Fallen (The Guardian Series Book 2)

by A. J. Messenger

  I laugh. “You’ll like what he has planned today,” I say.

  “What is it?”

  “Don’t you want it to be surprise?”

  “Not particularly.”

  “It’s simple, and sweet, and I promise you’ll like it.” Finn is taking her to the river where we used to hang out as kids, for a picnic.

  “All right,” she says, “you convinced me. Don’t say anymore.”

  “He actually has a bunch of fun things planned for you guys all summer. I think he looked up ‘romantic dates’ on the internet and made a spreadsheet, ranked according to both of your interests.”

  She smiles. Liz has turned into a bit of mush pot under Finn’s influence and it’s pretty hilarious. “You know,” she says, “he drives me nuts half the time but he works so damn hard at being thoughtful … the fact that it doesn’t come natural makes me appreciate it more, you know?”

  “He’s as earnest as they come,” I say with a nod. “And loyal.”

  She smiles. “And cute.”

  “You’re in love,” I say with a laugh.

  “I was looking at that picture you gave me,” she says with a smile, “and I realized that I probably fell for Finn the first time he ever said, ‘I didn’t know that. Thank you for telling me,’ when I explained to him that when I looked at my watch it meant I was obviously bored out of my skull from hearing him talk about how many pull-ups he can do. He was completely sincere the way he said it, and it kinda broke through my crusty, cynical heart …”

  I chuckle. Finn’s go-to response whenever we tell him something he wasn’t aware of—usually involving a social nicety that isn’t readily apparent—has always been ‘I didn’t know that. Thank you for telling me.’ Like when I explained how far to stand away from someone when you’re talking, or the fact that people mention the weather just as a conversation filler, not because they’re boring. When Finn says it, he genuinely means it, with no guile or sarcasm. It’s disarming. Through the years he’s catalogued information about nearly every possible social interaction in the files of his brain and he accesses the appropriate guidelines as needed.

  Not to say that Finn isn’t sarcastic. He and Liz could win awards for their creative use of sarcasm and dry humor. It’s just that when you tell him something he didn’t know—something that helps him understand all the baffling ins and outs of interacting with other humans—he’s genuinely grateful. When we were little he once told me that every day he felt like he was navigating through a maze in a dark room. He’d say something to someone and they’d react in a way he wasn’t expecting and he didn’t know why. He felt like he kept hitting walls all day and he could never make it out the other side. Eventually, he confessed, he almost gave up. If people were going to get offended without explanation or just walk away when he tried to play with them, why even bother anymore? Maybe he should just turn back and not even try to make his way through the maze every day. I understood his analogy keenly because it was similar to how I felt about my panic attacks. I never knew how to make them stop or when they might strike or if I’d make it through the day without hitting a wall and having one. Now, whenever I see Finn looking uncomfortable in a crowd or at a party, I picture him as that little boy navigating that dark maze, afraid he’s going to say the wrong thing and hit another wall and it tugs on my heart. Over the years his confidence has grown, and by high school everyone started being nicer anyway and cutting everyone a little more slack. I think after the gauntlet of middle school and puberty most kids emerge slightly kinder. It’s almost impossible not to. Unless you go the other way, I suppose, and double down—like Molly Bing.

  Liz and I reach the ocean and she starts heading down the cliffs to the water. We have the option to run further down the path and take the stairs to the beach but Liz is already scrambling down the terraced rocks and dirt, so I follow.

  “So why is Justin moving again?” asks Liz when we reach the edge of the shore and take our shoes off so we can let the waves lap over our feet.

  “His lease was up,” I say, “so he’s moving to a new place with one of his roommates.”

  “And why does he need your help?” she asks.

  “He has some friends helping him with the actual move, but he asked for my help unpacking. To help him get organized.”

  “Does this mean you’re finally getting over Alexander a little?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What do I mean? I mean I met Justin when I picked you up from work. The guy is hot—with his blue eyes and blonde hair and that sexy surfer bod. And he seems nice, too. Anyone can see he likes you.”

  I shake my head. “We’re just friends.”

  She raises an eyebrow. “Uh … trust me, Justin has other things in mind.”

  I stare at her as if she’s crazy. “I don’t know where you’re getting your information, but you’re wrong. Besides, I’m pretty sure he’s dating some girl named Ella now. She picked him up three days in a row in a convertible.”

  “I’m ‘getting my information’ from my own eyes,” she says, “and I don’t doubt that he’s dating another girl—or many girls—but that doesn’t mean he can’t like you, too.”

  “We’re friends.”

  “Okay,” she says, putting her hands up in mock defeat. “I’m just sayin’…” she adds with a glance and a smile in my direction.

  I shake my head and can’t help but smile back and we’re silent for a moment as we both stare out to the ocean and watch the waves break at our feet.

  After a while, Liz peers down and wiggles her sand-encrusted toes. “You’re not seriously thinking we run all the way back now, are you?” she says. “With sand stuck to our feet? I’m thinking Uber? With maybe a stop on the way home for breakfast? How’s that sound?”

  I smile at her and shake my head. “All we have to do is let our feet dry and brush off the sand when we get back up to the road,” I say. “Then we can put our socks back on. I do this every day. As long as our shoes don’t get wet we’re fine.”

