dedicated to LifeisLimitlessXD for the cover she made!
* * *
The bus rolled up in front of the quaint little neighborhood my cousin lived in. Blocks of pastel-colored homes with perfectly cropped lawns and garden decorations bathing in the sun met my glance when I looked out the dust-stained window.
It surprised me when Cross got off the bus after I did, but my expression had nothing on the confusion etched onto his features. "You live here?" he asked, pointing to the neighborhood as the bus drove away.
"Uh..."
"Aren't you...financially unstable?" he pressed, his eyes beginning to cloud over with suspicion. I wanted to smack myself in the face--I had completely forgotten about that part of my alias.
When I arrived at Cross Academy, a presumption had spread (courtesy of myself) that I was incredibly poor. The only reason I could afford to attend such a fancy school was the fact that I was an "outstanding student" with a "brilliant mind." Supposedly, the headmistress had offered a full scholarship that would pay for all seven years of my courses.
According to supposed "facts," I lived downtown in some run-down apartment with my father, who happened to be a traveling archaeologist. Logan, king of the academy, would've known all about my position. Which was why it probably struck him as odd that I, poor little Alex Finch, was getting off in front of one of the pricier neighborhoods in Paradise.
"A friend of my father's lives here," I lied quickly. "I need to drop off a package from my father to him, so that's why I'm here." It wasn't too much of a lie--a friend of my father's did live here. Elijah, my cousin, was a dear friend and relative to the Sparrow clan.
Thankfully, Cross nodded as though he believed what I said. "Your father's an archaeologist, right?" he asked as the two of us began walking, though we maintained a healthy amount of distance. As in, I was walking in the bike lane and he kept treading onto the lawns.
No, he's the future king of Cimeria, I almost answered before I caught myself. "Yeah. He's in...Egypt again," I said instead. Did Egypt sound believable? It sounded like a generic lie. Crap.
"Is it hard?" Cross turned to look at me. "Having him gone a lot?"
"Yeah," I nodded, but this answer was completely true. "I've gotten used to it by now, though. It's a job that he can't control, and as long as I get to see him from time to time, I manage myself pretty well."
"Yeah, I know how you feel," he sighed. I snuck a look at him, remembering that his father was not only the owner of a big business, but also the head of an undercover agency called XYZ. A job like that must keep his father away from the family apart for long periods of time.
Now that I thought about it, my bodyguard was an agent of XYZ, and was rumored to be one of the best in the field. I wondered if Cross was in that sort of business, or did his father forbid him from mingling in such dangerous waters?
"I'm going to guess your father came back today," I assumed. Cross' head snapped towards me, astonishment plain on his face.
"How did you know?"
"You're in a good mood," I shrugged. "I figured it was because your father's home."
Instead of lashing out on me and my observation skills and 'nosiness,' Cross smiled and nodded. "You're pretty observant, Finch. It's hard to believe that you're the same girl that zones out in classes."
"Believe me, Cross, I'm a very different girl from the one that you know," I asserted with a half-smile, thinking about the princess that I would become again soon.
Cross didn't have an answer to my comment, and we kept silent for the rest of the time being. Finally, when I saw a dark blue house up ahead, I stopped walking. Cross couldn't know the location of where I lived. My cousin probably wasn't at home, meaning I'd have to enter the passcode, which would be weird because you normally shouldn't know such a thing to the house of your 'father's friend.'
That's just kind of creepy.
"This is you?" Cross asked, ignorantly providing me the perfect chance to lie yet again as he pointed to the salmon-colored house beside us.
"Yeah," I nodded. "You can go ahead now," and I made a shooing motion with my hand.
He did an awkward shuffle of his feet before he began to walk away. Barely a few seconds passed before he turned around. "You know, if you're struggling on something...I guess I could help you out with some tutoring."
Wait. Did I really just hear that?
"Damn, your mother must've really chewed you out this morning," I gasped, shaking my head in shock. "I'm not even fully convinced this is Logan Cross. Are you an alien from Jupiter, perhaps, using his body as a way to learn more about Earth?"
"I take it back," he grumbled. "Everything I've said since the bus stop, I take it all back."
"Now there's the Logan Cross I know!" I cooed. Cross glowered at me, and I knew that this was the end of our unusual and prolonged interaction. "I'll see you Monday, Cross. I hope you feel better by then."
