The Girl Who Would Be King(14)

“You want more coffee?” he asks, hand half up to motion the waitress. I shake my head, and he changes his gesture to one signaling for the check. On the way out he opens the door for me, which seems old-fashioned and almost innocent. Despite all his excess charm and the villainous occupation, he’s a good boy. I can sense it down to the hairs on the back of my neck. We stand for a moment outside and make plans to meet for a late lunch tomorrow. When the conversation lulls he kicks absently at the curb.

“Can I walk you home?” He asks, suddenly seeming shy. I stumble, because I desperately want him to, but I know it’s probably a mistake to let him know where I live.

“Oh, no. It’s not that far,” I stammer.

“I don’t mind.”

“Let’s just say goodbye here for now.”

“Okay,” he says, leaning into me. I honestly don’t know how to react. The everyday me would push him off, probably violently, but I’m finding a gentleness I didn’t even know I had. He puts his arm against a lamppost behind me, slightly pinning me and nuzzles my neck. Which is…unexpected. It seems like both an animal thing to do and a sweet thing. And I like it, and him, even more for it.

“Goodnight, Lola,” he says into my hair. “See you tomorrow?” he asks, but we both know it’s not a question.

“Tomorrow,” I say quietly under my breath as he walks away.

I wait until I’m sure he’s gone before heading back to my motel. I take a roundabout way home, just in case, but never see anyone tailing me. When I get back to my room I fall onto my bed feeling giddy like a schoolgirl I have never been, never had the chance to be, never thought I would be. I know already that it’s probably a mistake to trust him, but I also know that resisting it would be pointless. What’s the worst thing that can happen anyway?

A few eggs get broken, right?

I don't know if I've ever thought about the idea of actually being in love before. I mean, like anyone I’ve had crushes. Regardless of how stupid I thought the idea of “love” sounded, being awesome has not made me immune to it. But after coffee with Adrian I find none of it matters. Hell, after I first saw him and he smiled at me with that crooked smile of his, I knew I was in trouble.

I guess I just don’t want to get my heart broken.

Is that even possible?



°

Sharon is becoming a legitimate problem for me. Until recently she’s been a thorn in just about everyone’s side, but she’s provided interesting opportunities for me to do good – returning thrown necklaces and other bits of stolen property, stopping fights before they begin – stupid little stuff that makes people happy and lets me see my mother in my dreams. The dreams, even if they are filled with confusion, violence, and strange warnings I don’t understand, are still time with my mother.

Sharon has changed things for me because her bad deeds have forced me to engage with people in a way I never have before. I’ve been used to people somehow intrinsically understanding to leave me alone, like animals in the wild that know to only hunt the weak or injured. I think I give off something that keeps most people away from me. Like potential adoptive parents. That fact never mattered much because I was always waiting for Jasper to come and get me. Of course when I was twelve, he was 18 and he didn’t show, so I gave up on the fantasy. I really had tricked myself at first into believing he would rescue me, but when he didn’t, I unpacked my bag again and went back to my regular life. It was foolish to think he would come, considering I blamed myself for the car accident; it was likely he blamed me for it too. But I guess I had hoped that he would come anyway.

When pale and timid Rachael comes to dinner one night with a broken arm I know that Sharon has drawn an invisible line in the sand, and she’s daring anyone to step up to it. I begin tailing Rachael everywhere she goes, becoming her self-appointed guardian. I see her injury and chide myself for sitting idly by for too long; it’s time to stand up, if not for myself, then for someone else.

So, I wait for my opportunity.

I’m sleeping in my bunk a few days later on the third floor of the dormitory while Rachael reads on hers at the other end of the room when Sharon enters the room all anger and frustration bottled. My senses perk up instantly; it’s as if the air in the room tightens all around me, so that I can even feel Sharon’s steps and her body weight as it presses into what was once empty space. I’m not sure if she sees me or not, but she goes right for Rachael, regardless, slapping her book out of her hands and across the room. Rachael doesn’t even cry out, just draws in a breath, preparing herself for whatever onslaught is to come. Nobody else is in the room with us, and I reach out with my senses to see if I can feel anyone nearby.