Reluctant Guardian (20 page)

Irritation stabs at his heart. What people say about him? No one even knows about his pills except his family and Jill, and she wouldn't say anything to anyone else, would she? Jill cares about him.

 

~Fighting Destiny~

Alisa

 

I have to get back to Brecken fast—to protect him. I'll never leave his side again. If there is anything I can do to change the future, I'll do it.

Then another chilling thought hits me.

If Brecken dies, he'll be with me.

***

It's Wednesday m
orning and I haven't shared my vision with Brecken yet. I've been back with him for three days but haven't dared communicate the awful truth. I don't know if I can hold out much longer.

He sits in his history class, his legs stretched out before him. I couldn't be more bored, yet my mind races, trying to understand how he is going die. I didn't exactly see that part when I touched Raphael. Will some drug dealer do the deed? Will he be hit by a drunk driver? Will
he
be the drunk driver? Am I supposed to protect him from himself? Someone else? I just don't know, and the energy it takes to figure it out leaves me testy and exhausted.

I sit in an empty desk halfway across the room, picking at the hard, plastic desktop. Pen marks and old gum have hardened there, and memories of my own math classes resurface. I glance over at Brecken, remembering my conversation with Raphael, and notice that his black combat boots are untied again. I hate that look. I can't understand why he dresses this way. There isn't a goth bone in his body, so who is he trying to deceive?

I know who he really is inside—compassionate, caring, lonely. And I've memorized every feature of his face, from his curly, mussed hair, to the twitch in his lip. I love watching him, love the way he takes care of his sisters. He isn't fooling anyone with this bad boy facade.

Especially me.

My heart warms, and it puts me in a less anxious mood. “Let's get out of here, Breck,” I say, knowing no one else can hear me. “I want to talk to you and it can't wait. It's important.” I try to make my voice pleasant, yet serious.

He sighs and the two kids sitting beside him look up. His silent glare is enough to discourage their interest. His finger taps a rhythm on his thigh.

“I spoke to someone in charge and there are some things you should know,” I say from across the room.

“Shh,” he whispers, a little too loudly. Other students turn and glare at him.

I can't help but giggle. “You're so cute when you're angry.”

“Be
quiet
!” he spits, not thinking, obviously.

“What did you say?” the teacher asks.

Brecken closes his eyes and shakes his head. “I didn't say anything.”

“Oh, really?” Her right eyebrow lifts into a thin, angry line.

“He told you to shut up,” the kid next to him offers with a grin.

“I think it's time for a trip to the principal's office,” the teacher quips.

***

Even though this is a serious event, I can't quit giggling. Mostly because Brecken sits in the chair across from the principal scowling, and the angrier he becomes, the funnier it seems. Maybe it's my way of coping.

“So, Brecken. What can you tell me about this incident with Mrs. Beecher?” the principal asks. He doesn't look or even sound mad. I don't think Brecken is in any real trouble.

“Yes, Brecken,” I mimic. “What can you tell us?”

Brecken looks up slowly. “It was nothing, Mr. Cheney. I was just thinking out loud,” he says.

“You were thinking the words,
shut up
and then accidentally said them out loud?” he asks, his voice incredulous.

“No, not exactly.”

“Let me clear this up for you,” I answer. “Brecken is very upset at me so he lashed out, unthinking, and told his teacher to shut up.” I chuckle to myself.

Mr. Cheney releases a slow breath. “I'm not going to suspend you even though this isn't the first time you've been here, but you really need to watch yourself.” He takes another breath, and hesitates as though disinclined to go on. “Brecken, I want to help you. I know you struggled last year with the death of your mom... and that you were diagnosed wi—”

“Stop,” Brecken says abruptly. “Just stop. There's nothing wrong with me.” He stands, his hands fisted, his face in an expression of anguish.

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to imply there was,” Mr. Cheney says, also rising. “I'm just concerned. I know it must be hard with your dad gone so often and... ”

“I'm fine. Everything's fine.” Brecken turns, but before opening the door, he asks, “Can I leave?” He stares at the floor, not making eye contact.

