“Not enough!” she yells in his face. Her tone has shifted to one of pain over anger and I feel it viscerally, like a punch to the gut. My heart goes out to this wronged girl.
Back and forth they go, over and over. They’re so consumed by their arguing I’m not even sure they notice me. Daniel’s explanations and excuses are feebler by the minute and Cara isn’t buying it. I’m not buying it either. Somehow I know in my bones he’s a liar and this isn’t his first time. My heart rate begins to surge and I suddenly feel nauseous. As Daniel keeps up his barrage of excuses, I can see Cara’s outmatched and starting to waver. She’s going to take this jerk back. I stroke my throat nervously. It’s starting to constrict. Oh God, not now. Not here.
I check my watch. Five minutes until the bus is scheduled to arrive. Even then, I’ll be trapped in a moving vehicle with these two and their tragic soap opera. I consider calling Liz but I know she’s studying and it would take too long for her to get here anyway. I look across the street and notice Jimmy waiting for a break in traffic to cross. He must have decided to take the bus downtown after all. I wonder if it might help to have him here with me but panic is crawling up my throat fast and I can’t wait. I stand abruptly and start walking, and then running, toward home. Before too long I have to bend over and grasp my knees to try to suck air into my lungs. Over and over I run a few yards and have to stop. My heart is bursting and I want more than anything to just lie down, spread-eagled on the sidewalk. I’m bent over again, struggling to breathe, when I hear someone call my name.
“Declan?”
With hands still firmly on my knees, I turn my head to see an old, classic white Jeep Wagoneer with wood siding pull to the curb. The passenger-side window is down and Alexander leans over from the driver’s seat, peering out, puzzled. “Are you okay?” he asks.
I briefly consider lying but realize I can’t possibly pull it off in the state I’m in, so I go with the truth instead. “Um … no. I’m very unwell, actually.” I manage to huff out the words as I alternate between looking at him and staring back down at the sidewalk, trying to breathe.
“Stay right there,” he says as he parks and hops out.
Before I know it he’s at my side, resting his hand on my back. “You’re going to be okay, sweetheart,” he reassures, and with his Australian accent his words don’t sound at all ridiculous as he guides me gently to his car.
At first I’m relieved to have him beside me but then a new wave of panic swells. What am I going to say when he asks what’s wrong? What if he wants to take me to the hospital? Oh God, I can’t tell him it’s all in my head. Somehow I need to convince him that I’m okay.
As the thought takes hold, I suddenly realize that I am okay—more than okay. The peaceful calm I’ve felt in Alexander’s presence is back and it’s more intense than I remember. It floods over me in wave after wave, washing away my anxiety. I feel supremely relaxed and as I melt into the sensation I slowly become aware of the electric touch of his hand on my back. Like a pulse building to a powerful charge, it fills the air around us. I look up at him, startled.
Alexander takes a step back and quickly stuffs his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “You look like you’re feeling better now?”
“Yes, much better … thank you. I don’t know what was wrong with me.” I wave my hand in the air, trying to convey that I’m as bewildered as he is about why I was a crazy wreck only a few minutes ago. It’s not a total lie—I am better. Other than the fact that my skin is still tingling where he touched me, I feel so calm he may as well have interrupted me doing downward dog instead of having a street-side panic attack. I just pray he won’t ask questions. What explanation can I give? I can’t even think straight with him standing in front of me in all his gorgeous perfection waiting for me to say something more.
I look up and meet his eyes and repeat with a slightly embarrassed shrug, “Thanks again for your help. I’m good now.”
“Well I don’t know how they do things in America, but I’m not about to leave a damsel in distress on the sidewalk. Can I give you a ride home? My house is on Miramar, too.”
The fact that he knows where I live is not lost on me and a smile spreads across my face. “Um, sure. That would be great.”
He opens the passenger door wide and holds his arms at his sides as I step in.
