Fallen (Guardian Trilogy Book 1) Read online

  I was almost certain the effect I was feeling was caused by the guy in the seat next to mine, even if he did look harmless enough. His hair was dark brown and unkempt; he wore simple, wire rimmed glasses and a short-sleeved shirt with a collar. His shirt looked like it had been stolen from a 1980’s sitcom so, clearly, he didn’t run with the same crowd as Achan. When I finally arrived at my seat, he didn’t bother to look up at me.

  Others, however, peeked in my direction all throughout class, but after the bell rang, someone actually spoke to me.

  “Excuse me,” said a girl with straight blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail, exposing diamond drop earrings.

  My first reaction was to act like I hadn’t heard her. The tone of her voice wouldn’t be considered friendly by anyone’s standards. Unfortunately, she was sitting directly in front of me and had turned nearly all the way around in her seat.

  “Excuse me,” she repeated, more insistent.

  I finished shoving my book back into my backpack and zipped it up, before responding.

  “Yes?”

  “Are you the girl who sits in Jackson Square and takes money for delivering messages to the dead?”

  By now, everyone who hadn’t left the room was watching me.

  “Why? Do you have a message to deliver?”

  The girl snickered. “No.”

  Then she stood and muttered to a mousy, dark-haired girl across the aisle, “Yes, it’s confirmed. She’s a freak.”

  The two of them left the room whispering together – which I was certain was about me.

  The boy who sat next to me, the only one not to sneak a quick glance in my direction during class, leaned toward me.

  “That’s Bridgette Madison. Her friend, who sits in front of me, is Ashley Georgian. Best to stay away from them.”

  “I’ll try if they let me,” I said, happy to find someone who seemed decent at my new school. “Thank you. It’s always helpful to know someone who’s been around the school longer.”

  “Actually, I’m new too,” he said, as he forced his own books back in his bag.

  “Really? How do you know the two girls then?”

  “They were my tour guides, after my introductory meeting with Mr. Warden, last week.”

  “Lucky you.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Right … but it does help to know who not to know though.”

  “True. So where are you from?” I asked, starting to feel a kinship with him already, despite the warning my neck hair was giving me.

  He dipped his head and appeared to be embarrassed, though I didn’t understand why. “All over. I don’t have family. I’ve been living off my inheritance, making my way from place to place.”

  “I move around a lot too.” That connection made me like him even more.

  He smiled sheepishly back at me; I wondered if he felt guilty for mentioning he had money, because I didn’t. I couldn’t have cared less, so I changed the subject, hoping it would help him forget about it.

  “Why New Orleans?”

  “Huh?” he asked over his shoulder, as he stood.

  I picked up my backpack and followed. “Why did you end up in New Orleans?”

  He started to walk down the aisle but stopped suddenly and stared at the floor, as if he were deciding how to answer. “I came here looking for someone,” he finally said.

  “Did you find him?”

  At that point, he glanced up and smiled broadly at me. “Her. And, yes, I found her.”

  As the words left his mouth, the strangest thing happened. The hair on the back of my neck went haywire. It felt like the ends were dancing … crisscrossing … twisting together, as if I had just been electrocuted, but only the back of my neck was affected.

  I absentmindedly slapped a hand there to still them.

  Then, to avoid answering any question he may throw at me about why I slapped my neck for no reason, I reached out my free hand. “What’s your name?”

  “Gershom,” he replied, not moving.

  I reminded myself that my actions were not typical of people my age and let my arm drop to my side.

  “Sweaty palms,” he explained with an awkward glance; he then brushed them on the side of his slacks for emphasis.

  “It’s alright,” I shrugged. “My name is-”

  “Maggie,” he finished. “Yes, I know.”

  “Curse of being a new student, right?”

  Gershom laughed to himself and muttered, “Something like that ...”

  As he finished talking, my neck hair ignited. Gershom was already heading down the aisle, so he didn’t notice that I had to abruptly slap my neck to impede this reaction again. I was beginning to wonder if I might have an issue with my electrical impulses. No one else I’ve known has had this problem. How could I be the only one?

  As I pondered my newly found oddity, I also noticed the room was empty which meant I was going to be late for my next class … again. I caught Gershom in the hall just in time to say goodbye, to which he responded with a weak smile and quickly headed in the opposite direction. I thought maybe I offended him somehow, but without any way to tell, I decided not to dwell on it.

  My second class wasn’t as far away, thankfully, but it was a repeat of the first. In fact, all my remaining classes were almost a step-by-step replay of first period: awkward introduction to the entire class, students sneaking peeks at me until the next bell rang, and the inevitable question of whether I was ‘that girl’ who delivered messages to heaven; although, none of the other inquisitors were nearly as rude as Ashley and Bridgette.

  At lunch, I found Gershom sitting alone underneath a tree outside the cafeteria. He was pulling his lunch out of a bag and spreading it out on the grass. Before crossing his legs, he glanced around, as if he was looking for someone but trying to be inconspicuous about it. When I approached him, my neck hair lit up again, so I stopped.

  There had to be a reason for this happening. Then, I realized this boy could help me understand exactly why my body reacted this way.

