Xavier and I were walking into town one afternoon when we spotted Ivy under an oak tree with a dark-haired senior from Bryce Hamilton. The boy was wearing a backward baseball cap, the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to show off his muscular arms, and he kept smirking suggestively as he spoke. I’d never seen my sister look so flustered. The boy had her cornered; she clutched a shopping bag with one hand and nervously tucked her hair behind her ear with the other, clearly seeking a means of escape.
I nudged Xavier. “What’s going on over there?”
“Looks like Chris Bucknall finally worked up the nerve to ask her out,” Xavier said.
“You know him?”
“He’s on my water-polo team.”
“I don’t think he’s Ivy’s type.”
“I’m not surprised,” Xavier said. “He’s a total sleaze.”
“What should we do?”
“Hey, Bucknall,” Xavier called out. “Can I have a word?”
“Little busy here, dude,” the boy replied.
“Did you hear the news?” Xavier said. “Coach wants to see everyone in his office tonight after the game?”
“Yeah? What for?” Chris said without turning around.
“Not sure. Something about taking names for next season’s tryouts. Anyone who doesn’t show doesn’t get in.”
Chris Bucknall looked alarmed. “I gotta go,” he told Ivy. “I’ll catch you later.”
Ivy gave Xavier a grateful smile as Chris sprinted away.
Gabriel and Ivy finally seemed to have accepted Xavier. He didn’t intrude on our space but rather became a regular fixture within it. I began to suspect they actually liked having him around: first, because he was so reliable in terms of keeping an eye on me; and second, because he was useful when it came to working technical gadgets. Gabriel had found his students giving him strange looks when he didn’t know how to work the DVD player, and Ivy wanted to promote her social service program via the school e-mail system. Both had enlisted Xavier’s help. Knowledgeable as my siblings were, technology was a bit of a minefield for them, because it changed constantly. Gabriel had also grudgingly allowed Xavier to show him how to send e-mails to his fellow colleagues at Bryce Hamilton and teach him the workings of an iPod. It seemed to me that Xavier spoke a whole different language sometimes, using alien terms like Bluetooth, gigabyte, and WiFi. If it had been anyone else, I would have switched off, but I loved the sound of his voice, no matter what he was talking about. I could occupy myself for hours watching the way he moved, listening to the way he spoke, committing it all to memory.
Aside from being our tech angel, Xavier took his responsibility as my “bodyguard” so seriously that I found myself having to remind him that I wasn’t made of glass and had managed quite adequately before his arrival. Entrusted to look after me by Gabriel and Ivy, Xavier was determined to keep his word and convince them of his moral fiber. He was the one who reminded me to drink plenty of water and the one who deflected questions about my family from curious classmates. He even took it upon himself to answer for me one day when Mr. Collins asked why I hadn’t managed to finish my homework by the due date.
“Beth has a lot of other commitments at the moment,” he explained. “She’ll get the assignment in by the end of the week.”
I knew that if it slipped my mind, Xavier would complete it for me and hand it in without my knowledge.
He became fiercely protective whenever anybody he didn’t approve of came within a two-foot radius of me.
“Uh-uh.” He shook his head at me when a boy named Tom Snooks asked if I wanted to “hang” with him and his friends one afternoon.
“What’s wrong with him?” I asked crossly. “He seems nice enough.”
“He’s not your type of person.”
“Why?”
“You ask a lot of questions, don’t you?”
“Yes. Now tell me why.”
“Well, because he’s off with the green fairy most of the time.”
I stared at him blankly so that he was forced to elaborate.
“He’s good friends with Puff the Magic Dragon,” Xavier hinted and waited for me to register, rolling his eyes when I didn’t. “You’re a dope.”
If it hadn’t been for Xavier acting as a buffer, my life at Bryce Hamilton would have been a lot more difficult. I had a tendency to get myself into sticky situations. Trouble seemed to seek me out even though I did my best to avoid it. It found me one day as I was crossing the parking lot to get to English.
“Hey there, sweetheart!” I spun around when I heard the voice behind me. It was a lanky senior with slick blond hair and pock-marked skin. He was in my biology class, but he was rarely there. I had seen him out behind the Dumpsters smoking cigarettes and doing burnouts in his car. He was flanked by three other boys, all grinning nastily.
“Hello,” I said nervously.
“I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced.” He smirked. “I’m Kirk.”
“Nice to meet you.” I didn’t meet his gaze. Something about his attitude made me uneasy.
“Anyone ever told you you’ve got a pretty sweet rack?” Kirk asked. The boys behind him sniggered.
“Excuse me?” I didn’t understand what he meant.
“I’d like to get to know you better — if you know what I mean.” Kirk took a step toward me. I immediately darted away from him. “Don’t be shy, honey,” he said.
“I have to get to class.”
“Sure you can’t spare a few minutes?” He said in a leering drawl. “I’m only after a quickie.” He took hold of my shoulder.
“Don’t touch me!”
“Ooh, feistier than she looks.” Kirk laughed and tightened his grip.
“Take your hands off her.” I breathed a sigh of relief as Xavier stepped in front of me, tall and reassuring. I drew instinctively closer to him, relishing the safety of his presence. His hair was pushed away from his face. His familiar turquoise eyes were narrowed with anger.
“I wasn’t talking to you,” said Kirk, dropping his hand. “This isn’t any of your business.”
“Her business is my business.”
“Oh, yeah? You think you can stop me?”
“Touch her again and see what happens,” Xavier warned.
“You wanna make something of this?”
“That’s your call.” Xavier pulled off his blazer and rolled up his sleeves. His school tie hung loose, and I saw the crucifix sitting just in the hollow of his throat. The fabric of his school shirt strained against the sculpted muscles in his arms. He was significantly broader in the chest than Kirk, and I saw the other boy do a quick evaluation of his strength.
“Let it go, man,” one of his friends advised and then lowered his voice. “That’s Xavier Woods.”
This seemed to act as a deterrent for Kirk.
“Whatever.” He spit on the ground, threw me a filthy look, and stalked away.
Xavier wrapped an arm around my shoulder, and I drew close to him, breathing in his clean, crisp scent.
“Some people really need to be taught some manners,” he said disdainfully. I stared up at him.
“Would you really have gotten into a fight for me?”
“Of course.” He didn’t hesitate.
“But there were four of them.”