Chapter One

As Lydia and I jumped out of the waves with our surf boards in tow, any outsider may have thought us to be typical teenagers, but they couldn’t be more wrong. For my case, anyway. I guess I should explain. I may seem normal enough, but really, who trusts what the naked eye can see? I have no tattoos, nothing pierced - except for my earlobes, I don’t drink, I don’t smoke, I don’t do drugs, I come home past my curfew… In the whole, I am a very normal all American teenage girl. Oh, except for the fact that I can see something others can’t.

“Nice surf,” Lydia beamed, flipping her hair back as we trotted past her favorite man; Randy, the unbearably attractive life-guard, who was sitting on his watchtower like he owned the Santa Monica Beach. He was a stereotype, and I won’t add anything more to that. Somehow, I doubted that Lydia had a chance with him, but it’s always worth a try. That’s what she said, anyway. I would never have said such crap. Maybe because I’m not an optimist. But then again, neither am I a pessimist. What was it Lydia had called me? Oh, yes—practical. I mean, doesn’t a girl love to be reminded of one of her many human-like characteristics? I’m not saying that I’m not human, by the bye. What I am saying is that I have a certain… quality that no human—no normal human, anyway, possesses. Save for me, of course. The freak of the universe. Or at least of California. Southern California, more accurately. Also, I happened to be stripped of a guardian angel that I probably should have always had at my side. Because everyone else had one. A guardian angel, I mean. Then again, I also happen to be the only person with this unusual gift. To see the unseen, I mean. Not ghosts, mind you. I have never seen a ghost in my life. My eyes aren’t made for that. They are made for seeing scepters greater than ghosts. Yep. You guessed it. I can see guardian angels. All of them, actually, just like you can see regular people in a mall, or something. The only difference is that angels have big and fluffy wings, whereas humans tend to have shirts, or backpacks in place!

So, welcome to Santa Monica, my home in SoCal.

“Hey! What’s up, girlies?” Andre waved at us from a distance.

“Hey, master!” Lydia cried in reply. It’s an inside joke. Whatever.

“How was the surf?” he asked, only a meter away now. Andre had the craziest dread locks, his body was notably fitter than Randy’s, his tan was natural since he was of Hispanic origin, and his eyes… well, let’s just say that we never got to see them, because they were always hidden behind a cool pair of shades.

I am quite a social gal, even though my friends’ guardian angels hang around them wherever we go. Sure, it’s a distraction. So what? So sue me. Spending sixteen years with them has really made me used to it, you know. Besides, all they do is whisper warnings into their people’s ears. No sweat. Saves me the trouble of jumping in front of a bus or something.

“Great!” Lydia gave him a squeeze. “Better than yesterday.”

“Yeah, my surf-board is totally split, man,” he shrugged, embracing me in his burly bod.

“Oh, Andre!” I gasped, “When?”

“Yesterday.”

“How terrible,” Lydia cried, “Is it getting repaired? Please say it’s getting repaired, because we want to go surfing with you tomorrow morning.”

“Yeah!” I gasped, “It’s the last day of summer.”

“So what?” he shrugged, “It’s not the end of the heat.”

“He’s right,” Lydia growled.

“Aren’t I always?” he flopped his butt onto to the mat of sweltering sand.

“Yeah, whatever,” Lydia shrugged, tying her flaxen hair up in a lazy bun. “How’s Beatriz?”

“Just fine,” he shrugged, leaning back indifferently. That’s Andre for you.

“No, really,” Lydia growled, “She owes me five bucks.”

“Five bucks?” he prompted.

“Yes,” she replied matter-of-factly.

“Since when?”

“Since last weekend, idiot.”

“Okay,” he grinned, “Why?”

“Why do you have a tendency to dissect my motives?” she wailed.

“Because I’m a hard-core dissecting-thing,” he chided.

“Dissect your as…” she began saying, but before she could complete her last word, Andre pointed to the ocean, and cried, “Look, girlies! It’s the White Surfer!”

“Hurrah,” I rolled my eyes irritably, because in my opinion, that guy got too much credit for surfing around in a pair of white shorts. That’s what I said to Lydia, in other words, his number one fan.

“It’s not just the white swim trunks,” she urged to point this out, “It’s also his skill.”

“In what,” I scoffed, “Being a babe?”

“No…” she razzed, “Well, that, too, but more importantly…”

“Damn, our little Mademoiselle Lydia has a crush on yet another guy,” jeered Andre.

“I so do not,” she whined, “Randy is still number one on my list.”

“You’ve got a list?” he snorted.

“Well, no,” she hissed.

“You just said you did,” he argued.

“Yes, but…”

“This is so typical of Lydia,” he chortled, “Always in denial.”

“I didn’t eat all the ice-cream!” I imitated her from the day before.

“Shut up, Angie,” she scowled.

“I didn’t stalk him!” Andre followed suit, imitating her from the night she had once followed Randy home. Seriously.

“I hate you guys,” she pouted.

“She’s in denial!” I cried.

“Because she actually lobes us!” Andre cackled.

“Angilene Denley, right?” a voice asked me from behind.