When he slides into the driver’s seat and closes the door, the electric energy that surrounded us on the sidewalk begins to build within the confined space of the car. I swallow nervously and try to think of something to say.
“Just get off work?” he asks as we pull away from the curb.
“Yes, how did you know?” I’m so thankful he isn’t asking why I was bent over on the sidewalk trying to breathe that I exhale audibly with relief.
He glances over, amused. “Your shirt was my first clue.”
My face flushes to match the bright red “Jack’s Burger Shack” t-shirt I’m wearing. Of course. Not only am I in uniform, but I’m probably stinking up his car with the smell of Hula Burgers for Pete’s sake.
“How long have you worked there?”
“Almost two years. My friend Liz worked there first and then she recommended me and we’re both there now. I work after school most days. Jack, the owner, is a nice guy.”
“In that case I’ll have to try it out sometime after school.”
I nod. Wait, does he mean he wants to try it out because Jack is nice? Or because I’ll be working? The thought of the latter both thrills me and sends my nerves into overdrive. I start babbling like an idiot. “Jack’s is known for Hula Burgers, so I recommend you get one of those. And a side of fries. You can’t have a burger without fries, right? The sweet potato fries are the best. And the milkshakes, too. Most places make them with fake syrup but we use all real ingredients. My favorite is banana. Do you have burgers in Australia? I mean, I guess you must have them. That was a stupid question.” Oh God, Declan. Please. Stop. Talking.
Blessedly, Alexander appears unfazed by my inane rambling. “Sure, we have burgers and chips. The lot of toppings are different though.”
With his accent, everything he says sounds alluring, even burger toppings. I force myself to bulldoze those thoughts to the side of my brain so I can focus on making coherent conversation. I somehow manage to recount a few funny stories about work and Alexander laughs—a deep, genuine, throw-your-head-back laugh that invites me to join in—and it puts me at ease. Soon we’re talking effortlessly and I don’t want the ride to end.
“How do you like living in San Mar?” I ask as we’re in the final stretch home.
“It’s growing on me,” he says with a glance in my direction.
“It must be hard coming to a new school senior year.”
“It’s not so bad. We move around a lot.”
“Do you miss Australia?”
“Aye. A little.” He pauses. “But my grandfather always says it’s the people around you that matter, not where you are.” The way he looks at me as he says the words makes me wish we had a thousand miles left to go.
We turn onto Miramar Lane and I start to direct him to my house.
“I know which one is yours,” he says with a smile.
“You do?”
“I’ve seen you leave in the morning to go running. I get up early to surf.” He gestures to his surfboard in the back of the car. “I’m across the street, two down on the corner,” he says as he pulls into my driveway.
“I don’t think I’ve seen you surfing. I run a loop down to the beach and back.”
“I go to a few different places. We all look the same out there in our wetsuits, anyway. Like a bunch of seals.”
I laugh and he smiles. I softly press the button to release my seatbelt and as it recoils into the doorframe there’s a stretch of silence. I turn to say thanks for the ride but my voice croaks as our eyes meet. Alexander holds my gaze and leans almost imperceptibly closer but then abruptly halts and his demeanor changes. “I’ll wait here until you go i
nside,” he states plainly, turning to face forward.
“Oh. Okay.” I feel embarrassed that he must have been waiting for me to leave. Way to read a situation, Declan. I mutter thanks as I open the door quickly and step out. Before I let go of the handle, though, Alexander calls to me.
“Declan?”
I lean down and he meets my eyes with an intensity that makes my breath hitch in my throat.
“I’m glad I ran into you tonight.” His voice is low and filled with promise and anticipation. When I try to respond I find it almost impossible to operate my lips and limbs as needed to say goodnight and close the door. I manage to walk to the front of the house where I dig around in my purse under the glare of the porch light for far too long trying to locate my keys. Aw, for the love of … why do I keep so much junk piled in here? I finally manage to extract them and unlock the door. I peer over my shoulder and give Alexander a short wave as I step across the threshold. He waves in return and starts backing out of the driveway.
