My Guardian Angel.

5.20.2036

As promised, Embry was seated patiently at the kitchen table while I hopped around the house, savaging for socks and 'lunch'. Asher was much like myself—running around the house, trying to make sure he even had his pants on. When the time came to leave, I followed Embry out the front door after kissing my parents 'goodbye' and strolled alongside him.

Now?

I walked into biology and my jaw fell open. Mysteriously adhered to the chalkboard was a Barbie doll, with Ken at her side. They'd been forced to link arms and were naked except for artificial leaves placed in a few choice locations. Scribbled above their heads in thick pink chalk was the invitation:

WELCOME TO HUMAN REPRODUCTION (SEX)

At my side Vee Bennett said, "This is exactly why the school outlaws camera phones. Pictures of this in the school paper would be all the evidence I'd need to get the board of education to ax biology. And then we'd have this hour to do something productive—like receive one-on-one tutoring from cute upperclass guys."

"Why, Vee," I said, "I could've sworn you've been looking forward to this unit all semester."

Vee lowered her lashes and smiled wickedly. "This class isn't going to teach me anything I don't already know."

"Vee? As in virgin?"

"Not so loud." She winked just as the bell rang, sending us both to our seats, which were side by side at our shared table.

Coach Lidbetter grabbed the whistle swinging from a chain around his neck and blew it. "Seats, team!" Coach considered teaching ninth-grade biology a side assignment to his job as varsity basketball coach, and we all knew it.

"It may not have occurred to you kids that sex is more than a fifteen-minute trip to the backseat of a car. It's science. And what is science?"

"Boring," some kid in the back of the room called out.

"The only class I'm failing," said another.

Coach's eyes tracked down the front row, stopping at me. "Aura?"

"The study of something?" I said.

He walked over and jabbed his index finger on the table in front of me. "What else?" He demanded, his black hair falling in his eyes.

"Knowledge gained through experimentation and observation." Lovely. I sounded like I was auditioning for the audio book of our text.

"In your own words." He rolled his eyes.

I touched the tip of my tongue to my upper lip and tried for a synonym. "Science is an investigation." It sounded like a question.

"Science is an investigation," Coach said, sanding his hands together. "Science requires us to transform into spies."

Put that way, science almost sounded fun. But I'd been in Coach's class long enough not to get my hopes up.

"Good sleuthing takes practice," he continued.

"So does sex," came another back-of-the-room comment. We all bit back laughter while Coach pointed a warning finger at the offender.

"That won't be part of tonight's homework." Coach turned his attention back to me. "Aura, you've been sitting beside Vee since the beginning of the year." I nodded but had a bad feeling about where this was going. "Both of you are on the school paper together." Again I nodded. "I bet you know quite a bit about each other."

Vee kicked my leg under our table. I knew what she was thinking. That he had no idea how much we knew about each other. And I don't just mean the secrets we entomb in our diaries. Vee is my un-twin. She's green-eyed, minky blond, and a few pounds over curvy. I'm a smoky-eyed brunette with volumes of curly hair that holds its own against even the best flatiron. And I'm all legs, like a bar stool. But there is an invisible thread that ties us together; both of us swear that tie began long before birth. Both of us swear it will continue to hold for the rest of our lives.

Coach looked out at the class. "In fact, I'll bet each of you knows the person sitting beside you well enough. You picked the seats you did for a reason, right? Familiarity. Too bad the best sleuths avoid familiarity. It dulls the investigative instinct. Which is why, today, we're creating a new seating chart." He smiled.

I opened my mouth to protest, but Vee beat me to it. "What the hell? It's June. As in, it's almost the end of the year. You can't pull this kind of stuff now."

Coach hinted at a smile. "I can pull this stuff clear up to the last day of the semester. And if you fail my class, you'll be right back here next year, where I'll be pulling this kind of stuff all over again." He fired, folding his arms as he stood in front of her with a wicked grin.

Vee scowled at him. She is famous for that scowl. It's a look that does everything but audibly hiss. Apparently immune to it, Coach brought his whistle to his lips, and we got the idea.

"Every partner sitting on the left-hand side of the table—that's your left—move up one seat. Those in the front row—yes, including you, Vee—move to the back."

Vee shoved her notebook inside her backpack and ripped the zipper shut. I bit my lip and waved a small farewell. Then I turned slightly, checking out the room behind me. I knew the names of all my classmates...except one. The transfer. Coach never called on him, and he seemed to prefer it that way. He sat slouched one table back, cool black eyes holding a steady gaze forward. Just like always. I didn't for one moment believe he just sat there, day after day, staring into space. He was thinking something, but instinct told me I probably didn't want to know what.

He set his bio text down on the table and slid into Vee's old chair.

I smiled. "Hi. I'm Aura." I tried.