  I moved forward and stopped right behind him, about to ask if I could sit beside him, when he spoke.

  “Watch out. The grass is wet in some places.”

  I wasn’t sure if he was talking to me or not. But he was no longer glancing around, agitated, and instead was turning to look at me.

  “Yes, I was talking to you.”

  “How did you know who I was without seeing me?” I wondered if I had one of those, strange squeaky or loud heavy, walks that can identify someone before they enter a room.

  “Lucky guess,” he replied casually, turning back around.

  “Huh,” I muttered and took a seat next to him, cautious to avoid any damp spots.

  After a few minutes of quietly laying out our lunches, – mine being a muffuletta and his being a traditional turkey sandwich – I broke the silence.

  “So where did you come from?”

  “All over. I think I mentioned that.” He was busy pulling open his bag of chips, but I got the distinct impression he was using it as an excuse to avoid looking directly at me.

  “Right, but … where were you last?”

  All of a sudden he appeared uncomfortable and fidgeted with his sandwich. Finally, he answered, though it was in a low voice that I had to strain to hear. “Las Vegas.”

  “Me too,” I said, interested.

  He kept his eyes downcast, slowly, methodically eating his chips. The only sign that he was listening to me was his nod and an uncomfortable “Uh huh…”

  “My aunt is a traveling photographer who left me here while she spends the year in Paris on a shoot. So, I’m staying with a friend of hers. What were you doing in Las Vegas?”

  “Oh … research …,”

  “Really? On what?”

  He drew in a breath and held it. He looked like he didn’t want to answer. I was about to tell him to forget it – knowing how much I didn’t like it when others pried – but then he spoke.

  “On the person I was trying to
find.”

  “The one who is here?”

  He nodded, still looking down and away.

  “Huh, guess you did a good job with your research,” I commented, smiling.

  He stifled a laugh. “It was more blind luck than anything.” Then, he was looking at me, suddenly having overcome his shyness. “What about you? Tell me where you’ve been. I know you have better stories to tell than I do.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that,” I replied. I would have persisted in trying to dissuade him, but I saw his honest curiosity. Ultimately, I conceded.

  After we changed the subject, away from questions about him and I began to tell him about my past, Gershom then became noticeably more relaxed. Eventually, we moved on to talk about school and who we’d each met so far. Then he filled me in on school gossip.

  As it turned out, Ashley and Bridgette were great gossipers, because they filled Gershom in on nearly everyone at school during his orientation tour which he promptly relayed to me. But there was only one person who truly interested me, Achan. Unlike the girls who now swarmed him and fawned over him, I wanted to do my best to avoid him. I had never truly been afraid of anyone before crossing paths with him. I deciphered that blindly hating him was a natural response to the fear that consumed me when he was close by. Gershom didn’t know much about him other than to say, “Looks like another one to avoid.”

  I agreed, completely.

  Unfortunately, after lunch, when I walked into European History, it became clear that avoiding him would be a problem.

  Knowing he was in the room without having to look was easy. The moment I walked through the door, the electrical sensation jolted back to life, but only affected the back of my neck. I did look, though, unable to control myself, I found him sitting in the last row of the class. Even though his eyes weren’t the only ones focused on me, while Mr. Morow hastily introduced me, his were the only ones narrowed with unashamed animosity. A quick scan told me there was only one desk open, and it happened to be two seats in front of Achan.

  I sighed, thinking about how I would spend the entire class wondering if Achan’s glare was focused on the back of my head.

  Mr. Morow shooed me down the aisle before returning to the white board and launching into an overview of the syllabus. Before I turned to take my seat, my eyes connected with Achan’s. Acting on instinct, I narrowed my own to slits and tried hard to direct every bit of anger I could muster into the glare I returned.

  What happened next surprised me. It was so brief I nearly missed it.

  Achan flinched.

  His glare loosened and his eyes widened before returning to their former position. When he clenched his jaw, clearly enraged by my blatant, unspoken reprisal, the hair on the back of my neck went wild again. My body responded with a shudder, which I easily hid by settling into my seat.

  For the next hour, I shuddered uncontrollably every few minutes. I believed this was also every time Achan directed his fury at me and I tried to ignore the protest being launched on the back of my neck. It was a real struggle. In fact, sometime toward the end of class, when Mr. Morow called on me to answer whether I’d covered the same points of his lecture at my previous school, I replied as earnestly as I could.

  “I’m very familiar with European history, sir.”

  “Is that so? And don’t call me ‘sir’. I’m not a police officer.”

  “Sorry.”

  “So, Ms. Tanner … is that why you’re paying so little attention in my class.”

  “I didn’t realize I was.”

  “No, you didn’t realize much at all, did you?” Mr. Morow said, taking a seat at the edge of his desk. He faced me with a scowl. “If you’re so familiar with European history, Ms. Tanner, why don’t you answer this for us … in 410 A.D., a Germanic tribe sacked Rome. It was the first time Rome had fallen to an enemy in 800 years. What was the name of that tribe?”

  As if on cue, everyone in the class shifted in their seats to get a better view of my response. A few students even shook their heads in pity, and I wondered if Mr. Morow’s tactic to get students to listen better had been used before.

