don't even like parties. That's how boring I am.

  John: I don't like them either.

  Madison: So you going to tell me I shouldn't go? Tell me what to do?

  John: I'm done telling you what to do. Even when I ask you to talk to me, that makes you mad. I really don't want to boss you around, at all. I want to get to know you.

  Madison: Well, now you do. There's not much more to know.

  John: You are way more interesting to me than you are to yourself. You spend every waking hour with you. I've only had a few minutes, and I think you're fascinating. Tell me all about working in the library, or watching Mom do pottery, or counting cracks in the ceiling. I really do want to know.

  Madison: Mom doesn't let anyone watch her make pottery. Especially not me. I bug her.

  John: I doubt it.

  Madison: She doesn't even like me. She thinks I'm boring.

  John: I'm sure she loves you.

  Madison: She doesn't even want to eat dinner with me at night. If I'm in the house, she goes to her room and doesn't talk to me.

  John: Huh. All these years, I assumed she took you with her because she wanted you to herself. Not that I have abandonment issues or anything :-)

  Madison: I guess I remind her of Mr. Lukas or whatever.

  John
: Wild guess here, but I'm thinking she put Mr. Lukas's name on your birth certificate to get a divorce. Dad's extremely conservative. If anyone were to divorce him, that'd be the way to get him to sign the decree.

  Madison: So I'm the price she paid. She's stuck with me now.

  John: I hope she doesn't see it that way.

  Madison: Well, maybe I really am boring and not that great to know.

  John: Okay, I am going to give you some advice. Don't read if you don't want to see it. Spend more time doing what you want to do and less time doing what other people want you to do, and you'll probably find you like your life better. I know, you hate advice.

  Madison: There isn't anything I like to do.

  John: Well, you might find out differently if you start making your decisions based on what you want.