Cross just made a face and stalked away, and I watched him run his hands through his dark hair. He didn't turn around for the longest time. I stood still for a while, watching his figure grow more and more distant. Then, when I was about to start walking forward as well, Cross turned and gave me a wave. After that, he rounded the corner and disappeared from my sight.
I let a smile slip onto my face as I continued on towards the dark blue house up ahead. The smile lasted as I climbed onto the porch, stopped in front of the white door, and punched in the passcode.
He's not all that bad once he stops glaring, I thought as I entered the cool interior of my cousin's house, dropping my bag and textbooks besides the door. I turned the corner and headed down the hallway that would lead to the kitchen, passing by Elijah's own artwork (or colorful, shapeless blobs on canvases, as I like to call them).
Entering the kitchen gave me a right shock when I saw my father sitting by the island, a steaming cup of coffee besides him as he flipped through the newspaper that Elijah collected from when our neighbors threw them into our yard.
"Father!" I cried out happily when I saw him. I rushed towards my father, who eagerly leapt off his chair and embraced me when I collided into his chest.
"Hello, sweetheart!" he said enthusiastically, holding me tight as he swayed back and forth. "How have you been doing?" My father let go of the hug to cup his hands around my face, smoothing back the stray red strands of my wig with his thumbs.
"Absolutely wonderful," I said, laying it thick on the sarcasm.
"Everything's still the same? No one's been nice to you?"
My thoughts brought up Cross but I knew he tended to get that way whenever his mother found out about our little antics. Or my alien theory was true.
"Nothing's out of place," I confirmed.
"Good. At least it means that they still believe everything," he said, finding the silver lining out of all the troubles I had to go through. My father was very uncomfortable with the fact that I was bullied and had demanded to go bring the subject up to Catarina Cross. However, due to my insisting, the two of them backed off.
"Right? It means you won't have a repeat of last time," he continued, seeming to fear my silence as a sign of sadness or depression.
"Everything is fine, Father," I said, though a grimace did make its way to my face when I thought of the memory. It had been a mistake of me back then to be so careless and trusting. My lack of responsibility had caused a lot of stress for my father and it made me vow never to mess up like that again.
The memory still lingered on my mind with a bitter aftertaste that had me scrunching up my nose and muttering some very unfriendly words.
"Sweetheart, I know what you're thinking. It wasn't your fault. Now, who's ready to meet your new bodyguard?" He began grinning, obviously hoping to diffuse the tension created from the Topic-That-Must-Not-Be-Mentioned (not Voldemort).
"About that--I thought you were arriving with them? Elijah said you wouldn't get off the plane until tonight."
"First off, your cousin's a little liar and doesn't read the schedules I send him. Second, I came before your bodyguard to remind you that you can't run away from him this time."
My father gave me a reprimanding look and I returned it with a playful smile, recalling all the memories of me wandering away from my guards and somehow walking straight into trouble.
"Well...that's still an option I'm debating."
* * *
Logan
Logan couldn't stop thinking about Alex Finch the entire time he took to walk through the neighborhood to reach his gated community. It was bad. Very bad. Not only because it was Alex Finch, a girl he's strongly disliked ever since he met her, but also because of the mission he was recently assigned to (technically, he volunteered for it actually).
He needed to be focused on the mission. It was incredibly important, for both business and Logan's personal reasons, and his mind needed to be one-hundred percent concentrated on how to do the job with no flaws whatsoever.
Logan couldn't help it, though. His mind kept wandering back to the red-headed girl with enigmatic eyes and the half-smile. For the first time in...well, a long while, he had had a decent conversation with her.
Normally, Logan hated talking to her.
She had the most delusional vocabulary, and Logan couldn't help but wonder what universe existed within that head of hers that made her say such absurd things. At the same time, every phrase she uttered dripped so much sarcasm, it gave Logan migraines. He used to hate it--her voice grated on his bones and sometimes, he wished he was allowed to tape her mouth shut.
However, he realized with horror at that very moment, for some gods awful reason, over the months, Logan seemed to be growing quite fond of their conversations. They weren't all that bad when the two of them tried being civil. Her theories were, at the least, creative and refreshing to listen to.
Plus, he found her smile slightly contagious whenever she went off on one of her rants, whether they be directed at him or something completely irrelevant. She lit a fire within herself, and he found himself caught up in their interactions that it was almost easy to forget about their animosity.
Shuddering, Logan tried his best to shake off any more thoughts of Alex Finch. She's annoying, he thought. Remember, you hate that devil-may-care attitude. She's lazy and unappreciative.
