Never (The Ever Series Book 2) (18 page)

The sound of metal clinking on my window causes my eyes to flicker to the side. I turn and see an unshaven man in his late-twenties leaning down next to my window, still tapping a set of keys on the glass. He’s breathing heavily and leering like he just won some contest.

“Engine trouble?” he asks slyly.

I look over and watch as his friend arrives at my passenger-side window. The skinnier of the two grins and tips his ball cap before setting the case of beer on the roof of my car.

“Look, I’m going to call the cops if you guys don’t take off right now,” I yell through the glass as loudly as I can, holding up my phone.

The guy standing at my window smiles an ugly smile.

“Go ahead.”

The way he just said that makes a shiver run up my spine. I look down at my phone, and my stomach drops.
No Service.
Not even
Emergency Service
. Is that even possible? It’s not like I’m on a freaking polar ice cap! My stomach tightens when the guy at my window calls over to his friend.

“Hey, Eric? We’ve got nowhere to be, right?”

His friend laughs and moves around to the hood of my car. He opens another beer and offers me a mock toast before sitting down like he’s going to spend the day there. Desperately, I look around, hoping a car will pull into the lot and force these two miscreants to take off. I try the key in the ignition, and the man outside my window laughs when the engine sputters.

“You flooded it, little girl,” he says.

My eyes snap to his.
Little girl
. Someone has called me that before. I’m struggling to remember who when he knocks on my window again.

“Pop your hood, and I’ll give it a look.”

He sneers, and his buddy chuckles. Feeling a flood of raw anger, I come up with a new idea. If I can unlock the door and swing it open fast and hard, I can hit this guy’s shins—maybe even knock him down, and then run as fast as I can. I hesitate, though, because if it goes wrong, it will go
really
wrong. And this also is assuming I can outrun his drunken friend.

In the middle of weighing the pros and cons of this plan, I glance up and see a figure emerge from the tunnel. When the person begins walking toward us, I figure it’s wishful thinking—a mirage invented by my desperate imagination. But then the guy sitting on the hood of my car perks up. I scowl when his pal turns and leans against my door, ruining my earlier plan.

“Check this out,” the guy on the hood laughs.

As the person continues walking in our direction, I’m not sure whether to be relieved or afraid for whoever it is. Should I honk to get his attention? Or hope that he passes by unscathed? He’s headed straight for my car, and the two jerks seem unconcerned. But why would they be? There are two of them. The approaching stranger keeps getting closer, and suddenly I stop, my eyes widening.

Copper hair, bright blue eyes, tall frame.

What is
he
doing here? I’m still locked in a state of shock when my stalker stops a few feet away and waves his hand like a hypnotist.

“This isn’t the girl you want,” he says in a stage voice.

His eyebrow arches, and he waits. I can’t help it. I laugh. They glance back and forth at each other and then burst into raucous laughter as well. But their amusement doesn’t make me feel any better.

“You’re a couple cans shy of a six pack, aren’t ya, buddy?” the one on the hood says.

The goon on my door pushes off and begins to swagger toward Alex, who I’m starting to think might be truly nuts, considering he looks absolutely carefree as the other guy slides off of my hood and joins his buddy.

“Hey.
Douche bag
. Why don’t you give me your wallet and take off?” the larger one leers.

I watch, mesmerized, as Alex takes out his wallet immediately, a gesture that seems to surprise the two cretins as well. He holds it up.

“Why not the wallet for the girl?” Alex asks conversationally.

I bristle at this. Then he looks past them and actually winks at me.

“How much you got?” the larger man demands.

“I imagine only a few thousand.”

They stare at him in shock before laughing again. Then I watch as the larger bully pulls something out of his pocket and waves it.

“How about we take your money and maybe let you walk outta here?” the skinnier one says.

Alex seems to sigh.

“Well. I can see you two marvels of human genetics have no practice being reasonable. Here’s what’s going to happen. … You are going to—”

I’ve heard enough. Taking advantage of their distraction, I swing open the car door and leap out, leaving it wide open as I bolt for the grass. I don’t care; they can take the car, if they can get it into gear. I run as fast as I can, figuring I have enough of a head start that I can make it to Coast Highway and flag someone down before those two guys kill my stalker.

I’ve nearly made it to the public restrooms at the edge of the parking lot when a pair of arms wraps around my waist and lifts me off the ground. In a moment of pure dread, I know Alex must be hurt … or worse. And even if he
is
stalking me, I wouldn’t wish that on him. I scream, feeling a massive rush of fear and anger course through me. As I struggle to break free, I push this feeling to the surface with every ounce of my being. Abruptly the arms around my waist slacken—and a second later I’m falling fast toward the pavement. I’m about to land butt-first when a hand grasps my elbow, jerking me upright.

