I stared at the boxes stacked on the floor at the far end of the room. My childhood was inside them, my developing personality, my teen years. I smiled as I walked toward them.
An hour or so later I’d pushed aside boxes of clothes that could go to charity, Dad had returned home and come upstairs to say hello and leave me with a cup of tea and a biscuit, and I was just ripping open a box I assumed was filled with books because it was heavy.
I found some books inside, but I also found diaries. My heart thudded a little at the sight of them, and I lifted them out to put them aside, with no intention of reading them. Ever. I was just lowering them to the “to keep” pile when a photograph floated out of the leaves of a black journal from my later teen years.
My heart no longer thudded.
It pounded.
Eight years ago
My English teacher had held me back after class to talk about entering my short story in a local competition. The thought freaked me out. My writing… on display like that to people who would judge whether it was good enough or not? I said no, thanks.
So why was I kicking myself as I hurried out of the school entrance toward the gate? I glanced around, noting that nearly everyone was gone. I’d missed the bus. It looked like I was walking home.
I hung my head, heaving a sigh.
Why had I said no to Mrs. Ellis? If she thought the story was good enough for the competition I should have just gone for it. Ugh. Sometimes I hated being this shy. Sometimes I even wondered why I couldn’t change that somehow. It didn’t seem to be getting me anywhere.
Frustrated at myself, I moved through the gates, catching sight of three older boys kicking a football against the school wall and talking. I recognized one of them.
Marco.
I didn’t know what his surname was because he was in fifth year and I was a third-year. I only knew of him because he was so popular his name had made its way down the years. And also because he was hard to miss. Really tall. Really good-looking. I’d heard he was foreign, but there were so many rumors flying around about where he was from, I didn’t know for sure.
Looking away quickly so I didn’t get spotted ogling him, I turned left and started heading for home. I’d taken only about four steps when my feet faltered on the fifth and sixth.
Up ahead, smoking, yelling, laughing, and swearing at one another were Jenks and his crew. They were in my year. We’d had first-year classes together, but things had changed, since we’d gotten to choose which classes we wanted to take as our high school careers progressed. My friends and I were smart and didn’t care to pretend that we weren’t. Jenks and his friends had picked on us since first year. To begin with it had just been in class, calling us “teacher’s pet,” “geeks,” and “swots.” Lately, because they couldn’t get to us in class, they’d taken to verbally abusing us as we got on the bus, or when they saw us in the corridors. The verbal abuse had gotten slowly cruder and nastier.
I glanced up the road to make sure there weren’t any cars coming, then dashed across the street to avoid the boys.
Unfortunately, Jenks wasn’t in the mood to avoid me.
I was looking at my feet, head down, when I heard him yell my name.
As if it knew something I didn’t, my heart started hammering hard against my ribs.
Looking up, I was filled with dread as a grinning Jenks casually swaggered across the street toward me, his two friends following him with nasty smirks on their faces.
“Whit’s up, geek?” Jenks stopped in my path and I moved around him.
He grabbed my arm, pulling me to a stop.
I did my best not to show fear as he stepped into my personal space, his eyes moving down my body in a way that made me feel nauseous. “I said whit’s up, geek?”
“Nothing.” I shook my head and tried to move away, but the three of them blocked me. “Look, I’m late for home.” I wished my voice were stronger. I wished I could set them down or beat them or just somehow get them to stop thinking they could intimidate me.
“We just want tae talk.” Jenks sneered at me. “So fuckin’ stuck up. But ye always were.”
Jenks’s friend Aaron punched him playfully in the arm. “She got fuckin’ tasty, though. I’d shag it.”
I blanched, taking a step back.
Jenks grunted, glaring at me. “She’s still a fuckin’ swot.” He took a step toward me. “Maybe a guid pumpin’ would loosin ye up, though, eh?” He reached a hand out to grab at my waist and I stepped out of range.
I felt the blood rush in my ears at the decidedly dark turn of their bullying. “I’m going home.” I tried to inject authority into my voice, but the words came out in a trembling tone.
They laughed and Jenks grabbed for me again.
My shriek of alarm was immediately quieted at the sight of Jenks crashing like a rag doll into Aaron. They almost fell to the ground, only barely catching each other. Their other friend, Rube, stumbled back, too, and my eyes went from them to the person who had shoved Jenks.
My gaze traveled upward in surprise.
Towering over us all was Marco.
A very angry Marco.
His menacing glower was fixated on Jenks.
“Whit the fuck?” Jenks pushed himself off Aaron and scowled up at Marco. “Who the f**k dae ye think ye are?”
I was astounded that he’d be so aggressive with Marco. Even Rube and Aaron looked unsure.
“Get out of here,” Marco said quietly, calmly, his words soft and rounded with an accent. “I see you try this shit again and you’ll be dealing with me.”
Jenks opened his mouth as if to fight, but Marco was suddenly flanked by two friends. Seeing they were definitely not going to win against the older boys, Jenks spat at Marco’s feet and marched away, fists clenched at his sides.
I shuddered at my near escape.
“You missed the bus?”
Taken aback, I realized Marco had directed the question to me. His voice was rough, gravelly. I stared up into his blue-green eyes, eyes that were startlingly beautiful against his dark lashes and caramel skin, and I forgot to breathe for a minute.
He was gorgeous. And there was something about him… an aura around him that made me wish I were closer to him.
I nodded, still too awestruck to speak.
His eyebrows drew together. “Where do you live?”
Not awestruck enough to be stupid, I gave this person I didn’t know a suspicious look. To my surprise his lips twitched like he wanted to laugh. He held up his hands as if in surrender. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
Going with my gut instinct, I replied, “Stockbridge. St. Bernard’s Crescent.”