Safely inside, excitement and confusion wash over me as I press my back against the door and try to process what just happened. I tell myself I’m crazy to allow even a scintilla of a thought that Alexander might be interested.
But I can’t stop myself from smiling wide at the idea.
Chapter Four
Over the weekend I make two transparent attempts—one Saturday morning and again on Sunday—to “bump” into Alexander as I run by his house on my usual loop to the beach and back, but he’s nowhere in sight. Something is going on at his house Sunday morning, however. The town librarian and a few people I don’t recognize are going inside as I run past. I wave to Mr. Remy, the owner of the San Mar Book Café, as he walks up the driveway. I wonder if the gathering has something to do with Alexander’s grandfather—maybe a book club? The rest of the weekend I’m holed up working through the extra calculus problems the Trunchbull assigned me. More than once I curse myself for speaking up in class.
At school on Monday Alexander doesn’t approach me. In fact, unless I’m imagining it, he’s actively avoiding me because every time I get anywhere near him he moves away. His attitude is more cordial than outright rude, but it’s still weird. I guess I let my silly notions turn a friendly car ride into something more and now he’s doing his best to discourage me. How humiliating.
Oddly though, I swear he’s watching me from afar. But that makes no sense whatsoever. Eventually I stop stealing looks at him because it just sends my mind wandering to ridiculous places that can never be. I mean, c’mon Declan, did you really think he would be interested in a girl he saw freaking out on the side of the road? I don’t mention anything to Liz or Finn because I’m embarrassed and I honestly don’t know what to say anyway.
After school Finn and I go to the first journalism meeting of the year. I considered being a journalist at one point, but a job with constant deadlines and breaking news probably isn’t the best pursuit for someone who may bust out with a panic attack at any moment. I’ve contented myself with writing articles for the school newspaper since middle school and I’m hoping I can steer my writing skills to good use in some other way as a career. Molly Bing is the editor of the student newspaper and she revels in it. Not because she loves journalism, per se, but because she loves being in charge and telling people what to do. As we walk in the door, she’s handing out assignments and I’m surprised to see Alexander with her. She must have invited him to join. As I absorb the snapshot before me of Malibu Barbie standing next to Mr. Australia my stomach sinks. They’re made for each other—both gorgeously perfect human specimens.
Immediately I stop myself. What am I doing? I’ve never been a whiner … and besides, who wants some guy who’s trying to avoid me, anyway? I’m better than that. “Yes you are, Jane!” my inner drill sergeant concurs in one of her much-needed pep talks. I smile a little.
“Declan!” Hearing my first name, spoken by an actual person, snaps me back to reality. Molly is giving me an assignment.
“Did you hear about the increase in crime over the summer?” She continues without waiting for a reply. “It’s still a problem. I, for one, just had my iPad stolen from the front seat of my car and Suzie’s bike is missing.” She looks at Suzie (one of her minions, as Liz would say) and Suzie nods back, appropriately indignant and supportive. “Don’t you know someone at the police department? Why don’t you find out what’s going on and how we’re supposed to protect ourselves.”
“You can start by not leaving your iPad on the front seat of your car,” Finn mumbles next to me.
I laugh and nudge Finn with my elbow as Molly glares at us. “Got it, Molly. I’m on it. And Finn wants to help.” Finn groans under his breath but I know he likes working together on stories.
Molly hands out the rest of the assignments and then turns to Alexander. “You can work with me on the story on Mrs. Preston. She’s retiring and we need to write a retrospective on her contributions to the district for the last twenty years.”
Alexander nods. There’s no way Molly needs help with a simple puff piece on our principal but the snarky side of me tells me journalistic collaboration isn’t what she’s after.
After the meeting, Finn and I walk to our bikes and discuss next steps for our story. As we’re talking, I scan the parking lot to see if Liz has left yet. I want to ask her if she wants to study later for our calculus test. Her Fiat is gone, but I notice a tall, immaculate blonde leaning against Alexander’s Jeep, waiting for him as he walks up. He greets her warmly with a hug and they both get in and drive away. His girlfriend? The idea leaves me with a lump in the pit of my stomach that has no right being there.
