The Watcher

Since Labor Day, I’d been avoiding the park. But now the hellhounds had been caught. The muddy trails were slick and covered in wet leaves, so I had to watch my step. Above me hung a thick canopy of evergreens that made it seem more evening than afternoon.

Our argument played over and over in my head. No matter how I looked at it, I’d overreacted. It happened before he even met me, and yet I was insanely jealous of this girl I’d never met, all because she knew him in a way that I never could. It had nothing to do with us. It was his past. But so much of us was the past, too. I’d clung to what little I knew of it, hoping that if he felt something for me back then, he might feel something for me now.

But it was too late. I’d hurt him. I may have even lost him—as a friend, or whatever we were to each other.

In the middle of the park, one of the trails veered off toward an empty playground. Swings blew sideways in the wind, their chains rasping like metallic ghosts. I sat on one and ran my heels along the wet grooves made by other people’s feet in the dirt. I didn't feel like swinging, but it was better than going home. Mom would know something was wrong and I didn’t want to talk about it, not yet.

Over the sound of creaking chains and whispering leaves, I didn’t notice anyone approach until I saw movement and light out of the corner of my eye. A mixture of emotions flooded me as Michael sat himself on the swing beside me: relief, shame, and even jealousy. His mouth was set in a straight line and a river of anger and sadness flowed off of him, both of which I was pretty sure I’d put there. He’d held my hand today. Had he decided I wasn’t worth the trouble and come to tell me to get lost? Was this it? Was I going to lose him?

His voice was surprisingly gentle when he spoke. “If you can’t accept this, I don’t know how you can ever accept the past.”

“It’s different,” I said.

“It is. We’d both been drinking, but it was her choice.” He turned his swing toward mine and the metal hinges creaked. The wind caught his hair. “That night. You deserve so much better.”

Hearing him talk about it only made me feel worse. I started to cry. “It’s not that.”

“What is it, then?”

“It’s that I’ll never…” The tears choked out of me in embarrassing sobs. How could I tell him that I’d always want more? And the fact that he’d been with someone when I couldn’t be with him at all was almost unbearable for me?

And then he got it. Somehow, intuitively, he understood. Standing, he lifted me to my feet and took me in his arms. He kissed my hair, my forehead, making me shiver inside. When he whispered my ancient name, “Sajani,” his voice came out in deep, low tones like a cello, and the force of it echoed through me. “You were with me that way.”

I sobbed, heated by his arms, as a blissful thrum of energy flowed between us. His hands shook as he stroked my hair, gently rocked me until I cried myself out. When I was done, he took me by the hand and walked me home as the shock of a blood-orange sunset broke through the clouds.

Chapter Nineteen

The next morning at school was soured by Heather arguing with Jesse over bringing up the subject of Chloe in the first place. Fortunately, they made up at lunch. At least things with Fiona seemed to be good. People were acting normal around her again, and she and Dean were closer than ever. She’d stopped flirting with other guys. Though I was happy for her, I was still a bit sad.

Michael wasn’t at school, and his absence made me irrationally suspicious. My night had been filled with crazy jealous dreams of him sleeping with every girl in school but me—even Elaine—as if I meant nothing to him. Though they were only dreams, they reminded me that I would never be able to be close to him that way. The way all my friends could be with their boyfriends. The fact that Michael and I were destined to be only friends ate at me like acid in my veins.

When I got home after school, Mom was just getting up, having spent a few days changing her sleep patterns to prepare for the overnight shift. I made us chicken curry for di

“Mia, I think we need to talk,” she said after we’d finished eating.

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. Conversations with Mom that started with We need to talk usually sucked. The next line was usually something like Your father and I are going to live apart for a while or We’re moving to Seattle.

“You know you have the house to yourself tonight,” she said. When I nodded, waiting for the bomb to drop, she continued, “I’ve noticed that you and Michael have been spending a lot of time together. I remember being your age—”

“Mom!”

“Mia,” she said back. “I can see that you really like this boy. But I don’t want you to rush into anything just because the opportunity may present itself.”

“Mom, it’s not like that.” I squirmed, unable to believe I was having this conversation, that she was using the we need to talk code for my non-existent sex life. After everything I’d been through with Michael over Chloe, this had to be some kind of cruel joke. I didn’t even know when I’d see him again outside of school.

“Okay. I don’t want to have to make rules about when he can come over. Can I rely on you to be sensible about it? Make sure he goes home at a decent hour if he visits?”

“Yes, Mom, I’ll be sensible.” And if I wasn’t, he’d only run away again.

“I’ve seen too many teenage pregnancies in my line of work.”

“We’re just friends. Really.”

“Oh,” she said, and for a moment I thought she’d have the good sense to stop but I was wrong. “Well, if that changes, you remember our talks about this? You’ll make sure to stay protected?”

God, would this conversation never end? “Yes. If it does—which it won’t—I will.” She had only told me about a hundred times since I turned twelve, for all the good it would do now.

And then, finally, she decided it was time to leave. Having not heard from Michael all day, I prepared myself for a long, boring night with my textbooks. Unable to decide whether to do my Latin or Gov/Econ reading first, I curled up on the sofa with both of them. I had just finished reading a chapter when the doorbell rang.

Jumpier than I expected, I checked who it was through the kitchen window, and when I realized it was Michael I rushed to the door. Still embarrassed about my outburst the day before, I greeted him nervously and invited him in.

“Are you busy?” he asked.

I shook my head. “Just homework. Why? Do you have the night off or something?”

“I never technically have a night off, but I’m only on call tonight.”

Never had a night off? God must be one hell of an employer!

He made his way toward the kitchen area and leaned against the counter. “Are you alone?”

“Yeah. My mom’s working the night shift.”

“She works them a lot?” he asked.

I leaned on the counter beside him. “She has to support us.”

“Do you ever get lonely?” Folding his arms across his chest, he looked down at me, his eyes hooded and soft. In that moment, I couldn’t tell if he was asking because he was curious or if it was part of his job as an angel.

Either way, I didn’t want to answer. The truth would make me sound needy, and Heather said guys hated that. I was pretty sure my dad did.

I shrugged. “I’m used to it.”

He didn’t press the subject. “Well, there’s something I want to show you tonight.” He sca

My cheeks pinked from his appraisal. “What exactly am I dressing for?”

“We’ll be outside—near the water.”