He glanced back at his friends. “I’ll see you later.”
They gave me curious looks but nodded and turned away, walking up the street in the opposite direction.
I was left standing in the street alone with Marco – alone with a six-foot-something seventeen-year-old boy after having been accosted by mean boys. I should have been afraid, but when our eyes met again, I felt the complete opposite. I felt safe.
“Come on,” he said gruffly, walking past me.
Baffled by my feelings, I hurried to catch up to him. “What are you doing?”
“Walking you home. I don’t trust those idiots not to come back. They bother you a lot?”
“At school sometimes. They pick on my friends and me, but they’ve never tried to…” I grew quiet. I couldn’t quite say the words out loud. I actually couldn’t believe they’d even threatened me with rape, much less that they might follow through.
I looked up at Marco to find him giving me a dark, warning look. “You need to be careful. Jenks is a soulless little shit. He shouldn’t have been here. He’s suspended from school.”
“Really? For what?”
He studied me a moment before finally deciding to tell me. “The police are investigating him. He’s been accused of raping a girl.”
My mouth fell open as my heart sped up again. “Honestly? Why haven’t I heard of this?”
Marco shrugged. “Don’t know. Just be careful though, okay?”
I nodded. I would definitely be careful from now on. I felt a little sick.
We fell quiet as we walked side by side toward my house. I was tall for my age, but still nowhere near Marco’s height. He was athletically built, with strong forearms showcased by his rolled-up shirtsleeves. His size made me feel strangely protected and, for the first time ever, dainty.
Intrigued by my brooding would-be rescuer, I found that my curiosity overcame the self-consciousness I usually felt around people I didn’t know. I tucked my short blond hair behind my ears and looked up at him again.
“Where are you from? America or Canada?”
Marco looked down at me, bemusement in his expression. “Most folks just assume I’m American.”
There was a question in his tone, so I answered, “I read a lot and, well, you know, a lot of Scottish people immigrated to Canada, so it would make cultural sense that you might be a Scottish-Canadian.”
He studied me, a small smile playing in the corners of his mouth. “How old are you?”
“Fourteen.”
“You’re pretty smart.”
I grinned at him. “That’s what they tell me.”
This made Marco laugh. Triumph swelled in my chest. I’d never seen him laugh and felt sure he didn’t do it often, since there was something kind of sad in the back of his eyes. “You look older than fourteen.” His gaze flicked over me quickly. “You’re not in any of my classes, so I knew you had to be younger. I didn’t think that much younger, though.”
I liked that he thought I looked older. I didn’t like the fact that he thought fourteen was young. Technically, I was fourteen and a half. I wanted to say that to him but was afraid it might come off as childish. I pondered how to casually slip it into conversation but came up blank.
Realizing we hadn’t spoken for at least thirty seconds, I said, “So… are you Canadian?”
“Nah. American. Depending on the area, a Canadian accent is different from an American accent. And then there are different accents in different places in the U.S. You just have to listen carefully. I’m from Chicago.”
Soaking up this new information, I replied, “That’s really cool.”
He shrugged, shoving his hands into his trouser pockets.
“Why did you move here?”
Marco was quiet so long I didn’t think he was going to answer. I was feeling an irrational amount of disappointment over that when he suddenly said, “My grandparents sent me to live with my uncle and his wife.”
That one sentence told me a lot without really telling me anything. I guessed that meant his parents weren’t in the picture, and that made me wonder why. The sad possibilities made me feel bad for him. I also wondered why he’d been sent away. Sensing that the first question might upset him more than the second, I went with the latter.
“Did you get into a lot of trouble there?”
He raised an eyebrow at me. “Are you writing my biography?”
Having been surrounded by sarcastic adults my whole life, I was immune to any kind of teasing. I stared him straight in the eye. “So what if I am?”
Marco smirked at my response. “Yeah. I was getting in trouble. They thought it might be better for me here.”
“And is it?”
He shrugged again, a small frown furrowing his brow.
Realizing he didn’t want to talk about it, I changed the subject. “Your name is Marco, right?”
“D’Alessandro. I see my reputation precedes me,” he replied, a wry little smile on his perfect lips.
It occurred to me that Marco didn’t talk like the kind of boys he hung around with at school. And it wasn’t about his accent. I’d overheard them enough to know that they took pride in being rough in speech, sometimes overplaying Scottish slang and swearing so much their mothers’ ears would have bled if they’d ever overheard them. They avoided sounding intelligent, whether deliberately or as a consequence of a collective lack of brain cells.
“Not to sound like a bitch or anything, but I don’t think I’ve heard anyone in the crowd you hang with use a word like ‘precede.’”
He grunted. “One of us needs to know how to read and write. You never know when crime might involve those basic tools of communication.”
Although he was joking, I could hear the edge in his tone and felt stupid. “Sorry. That sounded really judgmental.”
“Maybe. But I guess you’re not wrong.” He slid me a look and it was as if he saw right through me. “Some of us aren’t great at school. I’m not great at school.”
Another question popped into my head; I couldn’t help myself. I’d never been so curious about anyone before. Then again, I’d never gotten butterflies from just being in someone’s presence before. “What are you great at?”
A cloud passed over his features. “I don’t know.”
“You must be good at something,” I insisted. I couldn’t imagine that Marco didn’t have some kind of talent. There was just something so special about him. I didn’t even know what it was, but I knew it. I just knew it.
“Design and tech.”
I stared at his hands, feeling somewhat envious. I’d been rubbish in design and tech. I tried to make a Perspex clock in the shape of a star and it ended up looking like… well… a star that had been in a car crash. My metal coat pegs almost caused me a fatality of the thumb and my wooden pencil case didn’t close correctly. “You must be really good at it to be taking it in fifth year.”