The Jerk

The Guardian

“The Guardian”

Copyright © AJ Saravia 2013

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission of the publisher.

Unedited.

_________________________________________________________________________________

Chapter One

Quinn offered me a fry.

“No, thanks,” I shrugged, shaking my head as I drew a circle on the picnic table with my sharp nail. Two hours until school was out, that was all that I could think about, the weekend. “I’m really not all that hungry, Quinn,” I looked at him when he pushed his bowl of fries towards me.

“Are you all right, Rose?” He’d been asking that question a lot lately, whether everything was okay or whether I was feeling all right. I told him that same answer as always, “Dandy”, and he gave his same response. “You can talk to me about anything, sweetheart,” and pressed a lingering kiss to my cheek, leaning across the table, jumper almost in the ketchup bowl. “Are you really okay, Rose?”

I met his blue eyes. “No, I lie.” He pushed the bowl of fries across the table, a miserable, crooked grimace forming on his lips when I finally let my facade drop, my shoulders slumping forward. “I heard her talking on the phone Wednesday night.” I took a fry into my mouth, chewed and swallowed. “I picked up the phone to call you, but she was already on it.” I stole another fry. “She was talking to this guy, he sounded our age, but...” I gulped and dipped another fry in the sauce, making that one disappear like a magic trick too. “...he gave me the creeps. They were talking about how there was some ‘meeting’ at a warehouse in a couple of days, sometime in the next two weeks.” Another fry. “They didn’t say the specifics but I got enough to know that something wasn’t right and didn’t add up. The sad thing was,” I dipped my finger into the sauce bowl and licked it clean, Quinn watching my mouth, “Alice seemed fine talking to the creeper.”

“Maybe she’s met him before,” Quinn said absent-mindedly, eyes still on my lips and I grimaced.

“I don’t know, maybe. She sounded almost too comfortable for it to be...you know, natural. It was like she was forcing herself to sound fine, like she didn’t want to talk to him but had to.” I frowned and chewed on another three fries. “But she called him, that’s what I don’t understand. Why would you call someone you’re not comfortable with, but then force yourself to sound like everything’s okay?”

Quinn slowly met my eyes. “Exactly,” he breathed, “because she had to.” He reached across the table and took a fry from his bowl and I gave him a goofy smile, pushing the bowl back towards him. He stopped it and gave me a small smile. “It’s okay,” he chuckled a little, “I know someone’s comfort food when I see it.”