Swinging around, I raise my hands. My nails are naturally long and razor sharp, not that I’ve ever had to use them to defend myself, but right now I’m ready to fight for my life. Then I realize the person standing in front of me is Alex. His expression is slightly dazed, and he’s looking me up and down like I just slapped him. Other than that, though, he looks unharmed. My adrenaline is still pumping, and I whip my head around in search of the two psychos.

“Are you okay?” he asks, retracting his arm.

“Me? Are you kidding? I thought they were about to kill you! Where are they?!”

He shrugs.

“I told them that I had called the police. Cowards that they were, they ran. I was only trying to catch up with you to tell that you’re safe, and you needn’t run onto the highway.”

Something about his speech patterns causes another rush of déjà vu. I brush it off, more concerned at the moment about whether I should be running away from him, too.

“And they took off, just like that?” I demand. “Right after they pulled a knife and were about to jump you?”

“Never underestimate the cowardice of bullies. After all, they were targeting a young girl who shouldn’t be wandering an empty beach unaccompanied.”

“You make it sound like I’m five! I can take care of myself!” I snap.

“Clearly,” he says dryly.

“God! All I wanted was to get to West Street Beach. I swear, how hard can that be?” I mumble before jabbing a finger in his direction. “All right, so what were
you
doing here, stalker man?”

“Stalker man? I rather like that. Not even a thank you, then, for rescuing you?”

I laugh, feeling like I’m coming unglued.

“Rescuing me? How do I know I don’t need rescuing from you?”

“I’ve done nothing to harm you, have I?”

“Yet,” I clarify.

“Valid point. I suppose I could have come to your aid only to have you all to myself.”

I look him up and down. Despite his good looks, there really
is
something absolutely dangerous about him.

“Um, scary much?”

He reaches behind him, and my eyes widen. When I see what he’s holding, I exhale and look down at my bare foot. My shoe, a slip-on, must have come off while I was running, and I hadn’t even noticed. He suddenly kneels down in front of me like he’s going to put my shoe on, and I shake my head vehemently.

“Who do you think you are? Prince Charming?”

“Would that make you a scullery maid?”

I hold out my hand, and he places the shoe in my palm.

“So, assuming you’re
not
stalking me … What are you doing here?”

“Well, I enjoy long walks on the beach, amongst other occupations.”

“Hmm, so sanity, good judgment, and honesty are clearly not your strong points.”

“Wren, if human beings were completely honest with one another every second of every day, then humankind would collapse in on itself.”

I smirk, but deep down, I think he’s right. I don’t
want
to know the truth behind people’s eyes. It’s painful and dangerous. Besides, I certainly have secrets that I can never share with
anyone
.

“Okay. Where does that leave
us
, then?”

“If you are willing to give me the benefit of the doubt, then I propose friendship.”

“Friendship?” I repeat skeptically. “Without honesty?”

“How about as much honesty as each of us can spare?”

I shake my head, still suspicious.

“Why, though?”

His clear blue eyes flash with emotion before he looks away.

“I’ve done some things that I regret now, and I’m seeking to redeem myself.”

I frown, feeling like I’ve had this same conversation before.

“And? What does that have to do with me?” I ask flatly.

“You seem like someone who has suffered regret and knows what it’s like to be on the outside.”

“And you can tell this just from looking at me?”

“As plainly as I can see it in myself.”

I want to laugh and tell him how wrong he is … but he’s not.

I
find my dad in the back yard sitting by the pool reading the business section when I get back to the house after my stalker, with virtually no effort, got the Mustang started. At this point, I’m starting to think he’s more Fairy Godmother than Prince Charming.

“Did you take the old girl out for a drive?” my dad asks.

I nod. My dad looks like a snapshot out of my childhood in his polo shirt, shorts, and deck shoes.
This
is how I remember him—always ready for the beach, not in a suit.

“How’s she running?”

“Good. Loud,” I laugh.

“Let me know when you’re ready to grab lunch.”

I nod again, and he looks back down at the paper. Walking back into the house, I look around. Maybe it’s the décor, but this house seems colder than our house in Portland, despite Southern California’s warmer climate. Plus, there’s something stifling about being in someone else’s house when you’re not quite welcome. The way I see it, if you don’t feel free to poke around the refrigerator at will, then you’re not “home.” Compelled to return to my room, I go and lie down on the twin bed and grab my iPod. I close my eyes and scowl when the first thing I think of is my copper-haired stalker-turned-savior. Something isn’t right about him. Actually, to be accurate, nothing is right about him, starting with his unnatural fixation on me. Why? The only thing that makes me
special
is something he can’t possibly know about.

I smile as a wicked idea comes to mind. I
could
dig around in his head and prove that I’m a mind-reading freak just to mess with him. But it makes me feel guilty just thinking this. I mean, what has he done to me other than act a little creepy, show up while two nutcases were toying with me, and then awkwardly offer friendship?