  She looks over at me and sticks out her arm in front of her and opens her hand wide, letting her running shoes drop into the water dramatically. “Oops,” she says.

  I shake my head. “You kill me.”

  “Guess it’s Uber and breakfast after all,” she responds with a smile.

  “So where’s your roommate?” I ask Justin as I unpack books and add them to the bookshelf in the main room of his new apartment. It’s a two-bedroom, one-bath in a fourplex, nothing spectacular, but it’s neat and tidy and it’s in a good location near campus. It makes me excited to someday live on my own like this, maybe with Liz. Or Alexander? The thought makes me smile.

  “Dylan? He went to Eleuthera for a couple weeks to surf. I couldn’t afford to go. Most of this furniture is his. All I have are a few milk crates and some books.”

  “These boxes aren’t yours?”

  “Not most of them. I was hoping we could do the kitchen next. Dylan has bowls and silverware and all that kind of junk.” He points to a stack of boxes on the kitchen floor. “I figure if I get the kitchen unpacked—even if nothing else gets done—at least I can kick back tonight on the couch, stream a movie on my iPad, and eat a bowl of Lucky Charms.”

  “For dinner?”

  “It’s magically delicious,” he says with a leprechaun accent.

  I laugh. “It’s also magically artificial.”

  “Yeah, my mom used to say that any cereal that turns your milk a different color should be illegal.”

  “Smart lady,” I say as I open another box of books.

  “Yep,” he says quietly and I recognize the same faraway look in his eyes that I get when I think about my dad.

  I decide to change the subject. “Are you going to see your dad this summer?”

  “Yeah. I’ll be heading up for a week.”

  “Is he in California?”

  “Yeah, but my dad likes to say they’re stateless. He remarried a few years ago and they moved to her homet
own near the California/Oregon border. The area was once supposed to be a separate state and there’s actually a sign on the highway that says ‘Welcome to Jefferson, the 51st State.’”

  “Really?”

  He nods. “My dad thinks it’s funny. I guess they had this whole push to be recognized in 1941 but then Pearl Harbor happened and the war started so it never went anywhere.”

  I shake my head. “I feel like I should know that since I grew up in California but I’ve never heard of it,” I say with amusement. “Wait … are you making it up?”

  “No, I swear. I’m full of useless information.”

  I smile as I fold up the last box of books and we move into the kitchen. “You should put that on your resume. Justin Wright: full of interesting but useless information.”

  “Already on there,” he says with a smile, “I’m way ahead of you.” He opens a box filled with bowls, plates, and silverware and slides it between us. “This is where I need your help the most, by the way. I know there’s some sort of system to follow when you set up a kitchen but I have no idea what it is.”

  I look around the small galley-style kitchen. “You just have to think about how you use things and what’s most convenient. Like your coffeemaker will go over there, right? So you want the cupboard with your mugs nearby, and also close to the sink. And these ladles and spatulas and things should go next to the stove because that’s where you’ll use them. It’s not exactly rocket science.”

  His eyebrow rises. “Did I just detect an insult?” he asks. “From Declan Jane?” He tosses a wadded up piece of packing paper at my head.

  It bounces off and I grab one from my box and throw it at him and soon we’re in the midst of a giant paper war until the floor and counters are covered in crumpled wads.

  “I think we’re done here,” I say, laughing, as we pause and survey our handiwork.

  “I’m ready to call it,” he says.

  I look around. “As tempting as that is, the organizer in me can’t leave it this way.”

  He smiles. “I can do the rest on my own later. You’ve already helped unpack a ton. And now that you’ve taught me the secret system to organizing a kitchen, that apparently I was too stupid to recognize before, I think I’m good to go.”

  I throw another piece of paper at his head. “C’mon,” I say. “If we stop messing around we can get these boxes unpacked and this whole kitchen done and dusted in 30 minutes or less.”

  He meets my eyes. “You really don’t mind?” he says. “All right, but you have to let me treat you to dinner afterwards, as a thank you.”

  “Thanks, but I’ve already had my fill of Lucky Charms today.”

  He laughs. “First of all, I don’t share my Lucky Charms with just anyone. And second of all, did you really think I was going to offer you some after the way you dissed them earlier? I’m talking a real restaurant—within my limited student budget, of course—maybe Rico’s or Tech Sushi.”

  His mention of food makes me realize how hungry I am. “I haven’t had sushi in a while,” I say.

  “Great, let’s toss all this junk into some cupboards and drawers and get out of here.”

  I smile and throw one more wadded up piece of paper at him and then we set to unpacking for real.

  “So what happened with you and your boyfriend, Alexander?”

  Justin asks me this question as we’re eating at Tech Sushi, directly after I just stuffed another piece of Dragon Roll in my mouth. I’m in the midst of savoring it with my eyes closed and I’m practically moaning it’s so delicious.

  “He went back to Australia you said?” he asks.

  “Yes,” I mumble and nod my head as I finish chewing. “But I’d rather not talk about it.”

  “Okay.” He looks at me for a long while as if he wants to say something more and then decides against it.