“What?” I turned around, and came face to face with the White Surfer! It was him alright; in flesh and bone And a mop of flaxen hair.

Lydia gasped. I never saw him this closely before. And it was quite a sight, too.

“Um, yeah,” I shrugged. What did he want from me, anyway?

“You lost this in the K-Mart,” he handed me my silver charm bracelet. Huh. I never noticed it had slipped from my wrist. Until now.

“Uh, thanks,” I accepted it tediously. What? I’m not going to preen, which is exactly what Lydia was doing.

“Hi, Cameron,” she beamed. I never realized quite how natural she was with boys. Not.

“Hey,” he replied, probably used to having totally random girls flirting with him. Or at least try flirting with him. He hadn’t even looked interested. But that’s probably because he already had a girlfriend. I mean, guys like him always have girlfriends. One thing he didn’t have, though, apart from his stunningly good looks, was a guardian angel. I tried looking for him or her, but he definitely had no angel. Just like me…

I couldn’t help my staring syndrome. However, it did not seem contagious, because he did not stare back. He only grinned at me, and left us with a satisfying, “See you at school.” However, his words were not suggestive, like you probably thought them to be. He merely said it out of politeness. Because guess what? I ain’t a babe on Bay-watch, or anything. I’m not average - certainly not. However, I am slightly above it - I mean, enough to turn a few heads once in a while.

“Shit,” snorted Andre, “Did Cameron Morfran just talk directly to Angilene Denley?”

“Apparently,” Lydia pouted.

“That doesn’t mean anything,” I growled. Because it didn’t. “He just returned my long lost bracelet.”

“It has a new charm,” Lydia pointed at it irritably. I wanted to hurt her. Badly.

“What?” I peered down at the bracelet that was now wrapped around my thin wrist. She was right. Another charm had been added.

“Oo-er!” she cried with a sudden rush of excitement, “An angel!”

“Isn’t that cute,” said Andre.

“Sure,” I growled.

“He’ll see you in school, then,” he mimicked him.

“Of course he will,” I rolled my eyes and snapped it off testily, slipping it into my back pocket, or as I like to call it; my ass hole.

“Hey, Angilene,” he riled.

“What?” I snapped.

“You look z-exy in that cow-boy hat of yours,” he said with a tone that implied his truthfulness. I raised a hand to my straw hat, and grinned.

“Christ, Angilene!” Carlos barged in through the back door.

“Way to borrowing my surf-board this morning without my knowing!” he protested.

Carlos was Andre’s kid brother, yet his dread-locks weren’t nearly as cool as his.

Carlos snatched an orange from the wooden fruit bole, and began peeling it.

“Gosh, Carlos,” I scoffed, examining him from head to toe, “Hygiene much?”

“What are you saying?” he growled, spreading himself across the couch like he owned the place. Which he didn’t. Martha and Gage Denley did. And I owned a small portion of the land, which happened to be the kitchen. Therefore, he was eating my oranges.

“You’re reeking,” I waved my hands in the air, trying to ward the smell out of the living room.

“So is your bro,” he replied as Raph came in, seeking for food, I guessed. So I stopped him. It was my duty.

“Whoa, where’s the rush, crony?” I laid my hand over one of his shoulders.

“Not this again,” he tried getting past me, but in vain, because I was firmly standing in his way.

“Yo, Raphael,” Carlos droned, “How’s Eliza, man?”

“She’s good,” the two idiots exchanged perverted grins. Good God…

“I’m getting out of here before I puke,” I made haste to the back door, and whirled it open, leaving the lot of them with a bitter, “Don’t make a mess while I’m gone!”

Lydia’s back door wasn’t locked. It never was, really, just like ours. Because we’ve always had places to sneak off to and if we failed to get back in time… well, we were parent food, if you have the right idea of what I mean.

I sneaked up to her bedroom, and found her sprawled across her bed with her earphones on, tapping along to I can only guess what.

“How’s it going, Lyd?” I asked, plopping down on the carpet beside her bed.

“Angie, hey,” she grinned, pausing her music, and throwing her iPod nano into a drawer. Only she was permitted to nickname me, and vise-versa.

“Sugar Ray?” I asked, referring to what she had been listening to.

“As always,” she beamed, climbing down from her bed, and joining me on the dead sheep express.

“Do you still have Cameron’s charm?” she asked.

Oh, God… not this again.

“Lydia, I didn’t come over to your house so that you would bug me about this,” I snapped.

“You didn’t?” she asked in mock outrage. “Weren’t steamy guys always a part of our conversation?”

“Not always,” I snarled.

“But mostly,” she pointed out.

“Not this time, they’re not.”

“Suit yourself,” she shrugged, rising to her feet.

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“To the phone,” she whispered.

She is so unskilled with the whole threat thing. You’re looking at the queen of threatening, i.e.; me.

“Why would you want to do that?” I scowled. No one ever used the phone during the summer. Not unless you had a sudden urge to order take-out… no. She wouldn’t! Cameron worked at that pizza parlor!

“Oh, because,” she bolted out of the room, and hurled herself down the stairs.

