Guardians of Freecaster High #1
"That doesn't make any sense. You were the one who left me. You didn't care anymore."
"If I didn't care, Alexis, then why is it I can't touch another girl unless I'm imagining you?" He pushes against me, trapping me a...
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The booker house is one of the few beautiful houses on the North Side. It sits only a fifteen-minute drive from my home in Central Freecaster and while every one of their neighbors in a two-block radius treats their homes like it's simply a place to sleep, Mama Booker treats her small two-bedroom cottage like a sanctuary. Her front yard is neatly trimmed and filled with beds of beautiful flowers. The sky blue paint is freshly done once a year, and there's not a single wooden piece out of place in her white picket fence.
At least, that's how it's looked for as long as I've been friends with Marcel. Pulling up in front of the house now, on the back of Jace's bike, my stomach sinks at the scene we find.
The white picket fence has been smashed through and deep tire tracks criss-cross the once beautiful lawn. The grass is torn to shreds and dirt is splattered everywhere: the light blue siding, the pale stained porch, and the sidewalk on the edge of the property. These assholes even ripped most of the flower beds to bits, leaving behind confetti of wilted petals.
Mama Booker must be devastated.
Sure enough, as I climb from Jace's bike before he's even pulled off his helmet, a familiar feminine voice catches my attention. Bathed in the flashing red and blue lights of the FPD cruiser, Mama bookers stands tall on the sidewalk. And by 'tall' I mean confident, proud, and strong. In all honesty, Winona Booker is no more than five feet tall with a round figure, light brown skin, and jet black hair that she keeps in tiny braids piled on top of her head.
She's giving a police officer her statement, her honey-brown eyes narrowed at the man like he's personally responsible for the condition of her home.
"Lexi," Marcel's voice calls from the front porch.
At hearing my name, Mama Booker turns to look at me, her eyes softening with warm affection. That is until Jace steps up behind me and places a hand on my lower back. The look in her gaze slowly shifts through a slide show of emotions; surprise, curious, understanding, untrusting, wariness, and finally, disappointment. With her mouth set in a thin line, she turns her attention back to the cop.
I love Marcel's mom. Always one to wear her emotions on her sleeve, she has no problem speaking her mind, or displaying her thoughts on her face for all to see. That look she has now gives me the impression that I'm due for good old fashioned Mama Booker scolding, one that will put anything my mom could dish out to shame.
"How bad is it?" I ask Marcel as Jace and I meet him at the porch steps.
His eyes bounce between me and Jace with a million questions on the tip of his tongue.
"She knows," Jace answers at least one of Marcel's unspoken queries. "She gets it."
That's not entirely true. I'm just starting to 'get' the Guardians but what I don't understand is how Marcel plays into all of this. Has my best friend, my brother from another mother, been involved in all this mess from the start and just kept it hidden from me this whole time? If he can keep me in the dark about this for so long, what else is he keeping from me?