I sigh. He hasn’t done anything
bad
. Just strange.

So he’s a little off-center. But so am I. This might explain why some freakishly awesome-looking guy noticed me: we’re both seriously strange. Maybe he’s damaged, too. It’s the best explanation I can come up with, anyway. A knock at my door interrupts my contemplation, and I sit up, taking off my headphones.

“Come in!”

The door opens, and my dad steps in, looking around like he’s never seen this room of his house. I can tell he’s not a fan of the bubblegum-colored walls.

“You want to head out?” he asks.

I nod. The cereal and nonfat milk I had this morning didn’t stick with me. Getting up, I follow my dad outside. As we walk to his car, I notice that the clouds from earlier are already completely gone. It’s such a stark difference from Portland, where I had gotten used to the rain lasting for days. My dad unlocks the car, and I get in, breathing in the smell of new leather seats. The scent is achingly familiar, though I don’t know why it would be. I’ve never been in this car before.

“How’ve you been, Wrennie?”

When he asks, I realize that we didn’t talk much at dinner last night. Well, nobody talked much except for Jessica. This might be part of her appeal to my dad. She’s like diet soda—bubbly, saccharin, and without a lot of substance. I honestly think my mom was too much for him, which only makes me think—was there something she saw in me that reminded her too much of my father? Is that why she finally admitted wanting me gone?

“School’s been good. Well, math never is.” I stop and search for something neutral to say. “It rained a lot in Portland.”

“But I thought you were liking it up there,” he says.

I look down at my hands, refusing to risk seeing something in his eyes that will confirm that he, too, wants me gone. Turning to look out the window, I feel the blood drain from my face as we pass by Aliso Beach. I search for some sign of my earlier bad luck, but now that it’s sunnier, the parking lot is filling up with families taking out coolers and beach gear. We drive along in silence before the car coasts to a stop in front of another familiar sight. Opening my door, I laugh.

“Wow. I didn’t think this place would still be around.”

“Good Mexican food will never go out of style,” my dad says with a smile.

“Yeah, and I thought you said this place nearly killed you.”

“Still does on a weekly basis.”

“Shredded beef, red sauce, no beans, extra cheese on top,” I recite from memory.

He holds open the door for me.

“You still remember my order? It’s been a long time since the two of us came here together.”

When we get to the counter, I order the same thing as my dad with the knowledge that I’ll regret it later. I get a fountain soda, too. I ordered their horchata once, but the sweet, cinnamon-flavored beverage freaked me out a little bit. We take our drinks and find a table by the window. Sitting down across from my dad, I smile again.

I’m terrible about hiding my feelings from anyone but him. During the last few months we lived in Topanga—when the house was up for sale and before he moved out, I built up a façade that allowed me to survive the possibility that he had stopped caring about me, or worse, never had. My mom always said that this wasn’t true. Still, after finding out that she wanted a fresh start, I just don’t know what to believe anymore.

The truth is that I only survived my dad’s desertion because I thought there was no way I could ever question my mom’s love.

Now, well now, I just have to survive.

“I know the past couple of years haven’t been easy, Wrennie,” my dad begins.

I wave him off with another forced smile.

“I really appreciate you and Jessica letting me stay.”

Seeing our order come up, I jump up and go over to the counter. Grabbing the tray and some utensils, I return to the table and watch as my dad takes out a roll of antacids. He sets them on the table.

“After dinner mints?” I joke.

“A necessity.”

I look down at my burrito, glad to have something to distract me while I come up with something bland to talk about.

“Oh! I forgot to ask you about school,” I say in between bites.

Looking up, I’m momentarily afraid that he forgot to call and register me.

“I had Jean in the office—she’s my new admin, I don’t think you ever met her—I had her call the school to give them the list of classes you e-mailed me, and the office manager said to come in tomorrow morning to pick up your schedule.”

“It was that easy?”

I smirk, thinking of Mr. Chernoff, that shiny-headed jerk, on my first day at Springview.

“They didn’t have an art class that was available, so she signed you up for independent study. You’ll have to stay on campus until the end of school since you’re not eighteen, which reminds me …”

He reaches down and then sets a small jewelry box on the table.

“It was going to be part of your birthday present, but you’re here now.”

I stare at the box and hesitate. I’ve been so mad at my dad for so long that accepting anything from him seems hypocritical.

“Dad … getting the car back was enough. I don’t need anything.”

“Wrennie, just open it.”

Relenting, I reach forward and pick up the box. Another rush of familiarity hits me, this time even stronger. For a split second, I see a shining infinity symbol sitting against black velvet. From a dream maybe? I flick open the box and smile.

“Jessica says these are popular.”

