Unbound

Chapter 13

"What do you mean, 'you can't see me,'?" Hayden asked, jogging a few steps to catch up to her.

Zareen, her head always moving from left to right, glanced at him and sighed. "I can see this," she gestured at his chest, "a body, but I can't see this." She waved her hand over and around his face. "Not that I'm complaining. If I'd seen your face, I may never have shown up when I did." She grinned, but the spark was missing from her eyes that Hayden was coming to expect.

"What does it mean?" He asked, ignoring the barb.

"Hell if I know. Creepy as hell, I'll tell you that." Zareen muttered. She held her spear down at her side, parallel with the ground.

He tried not to study her, but this was the first time they'd been alone, and still she was paying him about as much attention as she would a stump. The hood hid most of her face, but not her high cheekbones. And he could see some of her neck, long and slender.

He'd never had much time for girls; his dad always made sure he was busy with some extra-curricular activity that would look good either on college transcripts or on his bio page for the church website. As such, he'd never managed to go out on a date, or even ask a girl out. For prom last year, he'd went alone and met some of the other boys from his church at the school, then straight home afterwards. Now he was two feet from a hot girl, and she thought he was a loser barely worth her time. Though, she did come looking for him...

"Speaking of creepy," she said. Hayden jerked his gaze up to find her head turned toward him, one eyebrow cocked. "Is there a flesh eating disease on my face or something?"

"Uh," Hayden stammered, searching for something to say. He'd seen enough movies, he could do this. Talk about her, not yourself— that was number one. "What's it like?"

"If you say something about an angel falling from heaven..."

"What?" He said, confused. "No, no, sorry. I mean, what's it like being a Warden, or whatever."

Zareen grunted. She idly twirled the haft of her spear in her hands, bringing the blade only inches from the pavement. "I... don't know. What's it like being the son of a con man?"

Hayden blushed, though her thoughts weren't very far from his own thoughts about his dad. "It sucks," he said, meaning it. "I always feel guilty when he takes up an offering in our church, especially knowing most of the congregation is poor."

"He owns a jet. You own a jet."

"Yeah, he claims it's for the ministry, but... I mean, it's a jet. What preacher needs a jet?" Hayden ran a hand through his hair. "If it was up to me we'd donate or use the money for the homeless or something. Anything would be better than buying more crap for us."

"If there was a hell, there'd be a special place held in reserve for you guys," Zareen said, smiling.

Hayden cringed and felt the bottom fall out of his stomach. She seemed to despise him. Not that he could blame her, he supposed.

"I'm kidding preacher boy." She said. "Well, sort of. I've heard of your dad, even before I came to the States. I think they were using him as propaganda in Tehran for a time. He was fiery."

"You're from Tehran? That's Iran, right?"

"Yep."

Hayden waited for her to say more, but she was silent. Several blocks ahead of them teenagers chased each other across the street. One held a flat screen television, its cord flying out behind him. The other, in nothing but shorts and a tank top, ran behind him with what looked like an Xbox.