“So do you want to head to the police station now?” Finn’s words distract me from my silent rumination.
“What? Oh, right. Sure, Finn.” He wants to see if we can interview Chief Stephens. I know if the chief is available he’ll make the time to talk. He helped us before and I think he enjoys Finn’s affinity for spouting crime data. I also have a strong suspicion he has a thing for my mom because he always inquires about her. His wife died of cancer a few years ago and it was terribly sad—she was well known and well liked throughout town. Their two sons, Jake and Zach, are both in college now.
I ask for the chief at the front desk and after a few minutes he walks up and waves us in to follow him to the back.
“How are you guys? And how’s your mom doing, Declan?” he asks as we sit down in his office.
“We’re good. And my mom’s doing well, thanks for asking,” I answer with a smile.
Finn silently endures several minutes of our chitchat social niceties. He’ll join in if he has to, but the truth is, he doesn’t see the point. Until I explained it to him years ago, he thought people only made small talk because they had nothing else interesting to say. As soon as he senses we’re wrapping up, he jumps in. “We’re doing a story for the San Mar High newspaper about the increase in crime lately.”
The chief nods. “There was an uptick this summer and it hasn’t gone down as it usually does. It looks like a new group came into town over the last few months and they’ve joined some of the informal homeless encampments. We’ve been breaking them up but they keep moving around and growing larger. We’re hoping they push on. They’re more of an opportunistic, violent type than we’ve had here before.”
“Violent?” I ask, surprised. “I haven’t read anything about that in the Sentinel.” The San Mar Sentinel is our local newspaper.
“Violent crimes were down nine percent last month,” adds Finn.
“So far it’s been confined to fights within the homeless camps and it hasn’t attracted news attention. We’ve boosted patrols to get it under control. You’ll see an increase in next month’s data, unfortunately,” he says with a nod to Finn.
“And you think they’re responsible for the increase in property crimes, too?” I ask.
“We aren’t sure yet but it’s looking like this latest influx includes a well-organized ring of thieves. There�
�s also drug involvement. So far most of the trouble has been concentrated in the beach flats and, like I said, despite our budget constraints, we’ve managed to increase patrols and we’ve made some arrests. They won’t last long in San Mar.”
“Do you have any tips for people in the meantime, to protect themselves?” I ask.
“Common sense, mostly: don’t leave valuables in your car, lock your doors and windows, and be sure to lock up your bikes,” he answers. “We have a safety page on our website with a long list of tips that would be good to include with your story.”
I finish my notes and we thank the chief for his time.
“Be sure to tell your mom I say hello,” he calls out to me as we head for the door.
“Will do,” I reply with a smile.
The sun emerges from behind a cloud and warms our backs as Finn and I traverse the lawn in front of the police station. “What the chief said about violence kind of worries me,” I admit as we reach our bikes.
“That should be the least of your concerns,” replies Finn.
“What do you mean?”
“I keep an alphabetical listing of everything possible to worry about in my head.”
I pause as I unwind my lock and peer up at Finn, one eyebrow raised.
He smiles and shrugs. “What? You’re not the only one with anxiety.”
I nod. “Fair enough. So why, exactly, should I not be worried? I’m almost afraid to ask.”
“I also track the statistical likelihood of any one of those things happening. 96% of the worries on my list are mathematically more likely to happen to you than crime violence. San Mar is a fairly safe town and you lead a low-risk lifestyle.”
I stare at Finn quizzically. I am definitely not reassured. “Promise me you’ll never tell me the list of things that are more likely to happen.”
He shrugs his shoulders. “Suit yourself,” he says as if I’m taking my life in my hands. I punch him in the arm and he laughs.
Guardian (The Guardian Series Book 1) Page 4