It’s a charm bracelet of some kind. I guess it could be the hottest thing right now, but I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been in on a trend in my life, but I guess I will be now. Getting up, I go around to the other side of the table and give my dad a hug before offering my wrist.

“I can’t get the clasp …”

It takes him a second before he can latch it.

“It looks nice,” he says.

“Thanks, Dad.”

Sitting down again, I begin picking at my burrito, which is really enough for two people. As soon as I see my dad popping two antacid tablets into his mouth, I figure I should stop while I’m ahead.

“I’m glad you’re here, Wren.”

I look up at him, but I don’t maintain eye contact long enough to intercept any thoughts.

“I don’t know how you eat this every week,” I smile, pointing at the burrito.

“Don’t tell Jessica. She is
not
a fan.”

I laugh when I try to imagine her wolfing down a monstrous, saucy burrito. Getting up, I go to the counter for a box, and by the time I get my burrito wrapped up, my dad is waiting by the door. I start walking toward him when everything suddenly slows down. My skin crawls as I stare mutely at the creeps from the beach as they walk through the door my dad is holding open. The bigger guy, the one I was really afraid of, walks right past me to the counter—without a second look. When I realize I’m still staring at them, I walk quickly to where my dad is waiting.

“Feeling all right?” my dad asks.

There’s an edge of fatherly concern in his voice that I haven’t heard in a long time. I nod and clear my throat.

“I’m fine.”

As I climb into the car, all I can think is:
What
? Only hours ago those two miscreants had been camped out on the hood of my car. I replay the memory in my head, wondering if maybe I remembered their faces wrong. No way. I will never forget their leering expressions, which will be etched into my brain forever.

It’s the fact that they didn’t recognize me that’s … weird. I shake my head. Is it possible that they spend so much of their time terrorizing lone females that they didn’t remember this morning? But it still doesn’t make sense. Even if they do that sort of thing all the time, it’s impossible that they wouldn’t remember something from only hours ago. Right? On the other hand, they
were
drinking beer in the morning. And I have to admit that my own memory seems a little less reliable than usual.

“Wren? There it is. Your new school.”

My dad is pointing out the window. I turn and see a concrete sign that says
Dana Point High School
. My stomach drops into my feet, and I swallow. I’m not ready for this.

Later that night, after I get into bed, I have no trouble falling asleep. It’s
staying
asleep that has become my problem. I keep waking up from dreams where I’m being chased. The faces of my pursuers blur and blend, and it feels like they’re just about to catch me. Every time I open my eyes, my heart is racing. After finally falling into a dreamless sleep, it seems like only seconds pass before the alarm on my phone goes off.

I’m tired, but I resist the urge to sleep in and be late for my first day at yet another school. I shower, get dressed, and eat some cereal. The bedroom door at the end of the hall is closed, but when I get outside, my dad’s car is gone. There’s still a chill in the air as I get into the Mustang, but knowing Southern California, it will wear off. I look wistfully at the Mustang’s ancient tape deck. I actually have a stack of tapes I had stolen from my mom’s old collection, but the car’s cassette player hasn’t worked the entire time I’ve had it, which means on the way to school I have to endure silence or poor reception from the radio station I used to listen to at Pali. It’s better than nothing, mostly because I’m desperate for just about anything that will distract me, even if it’s static-laced morning DJs.

Palm trees
. Driving into the student parking lot, I’m reminded of just how far from Portland I am. Actually, at first glance, this new school reminds me a lot of Pali, other than having a much angrier dolphin for its mascot. I park and get out, walking toward what looks like the main entrance. I purposely left early this morning, but the parking lot is already half-full. And suddenly I remember something on the school’s site saying that it staggers its schedule. As I walk through the main doors, I feel a wave of exhaustion come over me, but it has little to do with my terrible night of sleep.

I don’t want to start over
.

I remember thinking the exact opposite when we got to Portland. Yeah, I was skeptical when my mom said we were going to get a fresh start. But then, for the first time in my life it felt like things had come together. Like I was where I was supposed to be. Now that I’m back in Southern California, it hits me how out of place I had always been.

Seeing a sign for the girls’ bathroom, I think of my first day at Springview. But when I walk in, it’s empty. Besides, even if someone like Emily Michaels and her crew walked in, I’m not in the mood to hide. I search the pockets of my backpack for some lip gloss and find a tube I must have pilfered a long time back from my mom’s supply. Not that I had to steal anything from her. She was always giving me random things. She’s one of those people who would give you the shirt she was wearing if you said you liked it, which is why finding out how she
really
felt was such a shock.

As I put on the lip gloss and stare into the mirror, a jolt of adrenaline rocks me. I can’t figure out what’s causing it. The prospect of walking into an unfamiliar classroom again, or just an aftershock from yesterday. I watch my anxious expression staring back at me and promise myself that I will smile at one person today even if it kills me. That’s about all I have the energy for.