Guardians: The Girl (The Guardians Series, Book 1)(8)

She leads the way and he follows her into her room. Why can’t they talk in front of the rest of us? Wasn’t all business talk done on the roof or in the living room? Why did he want to be alone with her? He said her name with such care….

I try hard not to look at Rio. I don’t need an angel mood ring to tell me what I’m feeling. I don’t want to know. I just want to get as far away as possible.

I tell myself it’s because I’m being hunted by the source of all evil. I tell myself it’s because the fate of the world rests on information I don’t have.

But when Reese lifts me up into his arms and Blinks me out of the house, the thing that I’m upset about isn’t Lucy or the end of the world. There’s only one thing that upsets me: He said her name with such care….

**





CHAPTER TWO: ALONE


I wake up with a headache. My body feels like it’s been in a wrestling match, and judging by how sore I am, I lost. I roll over in my bed and groan. It was all a dream, right? No “Human Mood Ring.” No “Master Chef slash Driver.” No “J. Crew angel with the ‘I Dream of Jeannie’ powers.” No “Warrior Princess slash Fashion Model.” No “Japanese Bohemian Songstress.” No Marcus. I feel a sharp pain of regret. Well, at least the world is not in peril.

When I got home last night, it was only a little after ten. My mom didn’t flip out. She thought I had finally taken her advice and gone out with Sara. She said I didn’t have to make up any excuses about studying. It was cool to go out with a friend so long as I was back before ten thirty. I just mumbled in agreement and went to bed. I heard her ask if I wanted a slice of the pizza she had ordered, but I was too tired to answer.

My mom has never been big on nutrition or doing anything in the traditional way. When I was a kid, I would have vanilla ice cream for breakfast; she said it was the same thing as having milk. It always made me happy when she let me do stuff like that. I felt special having been given a fun mom and unusual eyes.

Then when I was thirteen, my mom told me the truth about my father. She didn’t want to, but I kept asking a bunch of questions, and she hated lying to me. So one day after asking her a string of questions, she told me the whole story. I haven’t felt special since.

I think she regrets telling. She tries to make it up by always telling me how much she loves me and how happy she is to be my mom, but that just makes me feel worse. I feel like I don’t really deserve her love. Still, I’m glad she loves me.

Given the way I came about, all I can do is try to be a good daughter. That’s why I don’t cut class. I clean the house from top to bottom every weekend. I go food shopping and do the laundry. She says that I should be out with friends, but I’d rather take care of her. We have movie nights, bowling tournaments, and book club once a month.

She is more like a friend than a mom, and most of the time, that’s a good thing. I can tell her stuff and she won’t get mad or overreact. But sometimes she can be forgetful, forcing me to be the responsible one. She’s lost three sets of keys this month, she never remembers to turn off the lights before she goes to bed, and if I don’t take her credit cards to pay the bills, she’ll let them pile up.

Last year she forgot to pay the light bill and we spent Thanksgiving weekend in the dark. I was so annoyed at her. Then she knocked on my door with a bowl of ice cream and two flashlights. She said it was our duty to eat as much as possible so that it didn’t melt. And, well, I took my responsibility very seriously. Then she challenged me to a laser flashlight duel. We then followed that up with a heated game of shadow puppets, which I won. Since then, I’m in charge of calling the utility companies and paying them. And she’s in charge of keeping the ice cream levels high.

I yawn, stretch out and pull the covers off of me. My room could double as a library. I have tons of biographies and Greek anthologies. I also collect travel books. I have about a million places I’d like to go, but since I’ve yet to get the money, I have to settle for books. There are three places I’m determined to find a way to get to: Paris, Athens, and Florence.

Maybe once I travel my imagination won’t go so wild that I actually think the fate of the world rests on me. I can only imagine what a psychiatrist would say about my long drawn out fantasy. Luckily I can’t afford therapy, so I’ll never really know how crazy I am. Looking around our apartment you would think we’re better off than we actually are. We have a two-bedroom apartment in Soho. My grandparents left it for my mom in their will.