  I realized that I should have simply told him I didn’t know and allowed him to ridicule me. He would have done so with pleasure, and the lecture would have continued peaceably; but I’d already had enough of the teachers, The Warden, and the students mocking me.

  “They were called the Visigoths.”

  I glanced around the room and noticed every student was facing me, their expressions all the same – each one in total shock. Mr. Morow released a harrumph, and everyone’s attention turned to him, waiting for confirmation about my answer.

  He held in his anger fairly well. I only saw a slight quiver run up the side of one cheek before he said, “Where did you learn that?”

  “I told you. I’m well versed-”

  “Where?” he demanded, a little too forcefully, which caused other students to turn their heads.

  “I read a lot.”

  He laughed through his nose. “We’ll see about that.”

  “I’m sure we will,” I replied, under my breath, as he turned to face the whiteboard. “Mr. Moron.”

  Students close enough heard me clearly and did their best to muffle their laughter. Still, Mr. Morow spun around and marched to my desk.

  He towered over me, with his hands on his hips.

  “Would you like to repeat what you just said?”

  “I said … I’m sure we will,” I countered, intentionally excluding my new term of endearment for him.

  He didn’t move for an exaggerated minute. Other students in the class became uncomfortable during this pause, even though they weren’t the ones being pinned by Mr. Morow’s unrelenting stare. Finally, he turned to march back up the aisle.

  “Didn’t you also call him Mr. Moron?” someone jeered from behind me.

  Granted, I’d only heard the voice a few times, but still, I instantly knew who it belonged to.

  Achan was calling me out.

  I turned to face him. A smile was threatening to invade his face, hiding beneath his smug expression.

  “I think you heard wrong,” I challenged.

  He lifted one eyebrow. “No, I don’t believe I did,” he replied, coolly.

  It was the first time we spoke to each other, and based on this initial conversation, it was evident that we both harbored an unwavering disdain for one another. When our eyes locked, sparks of distrust and loathing surged along an invisible conduit that somehow connected us.

  This was also the first time I was given a direct view of Achan. Being this close to him, it occurred to me that hidden beneath his boyish face and good looks, if you chose to look close enough, his age could truly be seen. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but I was certain that he was far older than the average teenager.

  The bell rang, interrupting my realization, but no one moved.

  “Well,” Achan finally said. “I have another class to get to.”

  When he stood, the rest of the students mimicked him and walked out of class, like mindless followers, to fervently discuss what had just happened.

  Mr. Morow, the only one left besides me, suddenly appeared uncomfortable in my presence. I collected my books, zipped up my bag, and headed for the door.

  “Ms. Tanner?” he called out.

  “Yes, Mr. Morow,” I replied only slightly turning to look at him.

  His face was grave. “Behave in my classroom. You were already on thin ice before the day even started.”

  I wanted to ask him exactly what I had done to get there but realized no good would come of that. So I simply nodded and left. I managed to avoid the cluster of students gathered around Achan in the hall, but they stopped gossiping long enough to stare at me as I passed.

  I headed for Fencing, glad it was my last class for the day. It was held in a musty, archaic gym the size of a single tennis court. I was accompanied by twenty other students who all seemed to know each other and showed no inte
rest in meeting me. Still, it was better than a classroom with Achan in it. The class seemed long, went by slow, and was generally dull.

  After class, I cut across the back lawn in order to reach the parking lot. I was so eager to get to my bike that I had to fight the urge to strap on the helmet that I’d been carrying around all day.

  If it wasn’t for the hair suddenly standing up on my neck again, I may have done just that. In hindsight, it was probably a good idea.

  The next few moments happened very slowly for me; though I’m sure in reality, everything else was moving at lightning fast speed.

  I heard a commotion that I only vaguely registered as screaming in the distance. I didn’t pay much attention, because something else had already caught my interest.

  Someone was now right beside me.

  I had walked across the field on my own, after letting the rest of the class go ahead, so I couldn’t figure out how anyone could get close enough to me without my noticing. Yet, without a doubt, I knew someone was near me. I could feel them, even if I didn’t immediately see anyone.

  I spun around, searching for the person, but found myself standing squarely in the middle of the field; a staggering distance, no less than two-hundred yards, separating me from any structure.

  In a split-second, my body tensed, bracing for an impact, but there was no logical reason for this reaction. Maybe only a millisecond had passed when I felt a force hit me; firm, but not hard. Simultaneously, a feverish voice boomed around me.

  “Watch out!”

  The playing field’s cold, hard ground met my spine with a smack, but the contact had far less impact than I would have expected. Something broke my fall.

  My eyes fluttered open as I tried to comprehend what had just taken place. I was trying to understand how I could be standing one moment and end up lying on the hard earth in the blink of an eye. I spent the next few minutes focusing, trying to stop my head from perpetually spinning. It took me a considerable amount of time – I’m not sure how long but a good amount – before I realized someone was on top of me.

  I blinked, adjusting my eyesight, and found Eran staring down within inches of me. The entire length of his body pinned me to the ground, his arms propping him up slightly to avoid crushing the air from my lungs. I appreciated that.