  “You still dating that girl Ella?” I ask.

  “No,” he says. “Not anymore.”

  “Why?”

  “She had this annoying habit.”

  “What?”

  “The way she chewed.”

  “Are you serious?” I can’t help but wonder what he’s been thinking of my chewing as I’ve been cramming pieces of Dragon Roll in my mouth.

  He nods. “We’d watch a movie and she’d get a bag of Ruffles potato chips and she’d put a whole chip in her mouth, one at a time, and the way she pressed it against her tongue and then chewed, I couldn’t focus on anything but the sounds she made.”

  I set down my chopsticks. “Let me get this straight, you broke up with her because you didn’t like the way she ate potato chips?”

  “Yep,” he says without a trace of regret. “That … and because I caught her in bed with another guy at a party … that was probably a factor, too.”

  I meet his eyes and see humor covering what looks like genuine hurt. “Really?” I say. “That’s terrible. I’m sorry.”

  He nods and I can tell that, like me, he doesn’t want to talk about it.

  “What about all those other girls I’ve seen come by for you?” I ask. “You don’t seem like you’re hurting in the lady department.”

  “You mean Mandy and Sarah? That wasn’t anything serious … mostly just friends.”

  I nod.

  “You gonna finish your edamame?” he asks.

  I slide it over. “It’s yours.”

  “You gonna finish that second roll?”

  I place my hand protectively over my San Mar Roll, which I plan to devour next. “Off limits,” I say.

  He laughs. “My dad used to call me the human garbage disposal. I’ll eat all your leftovers if you let me.”

  The rest of our dinner is filled with easy conversation and as Justin pays the check I realize what a nice distraction this evening has been. A short respite from worrying about Alexander and thinking about that kiss and one more day I can check off the calendar until he comes back.

  “Thanks again for your help with the unpacking,” Justin says as we walk out of the restaurant.

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Seriously, you find out who your true friends are when you ask for help moving.”

  “Your friends who did the actual heavy lifting are the ones to really thank.”

  “I’ll pay for it when they move, believe me.”

  I smile. “Well thanks for dinner. I’m sorry I ate it all so there aren’t any leftovers for the human garbage disposal.”

  “Ha,” he says with a laugh. “Don’t worry, I’ll manage any residual hunger later with a bowl of Lucky Charms.” He looks around the small parking lot. “Where’d you park?”

  “Over on Broadway,” I say with a nod of my head in that direction. I drove separately so I could go directly home from the restaurant.

  “I’ll walk you.”

  We head down the street and around the corner and I stop when I reach my mom’s car.

  “What’s this?” he asks. “Where’s Archie?”

  “I thought I told you, Archie’s gone. This is my mom’s.”

  His eyes run over my mom’s dark grey Chevy Volt. “I guess you don’t have to worry about running out of gas anymore,” he says. “But what happened?”

  “Long story. I ended up having to sell him to a mechanic.”

  “Geez, really? I’m sorry,” he says, sounding genuinely bummed, “that must have been tough, selling your first car. Like losing an old friend.”

  I look up, surprised at the genuineness of his empathy and how well he understands. Our eyes meet. “Yeah,” I say quietly, “it was. Exactly like that.”

  And that’s when it happens.

  Justin bends down swiftly and kisses me.

  I’m so stunned at first that I freeze. His lips are foreign-feeling, but not unpleasant, and as he kisses me gently I feel myself almost starting to kiss him back before I suddenly come to my senses. In that moment, as our lips part, I sense someone watching from across the street and when I see who it is my stomach falls to my feet.


  It can’t be.

  I’m thrilled, and faint, and sick all at once.

  It’s Alexander.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Alexander’s eyes lock with mine for an instant and the expression on his face causes my heart to plunge straight into the ground. As I absorb that this is real, not a dream, my brain finally sends the signals for normal operation to the rest of my body, but before I can react Alexander turns and walks away.

  Justin is still standing before me, looking hurt and confused. “Justin,” I say, my words coming out in a jumble, “I’m sorry … if I gave you the wrong impression I … we’re just friends … and I’m sorry but I have to go … right now.”

  I take off, leaving Justin looking baffled on the sidewalk as I run across the middle of the street and up the other side to the corner where Alexander was standing. Desperately, I look down the street in the direction he was headed but I don’t see him. I follow anyway, dodging groups of people who are strolling downtown, and trying to make my way as fast as I can. I stop and scan through the crowds in every direction at the next block but I still don’t see him. I go the next block and still no sign. He could have gone anywhere. My heart is pounding in my chest. What do I do?

  I take out my phone and call his number but it just rings, never picking up. I hang up and try a few more times with the same result. As my heart slows and the reality of what has happened sets in, I feel as though my chest has been cleaved in two. Alexander came back, and he found me this time, only to see me kissing someone else. I go to the next block, and the next, and the next, but I still don’t see him. Finally, it sinks in as I search in all directions that I won’t find him—he’s gone. And he left with the memory of me kissing Justin burned in his mind.

  I’m frozen, stunned, and somehow I manage to thaw my limbs and walk slowly back in the direction of the car, wiping away tears and trying not to make eye contact with the people passing in the other direction.