His black eyes sliced into me, and the corners of his mouth tilted up. My heart fumbled a beat and in that pause, a feeling of gloomy darkness seemed to slide like a shadow over me. It vanished in an instant, but I was still staring at him. His smile wasn't friendly. It was a smile that spelled trouble. With a promise.

I focused on the chalkboard. Barbie and Ken stared back with strangely cheerful smiles.

Coach said, "Human reproduction can be a sticky subject -- "

"Ewww!" groaned a chorus of students.

"It requires mature handling. And like all science, the best approach is to learn by sleuthing. For the rest of class, practice this technique by finding out as much as you can about your new partner. Tomorrow, bring a write-up of your discoveries, and believe me, I'm going to check for authenticity. This is biology, not English, so don't even think about fictionalizing your answers. I want to see real interaction and teamwork." There was an implied Or else.

I sat perfectly still. The ball was in his court—I'd smiled, and look how well that turned out. I wrinkled my nose, trying to figure out what he smelled like. Not cigarettes. Something richer, fouler.

Cigars.

I found the clock on the wall and tapped my pencil in time to the second hand. I planted my elbow on the table and propped my chin on my fist. I blew out a sigh.

Great. At this rate I would fail.

I had my eyes pinned forward, but I heard the soft glide of his pen. He was writing, and I wanted to know what. Ten minutes of sitting together didn't qualify him to make any assumptions about me. Flitting a look sideways, I saw that his paper was several lines deep and growing.

"What are you writing?" I asked.

"And she speaks English," he said while scrawling it down, each stroke of his hand both smooth and lazy at once.

I leaned as close to him as I dared, trying to read what else he'd written, but he folded the paper in half, concealing the list.

"What did you write?" I demanded.

He reached for my unused paper, sliding it across the table toward him. He crumpled it into a ball. Before I could protest, he tossed it at the trash can beside Coach's desk. The shot dropped in.

I stared at the trash can a moment, locked between disbelief and anger. Then I flipped open my notebook to a clean page. "What is your name?" I asked, pencil poised to write.

I glanced up in time to catch another dark grin. This one seemed to dare me to pry anything out of him.

"Your name?" I repeated, hoping it was my imagination that my voice faltered.

"Call me Set. I mean it. Call me."

He winked when he said it, and I was pretty sure he was making fun of me. "What do you do in your leisure time?" I asked.

"I don't have free time." He stated.

"I'm assuming this assignment is graded, so do me a favor?"

He leaned back in his seat, folding his arms behind his head. "What kind of favor?"

I was pretty sure it was an innuendo, and I grappled for a way to change the subject.

"Free time," he repeated thoughtfully. "I take pictures."

I printed Photography on my paper.

I wasn't finished," he said. "I've got quite a collection going of an eZine columnist who believes there's truth in eating organic, who writes poetry in secret, and who shudders at the thought of having to choose between Stanford, Yale, and...what's that big one with the H?"

I stared at him a moment, shaken by how dead on he was. I didn't get the feeling it was a lucky guess. He knew. And I wanted to know how—right now.

"But you won't end up going to any of them." he said, cocking his head to one side.

"I won't?" I asked without thinking.

He hooked his fingers under the seat of my chair, dragging me closer to him. Not sure if I should scoot away and show fear, or do nothing and feign boredom, I chose the latter.

He said, "Even though you'd thrive at all three schools, you scorn them for being a cliché of achievement. Passing judgment is your third biggest weakness."

"And my second?" I said with quiet rage. Who was this guy? Was this some kind of disturbing joke?

"You don't know how to trust. I take that back. You trust—just all the wrong people."

"And my first?" I demanded, keeping my eyes locked on his.

"You keep life on a short leash."

I snorted, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You're scared of what you can't control."

The hair at the nape of my neck stood on end, and the temperature in the room seemed to chill.

The bell rang and Set was on his feet, making his way toward the door.

"Wait," I called out. He didn't turn. "Excuse me!" He was through the door. "Set! I didn't get anything on you."

He turned back and walked toward me. Taking my hand, he scribbled something on it before I thought to pull away.

I looked down at the seven numbers in red ink on my palm and made a fist around them. I wanted to tell him no way was his phone ringing tonight. I wanted to tell him it was his fault for taking all the time questioning me. I wanted a lot of things, but I just stood there looking like I didn't know how to open my mouth.

At last I said, "I'm busy tonight."

"So am I." He grinned and was gone.

I stood nailed to the spot, digesting what had just happened. Did he eat up all the time questioning me on purpose? So I'd fail? Did he think one flashy grin would redeem him? Yes, I thought. Yes, he did.

"I won't call!" I called after him. "Not—ever!"

Infuriated, I walked out of the classroom in a haze, forgetting to stay behind for Vee—something didn't feel right, and I certainly wasn't sticking around for it.