“Yes,” Mr. Cheney answers.

I follow Brecken out. He walks down the hall, but doesn't go back to class. Instead, he swings his backpack up over one shoulder and goes outside, leaving the school behind.

“Brecken?” I screwed up, teasing him that way, getting him in trouble. My heart aches watching his sagging shoulders, his drawn expression, and I'm so embarrassed. I feel so stupid.

He just keeps walking.

“I'm really sorry,” I say. “I didn't know this would happen. I was just—”

“Teasing. Yeah, I know,” he says, finishing my sentence.

I don't know what else to say or how to finish this conversation. I walk a few steps behind and watch his head tilt toward the sidewalk. What is he thinking? It wouldn't be hard to find out. All I'd have to do is reach out and place my hand on his shoulder.

So I do.

Just as I thought, his feelings are those of embarrassment, despair, hopelessness, and last of all, loneliness. As far as his actual thoughts go, I'm still in the dark, but this gives me a pretty good idea about how he feels. I could have figured it out without touching him though.

“Can we talk?” I ask finally.

He turns to me on the sunny, public sidewalk. Only a few people are out. An old man across the street edges his grass, and a lady on the other side of the road walks her dog. They pay no attention to him.

“What is there to talk about? I don't think this is going anywhere.” He continues walking, leaving me behind to stare in confusion.

What is he talking about? “Uh, you lost me there,” I call to him.

He doesn't stop to explain.

With a grimace, I follow him down the sidewalk, across a grassy quad where the soccer team practices, and through the tree line into a small, forested area. He stops at a low-branched tree, drops his backpack, and swings up to the first thick branch.

I like the spot. If we walk twenty feet in any direction we'll be back on the street, but this patch of woods feels private, secluded. I float up to the branch beside him and sit with my legs hanging down.

“This is a cool place, Brecken.” I take in the birds that fly between the trees and moss-covered ground. “Do you come here a lot?” It's just shady enough that he can probably see me.

“No,” he says with a sigh. “It's usually full of students.”

I wait for him to continue. When he doesn't, I figure he's waiting for me. “Please talk to me. Tell me what's wrong.”

His expression is full of longing, yet resignation. He hesitates. “I really like you, Alisa, and I want more than anything for you to feel the same.” He jumps down from his branch, still pacing.

“I just don't think... ” He stops, looking up at me. “Dammit Alisa, what's
wrong
with you? Why did you do that to me in class today? Why did you try to get me in trouble? I feel like you don't even care about me. You always get mad, you're way over sensitive, you say mean things, and then don't act sorry... ”

I'm stunned. This is not what I'd expected. I pull back, as though taking on a barrage of bullets. “Wow, Brecken. Don't hold back.”

“I'm sorry, but if we can't even communicate without fighting... ”

“Okay. Wait,” I say, floating down from the branch to stand beside him. I can do this. I can have a normal conversation with a boy without screwing it up. I take a deep breath trying to think of something to lighten the mood. I come up with, “Does your girlfriend know you're dating someone else?” I mean it as a joke, but from the look on his face, he doesn't take it that way.

Finally, he relaxes. Even chuckles. His eyes warm and the tenseness in his shoulders eases. “She suspects I'm seeing someone else.”

I can't help but smile. The moment turns quiet and it's time to broach the subject I fear most. “Brecken, I... I'm not sure how to say this,” I hedge, trying to clear my thoughts.

“I know what you're going to say,” he says, leaning toward me.

“You do?”

“Yeah, and honestly, I feel the same way.”

I frown. “What are you talking about?”

“What are
you
talking about?”

“About why I'm here. About your future.” I am unable to get the picture of him lying dead out of my mind. The blood that pools around his body.

“Oh.”

“What did you think I was going to say?” I ask, even though I already know. He wants me to say I love him, that I want to be with him forever, that I can't stand for us to be apart, but I can't say that... for a million reasons, even though I want to.