My mom worked two jobs and went to night school to become a nurse’s aide. Now she finally has a decent income and we can do a few nice things once in a while, like a cab ride or a nice dinner out. I want to get a job, but she won’t let me. She’s always saying something about how I shouldn’t be wasting my youth and accelerating to adulthood.

We both have the same taste in furniture: old English, classic styles with a soft romantic feel. Something you’d see in the home of the royal family (if the royal family shopped at IKEA). We have books everywhere. When we argue, it’s usually about which of us had which book last and misplaced it.

Ms. Charlotte, my cat, is ignoring me. She’s gray with black stripes and she doesn’t care to be left waiting at the window for hours. I owe her an apology. But I know she isn’t ready to forgive me. She makes a point of strutting by me, her tail high up in the air.

“Okay, I know I was wrong. I’m sorry,” I say, picking her up off the floor. She meows as if to say “let me go.” I stick my tongue out at her. That’s her favorite game. She can’t help but stick out her claws and try to catch me. I hold her close to me. She purrs then jumps off of me. That means I’m close to forgiveness, but I need to buy her a treat in order to seal the deal.

Finally, I get out of bed, get dressed and head to the kitchen.

I walk in and find Miku, Rio and Jay having breakfast with my mom. I am beyond stunned; so much for the dream. My mom smiles brightly and says, “Hey, honey! Your friends came by to take you to school, and I convinced them to have breakfast with us.”

“Oh, um, great,” is all I can manage. “We were just getting some interesting info about you from your mom,” Miku says.

“Yeah, why didn’t you tell us you got cast as a bumble bee in your second grade play?” Jay asks, hardly holding back the laughter from his voice.

My mother corrects him, “No, she was Queen Bumble Bee, and she was the only one in her group with a line.”

Rio thought I wasn’t embarrassed enough, so he looks at my mother and says, “Do you remember the line she had?”

My mom turns to me and says, “She remembers. C’mon honey, say it for them.” I am going to kill Rio with my bare hands.

“No, we have to go. We’re going to be late,” I say desperately.

Jay jumps in “Actually, we’ve got plenty of time.” I am going to kill him, too. But I’ll make his death slow. Very slow.

“C’mon honey. Say the line,” my mom persists.

Miku chimes in, “Please, Emmy.” I look at all of them and roll my eyes.

I’m outnumbered. I sigh and say the line between clenched teeth.

“I’m the Queen Bee so please be-e-e-e-e-have.” The kitchen rocks with laughter. Jay cannot bring himself to stop. Miku looks at me with adoring eyes and Rio shakes his head. My mom is beaming. Screw it. I’m gonna kill all of them.

We finally get in the car and head to school. As soon as I’m inside I bark at them, “Are you guys trying to embarrass me to death?”

“It’s part of the job, Emmy, to find out as much as we can about you,” Miku replies.

“How is my second grade play important to the fate of the world?”

“You never know. Marcus said to look at everything,” Rio counters.

Hearing his name incenses me. “Whatever, it’s not like he cares. He barely looked at me last night,” I was trying to be breezy about the whole thing but it came off whiny and childish. Miku and Rio exchanged a look that was too quick for me to catch. Jay blasts the music. It’s hip-hop; it’s loud and has a really good bass line. “The music’s gonna turn the car over,” I say. “Relax, I got this,” he says, grinning from ear to ear.

At that exact moment I figure out the perfect way to get him back for the school play thing. I lean forward and say to him “Jay, this is a nice car. What is it, a Honda?”

As soon as I say it, he pulls abruptly over to the side. He gets out of the car and paces back and forth as if trying to calm himself. I knew that would get him. The twins and I are really enjoying Jay’s tantrum. Jay comes back into the car and addresses me with the utmost seriousness. “This is a Phantom Black Pearl, Audi A4. Her name is Siren and she will not be disrespected. You should apologize,” he instructs. I suppress a smile and say, “Oh, sorry.”

“Not to me, to Siren,” Jay shoots back. I look at Rio and raise my eyebrows.

Before I can ask Miku, she says, “Yes, he is serious.” So I try not to laugh as I choke out an apology to the car. I mean, “Siren.” Wow, who knew angels were nuts?