* * *

At home, Embry noticed the red ink on my hand and questioned it. "What's that?"

I pulled it away, and turned back to the t.v, "It's a number."

"Who's?" He wondered.

"My biology partners." I said simply.

"Vee's? Don't you have that memorized yet?" He laughed.

I shifted a little, "We got new partners today. He didn't say much about himself for our assignment, so I was told to call him."

"He?"

"Set." I nodded.

"What did you say."

"That I wasn't going to bother—I'm just going to fail anyways." I shrugged.

He shook his head, and took the remote from my hands, "Go get the phone, and call him."

"But—"

"Just do it, Aura."

I stared at him for a while, my mind arguing over whether I should or not, and in the end I picked the better option.

I went to the kitchen and picked up the phone. I looked at what was left of the seven numbers still tattooed on my hand. Secretly, I hoped Set didn't answer my call. If he was unavailable or uncooperative on assignments, it was evidence I could use against him to convince Coach to undo the seating chart. Feeling hopeful, I keyed in his number.

Set answered on the third ring. "What's up?"

In a matter-of-fact tone I said, "I'm calling to see if we can meet tonight. I know you said you're busy, but—"

"Aura." Set said my name like it was the punch line to a joke. "Thought you weren't going to call. Ever."

I hated that I was eating my words. I hated Set for rubbing it in. I hated Coach and his deranged assignments. I opened my mouth, hoping something smart would come out. "Well? Can we meet or not?"

"As it turns out, I can't."

"Can't, or won't?"

"I'm in the middle of a pool game." I heard the smile in his voice. "An important pool game."

From the background noise I heard on his end, I believed he was telling the truth—about the pool game. Whether it was more important than my assignment was up for debate.

"Where are you?" I asked.

"Bo's Arcade. It's not your kind of hangout."

That was in Seattle. What in gods name was he doing in Seattle—at nine at night!?

"Then let's do the interview over the phone. I've got a list of questions right—"

He hung up on me.

I stared at the phone in disbelief, then ripped a clean sheet of paper from my notebook. I scribbled Jerk on the first line. On the line beneath it I added, Smokes cigars. Will die of lung cancer. Hopefully soon. Excellent physical shape.

I immediately scribbled over the last observation until it was illegible.

With a heavy sigh, I hopped onto the counter and glared at the wooden floor. Embry strolled in, the bowl of chips empty and he leaned against the counter next to my legs, "What did you get?" He asked, folding his arms.

I handed him the paper, and watched as he read it with amusement over his features, "You want him to die of lung cancer? Soon?"

"The guy's a douche, you can't honestly blame me for my harsh words."

"Watch your mouth, Aura." Dad grumbled, looking up from his place at the table. I hadn't noticed him before, but he was seated comfortably in his usual spot, reading the paper with slight interest.

"Uh-huh." I said, jumping off the counter. I took the portable phone with me as I grabbed Embry's hand and led him down the hall to my room. Setting the phone and paper on my bed, I flopped along with them and watched Embry sit on the bean bag in the corner. "I'm going to try this again," I hissed, re-dialing Set's number, putting it on speaker.

"What now?" Embry glared at the phone as Set spoke.

"Mind your tone, would you." I growled, "Biggest dream?" I asked hastily.

"Kiss you."

I flushed, and looked up at Embry with hard eyes, "That's not funny." I stated.

"No, but it probably made you blush."

"No." I shot back. "Vee told me you're a senior. How many times have you failed ninth-grade biology? Once? Twice?"

"Vee isn't my spokesperson."

"Are you denying failing?"

"I'm telling you I didn't go to school last year." His tone was harsh.

"You were truant?"

"A secret?" he said in confidential tones. "I've never gone to school before. Another secret? It's not as dull as I expected."

He was lying. Everyone went to school. There were laws. He was lying to get a rise out of me.

"You think I'm lying," he said.

"You've never been to school, ever? If that's true—and you're right, I don't think it is—what made you decide to come this year?"

"You."

The impulse to feel scared pounded through me, but I told myself that was exactly what Set wanted. Standing my ground, I tried to act annoyed instead. Still, it took me a moment to find my voice. "That's not a real answer."

"Your eyes, Aura. Those warm, chocolate eyes are surprisingly irresistible." He purred lightly, "And that killer curvy mouth."

"That's enough." I groaned, pressing end on the phone. I didn't expect him to call back, but I couldn't care. He'd made a fool of me in front of my best friend; I wasn't in the best mood.

"He's quite the guy." Embry said, his voice hard.

"As I said—I'm hoping he dies of lung cancer. Soon."

Embry came and say next to me on the bed; with a small smile, he pressed his lips to my forehead comfortingly and hugged me tightly. After a while while Embry, my mood had lifted—just because Embry had that affect on me. And happily, I wasn't willing to let him go if it meant loosing that personal sane.