Taking a deep breath, he cocks his head. “You look speckled where the sun filters through the branches.” He reaches out, his hand only inches from my face.

The yearning inside pulls me deeper into that ocean that will never be mine. “I wish I could have met you a long time ago.” It's true, and since I don't know how much time we have together, I want him to know this. I don't want it to end without him understanding my feelings.

“Me too, Alisa.”

For that space in time, I soak him in, like a sponge dying on a blistering, sandy beach.

“Speaking of that,” he leans back and pulls another twig from the tree, “there's something I've been wondering. Where did you live when you were alive? Where are you from?”

I laugh, amazed at the coincidence in my circumstances. “Actually, I'm from here. I didn't realize at first that they'd sent me to my hometown, and I don't know why they did, but I'm glad.”

“You're from
here?
” He leans forward. “I don't remember you from school.”

“I didn't go to your school. I didn't live on this side of town,
” I say with a chuckle, surprised I could grow up in a city and not even recognize it when I came back.

“
This side of town? What does that mean?”

“Umm, just that I lived in the Fruit Heights area,” I explain.

“Oh. You were a rich kid.” He sits back, a strange expression masking his features. One I've never seen before and don't recognize.

“Well, I'm not rich now. I don't even carry a wallet,” I joke, trying to bring back the lightheartedness of the previous moment.

“I don't know why I thought this would work,” he mumbles, his face becoming a mask I can no longer read. He stares off into space, lost in his thoughts. “I can't do this.”

“What do you mean?”

“It doesn't matter,” he says, looking right into my eyes.

What just happened? “Brecken!” I call as he walks away, discouraged at the widening chasm growing between us. The pain of rejection cuts deep. “How about we go to Canyon Park? I really like it there, and there's something I have to tell you and then... I promise, after that, I won't bother you anymore. I'll leave you alone... if that's what you really want.”

He watches me silently and wants to refuse. I can feel it, but for a moment, he softens and his jaw relaxes. “Why not right here? Right now?”

I look around. The school bell will ring any moment. Classes will be over. I don't want any interruptions. “It will just be better. Please?”

He hesitates, shifting his weight and looking down the street. Finally, he says, “All right.”

I sigh with relief. Maybe I can still fix this. Because if I want Brecken to know me, there is one conversation that has to happen... as much as I dread it.

 

~Confiding a Deep, Dark Secret~

Alisa

 

We arrive at Canyon Park on his motorcycle just as the sun begins to set. A stream bubbles past, tripping over stones in its way, singing a cheerful tune, oblivious to the roiling feelings inside us. I sit at the edge, wishing I could dip my feet and feel its cold current pulling against my ankles. Brecken sits next to me.

“I'm not sure where to start.” I sigh in mental exhaustion. After all I've gone through, I just want to rest. I gaze at his beautiful face, determined to memorize each line, the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles, the way his lip twitches when he teases me, the way his mouth moves when he speaks. I can even smell him, like pine trees and Lever soap, a memory I never want to forget.

He watches me, curiously.

“What I'm about to tell you I've never told another living soul. Ever.” I search his face for any sign of sarcasm or impatience, but find none. My mind races and my chest tightens in dreadful anticipation. Can I really do this? Can I confess my darkest secret to him, all in the hope that he'll trust me? Understand me? Want me?

“Okay. Go ahead.”

“I... want you to know me better. You know, before you decide to... ” I can't believe I am about to have this conversation.

He gives me a funny look and shakes his head at my silliness.

“Okay. So here goes. When I was eight years old my best friend's dad started sexually abusing me.” I glance at his sunset-lit face to gauge his reaction.

He studies me, his mouth dropping open. His brow creases into a frown and he actually reaches out to me. “That's not what I expected you to say.”

I nod. “He abused me for years, and my friend Natty too. Sometimes both of us together.”

“Oh, Alisa... ”

“Yeah.” I stand up and wrap my arms around my waist. I step into the middle of the stream, wishing it could carry me away like the dying leaves that float along its edge.