That was all he needed to think about. After reciting those lines a few times as though they were some sacred mantra, Logan put aside all thoughts of Alex Finch.
Instead, he focused his mind on the event tonight. It would be his first meeting with the client he had been assigned to. He replayed his instructions over and over again in his head, praying to the gods that he wouldn't mess anything up. First impressions were important, and Logan would die if his client got the idea that he'd be inept at the job.
It wouldn't be the first time something like that would happen. Logan was one of the few agents that had been sent out on the field before the age of eighteen--in fact, he had been thirteen when he completed his first field mission, which was something practically unheard of.
To achieve such a goal meant that one must be incredibly skilled. Logan remained one of the best at nearly everything. He had mastered martial arts, one-on-one combat, and was able to take on seven highly trained agents at once without breaking a sweat. His knowledge and use of the technological field was beyond comparison. Logan was also extremely talented with a weapon, whether it be knives or a gun. His aim was flawless and he could take down a moving target with ease.
Since he was still so young, though, people found it hard to believe him capable of such things. Logan hated it--he had heard stories of other agents who had succeeded at an early age being told with admiration. But whenever it came to him, the only reception was skepticism.
Please believe in me, he prayed. Logan's father had reassured him that he was the only one fit for the job, but Logan couldn't help fearing being turned away.
Logan had been so lost in thought that he didn't even notice that he had arrived at the gates of his house. He blinked, not believing that he had walked for so long without noticing his surroundings. Then, recovering from his side-tracked moment, he pressed a button on the machine installed by the gate.
"Yes?" a cold voice answered. It was the head maid, he realized, and for a second, Logan was puzzled with her harsh tone until he remembered the cameras were down for an hour today (some technical problem, his father told him--they'd be up and running soon enough). The maid wouldn't be able to identify anyone.
"Poppy, it's Logan," he spoke into the speaker.
"Oh, yes!" Poppy chirped. "I'm so sorry, sir. The cameras were down and--"
"It's completely fine. If you could open the gates though..."
"Of course, sir!"
A few seconds after the exchange, the machinery of the gates whirred and the iron bars began to open inward, allowing Logan to step onto the long driveway. He passed his mother's blooming garden, where the sakura trees were in their spring glory. The pink petals swayed on the dark brown branches while some floated towards the ground. Logan made sure to wave to the gardener when he caught sight of the aging man trimming the hedges.
The maids had the front doors open before Logan could even step on the porch. The two chanted, "Good afternoon, sir!" as he walked in and gave a polite nod to each of them. If he had more time, he'd chat with them like he always did, but there was about an hour left for him to get ready.
He rushed upstairs into his room. There, he took notice that an outfit was already laid out on his bed, probably courtesy of either his father or the maids. Logan made a quick mental note to thank them for the deed before he left, then Logan began to change.
It was a rather casual outfit, Logan thought after he put it on--dark jeans, a white t-shirt with a black blazer. There weren't any shoes or ties or anything else laid out.
Logan began running his fingers through his hair as he paced around his room. Something was wrong--this can't possibly be what he was wearing to meet his client. Wouldn't she think of him as just another teenage boy? Shouldn't he look more professional?
There was a knock on the door, but it opened before Logan could say anything. His father stepped in." Are you ready?" his father grinned.
Logan stole a quick look at the alarm clock on the night stand beside his bed. "We still have thirty minutes."
"I thought you were excited for this reunion?" His father frowned. "I was expecting more of a...let's-get-there-super-early attitude."
A smile curved the corners of Logan's lips, but there was a bitterness that glazed over his eyes. "It's not a reunion if she doesn't remember me."
Lancelot Cross looked at his son with utmost sympathy, but the two of them knew there was no silver lining in Logan's words. "You remember the instructions? You are not to speak a word about the incident," Lancelot reminded him.
Logan nodded. "I know. I've read the file about fifty times since you've given it to me."
"You're such an overachiever," his father laughed. "Meet me downstairs in ten, alright? It never hurts to be early."
"Hey, Father," Logan called out quickly. "Are you sure this is the right apparel?"
"Trust me," his father grinned. "That is the only way she'll take you seriously." With that, Lancelot Cross closed the door, leaving his son alone in his room again. Logan could hear the footsteps echo throughout the house as his father hopped the steps of the stairs two at a time.
With the extra ten minutes, Logan sat down on his bed and pulled out the file he had been rereading until Finch had interrupted him. Don't think about Finch, Logan grumbled internally. Now is definitely not the time to be distracted.