“Lydia Smith!” I cried, following her down furiously. “Put that phone down!”

“Yes,” she nodded into the receiver as I stormed into the kitchen, “Oh, and please send for Cameron Morfran.”

“No!” I had come too late. The deed was done.

“Thank you!” she grinned, clicking it down. This time, she had done it. She had totally peeved me off.

“I’m leaving,” I affirmed, marching to the back door with fervent steps.

“No, you’re not,” she held up a key. “That door is so old it locks with a key and a key only. Inside and out.”

“Oh, Lyd,” I wailed, “Why did you do that?”

“Because you’re going to seduce the White Surfer,” she replied rather nonchalantly for what she had just said.

“What? Are you on planet You-wish, or something?” I growled, “Because Randy’s waiting for you there.”

“No,” she articulated, “I just happen to know something that you clearly don’t.”

“What is it, then?” I folded my arms crossly, “That I’ve got a brain and you don’t?”

She only pursed her lips.

“Or have you finally recognized your Spanish roots, and found that your real name is Don Stupido?”

“Shut up, Angie,” she scowled.

“What are we going to do, then?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugged, “Take the pizza?”

“Speaking of which,” I scoffed, “Why didn’t you consult with me beforehand?”

“I couldn’t,” Lydia maundered, “You were going to off me.”

She was right…

“Fine,” I snarled, “What did you get, then?”

“Pepperoni,” she shrugged, “What we always get.”

“Large?” I asked.

“Large,” she confirmed. Excellent. At least my stomach would be satisfied, if not my mind.

The doorbell rang.

“Ah!” Lydia and I screamed in unison. Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap!

“Get a grip!” she violently shook my shoulders.

“Speak for yourself, mademoiselle mellow!”

“Right,” she let go of my poor and abused shoulders, and sauntered to the door with a swift, “Hide.”

“Oh, so now I’m supposed to hide,” I growled, dragging my feet to the kitchen, where they were more than glad to stop. Because Cameron would never find me there.

“Pizza delivery guy here,” he called as Lydia took about five hours fixing her hair and staring at herself in the mirror. Children these days… I tell you, something has to be done!

“Coming!” she bellowed, and pitter-pattered over to the door. She clicked it open, and confronted him with courage, and I am saying this only because I am quite a courageous babe. It just so happened that I was lacking of it at that precise moment. After all, it was the sexymus surfetosus, as the Latin kinsmen would say.

“Hey, it’s you,” I heard his voice as she took the pizza from him.

“Yeah,” she nodded, “Me. It’s only me. Alone. In this house.”

“That’d be an entire pizza for you, right?”

He had her there.

“Well…” she gulped “Kind of… boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend,” he bit his lip, and asked her for the money. A second later, the door closed. But a second after that, the door opened again. Because Lydia had let him in.

“Sorry for the disturbance, I’m just really thirsty,” I heard his voice resonating in the lobby as his steps neared my hideout.

“No…” my breathing accelerated, and my heart pounded against my chest like a… like a hysteric pounding thing!

I scanned the room for a possible escape route, but unless I intended on fitting inside a drawer, there was nothing I could do. Lydia, do something!

“Actually,” she said just as the kitchen door began tilting open. “It’s quite a mess in there. See, my cat hurled all over the kitchen floor just as you rang the bell…”

But to our dismay, FiFa the cat pitter-pattered out of the living room just as she was saying this.

Shit.

“You seem very…nervous about my walking into your kitchen,” he chortled. “Might as well see why.”

And that was when the door swung open, and he saw why.

“Well, what do you know?” he sneered. He actually… oh, never mind.

“Oh, hi!” I pretended to be surprised. Which I kind of was, but for another reason.

Without knowing it, I started twisting my long brown hair around my finger; a dirty habit of mine.

“Don’t mind me,” he grinned, “I’m just here for a well-earned drink.”

“You must have been working many shifts?” I asked.

“Yes, actually,” he took a sharp swig from the cup, causing the ice-cubes to clink against the glass as he drank.

It was so awkward; I almost choked on my own tongue, because I wanted to swallow, - hard - but the horrific silence still reigned.

“Thanks for the drink,” he said after he finished, and handed it back to Lydia, the frantic hostess.

“No problem,” she grinned. It wasn’t any grin, though. It was a grin that said; Stay here until I feel like kicking you out! Which is never!

“Oh, damn,” he bit his lip, his eyes falling to the floor. They settled on the sparkling charm he had given me. Crappidy crap-crap!

I kneeled down to pick it up before he could, and fastened it back on.

“Oops!” I flushed and flustered, “Dropped it.”

“Well,” he grinned wolfishly, “Someone is making that into a habit.”

And he left us with that.

“Pfffhhhht!” Lydia muffled a few drunken giggles.

“Har-de-har,” I growled, clipping the charm back on the chain. Stupid Cameron. “The guy hates me.”

“He so does not,” she snorted.

“Well, I hardly see how a guy like him would like a girl like me,” I gladly pointed out. “It’s just not natural. I like to follow the rules of ethics, if you don’t mind.”