He couldn't help it. Soon enough, Logan was flirting with the idea of being friends with the girl who burned as bright as the stars in the night sky with eyes as dark as shadows. She was riveting, and the thought of walking home with her everyday, joking and exchanging notes--it was all fun to dream over.
But when Logan's fingers brushed the file on his lap, he was brought to reality. He and Finch lived in different worlds. Alex Finch was just an ordinary girl, but Logan wasn't some regular boy. It'd be better to stay what they were--enemies.
Logan directed his attention back to the papers and began looking at the first page of the file, which was the contract he had signed a few months ago.
He was going to become the bodyguard for someone very important. She was in need of a protector, for she was returning to her home country this summer, and without someone to shield her, her life was in total danger.
He didn't have the heart to look at the next page, where he'd see her picture again. He'd be seeing her soon--there was no need to open past wounds before needed. So, Logan got up and tucked the file into the bottom-most drawer at his desk and locked it before heading downstairs.
His father was already in the driveway. Logan uttered a quick 'thank you' to some of the maids that were cleaning before rushing outside. Once Logan was seated in the car, Logan's father backed out of the driveway.
Logan had expected to arrive in front of one of the expensive hotels in the city or an hour ride out to some seclusive area in the woods, far from prying eyes. But the ride took a fast minute before they pulled up in front of a dark blue house.
"Are we stopping for an errand?" Logan inquired as his father unbuckled his seatbelt.
"She lives with her cousin in this neighborhood," his father answered. "A great convenience, huh?"
It was the same street that Finch's father's friend lived on. Logan faltered on the sidewalk and turned his head to the left, looking at the spot where he had left Finch and wondered if she made it home yet.
"Logan?" his father called out, already on the steps of the porch. Logan shook his head. Concentrate, he chanted in his mind as he joined his father in front of the white door.
In almost an instant, it opened to reveal the future king of Cimeria.
Prince William Sparrow was still tall and lean with the same charming smile on his lips. His dark hair showed no sign of graying, nor was there any indication from wrinkles that it had been eleven years since Logan had seen the man up close and personal.
Upon looking at the fraying gray hoodie and Mickey Mouse t-shirt the prince wore, Logan was suddenly thankful that he hadn't shown up in a suit.
"Lance!" Prince William crowed, a big smile on his face as he opened his arm and embraced Logan's father. The language automatically switched to Cimerian, and Logan watched the two old friends with an amused look.
"Gods, you got old," Prince William teased.
"And you're still young. What the hell do you eat?" Lancelot laughed. "Now, where is she?"
"She's inside." Then, the prince turned his dark eyes to Logan and an even bigger grin (if that was possible) spread from ear-to-ear. "You've grown up into a handsome man, my boy!"
"Thank you, Your Highness," Logan said, his cheeks turning a bit red at the compliment.
"I'm not sure I can trust my daughter with him." The smile turned sly as the prince glanced at Logan's father. "What if she falls for him?"
"I'll book the wedding date," Lancelot winked. "Come on, Logan--let's go greet your client."
Prince William lead the way. Logan dawdled behind, making sure to close the door and lock it properly before he headed down the hallway that was decorated with blobs of colors splashed onto canvases.
When Logan entered the living room, he had an image already painted in his mind. She would look like the embodiment of royalty, and his imagination went as far as to dress her in a beautiful gown with her long dark curls cascading to her waist, just like he remembered. The same angelic smile would still be there, sending his heart into flutters like it used to.
What he didn't expect was the girl standing by the grand piano.
She wore dark blue jeans that clung to her long legs, a white shirt with a cream blazer covering her torso with scruffy brown boots that Logan swore he had seen before -- just on somebody else.
She was beautiful -- as beautiful as Logan remembered, but the fairy tale aura she used to have was gone. In her place was a girl as fierce as they come, holding herself straight and proud.
"No way," Logan whispered as he stared in disbelief. He knew who else had the same arching eyebrows, with the same darkness in her eyes that seemed to regard him with a mischievous interest, as though she had something wicked planned for him.
The Ronald-McDonald-wannabe hair was gone, the make-up clean off save for the slits of black that tailed the corners of her eyes.
"Finch?" No way--this could not be true. Dear gods, please don't let this be happening.
"Actually," she said and Logan knew that this was her--somehow, this was Alex Finch--, "my name is Park Sparrow. And it's a pleasure to meet you, Logan Cross."