Her Guardian Angel Autumn-

Autumn-

The credits of the Hunger Games roll onto the screen. Adam and I are in the Camden’s game room, munching on pizza. Which, might I add, Adam had also never had. 

 “WHAT?” I’d screamed when he told me. 

 His face had broken into one of his first smiles all night. From the moment he’d walked through the front door, he’d seemed sort of melancholy. I didn’t know what to say to make him feel better, and it was clear that he wasn’t wanting to talk about it. 

 And that was okay. I didn’t want to push him.

 Adam wipes a trail of red sauce from his chin. “So,” he says with his mouth full. “I think I am officially Team Gale.”

 “Ugh!” I chuck a pillow at his head. 

 “What?”

 “Team Peeta all the way!”

 “He’s too clingy.”

 I wave another slice of pizza at his face. “He just cares about her. And-”

 “So does Gale. He protected her family.”

 “You know what? I am not debating this with you. Peeta is better. That’s that.”

 “Agree to disagree?”

 I laugh. “Sure.”

 He smiles at the ceiling. Then his smile fades and he asks me a serious question.

 “What if someone wasn’t who you thought they were?”

 I look at him questioningly. “Why do you ask?”

 “Just a question.”

 “Well, what exactly do you mean? What if they were good or bad?”

 “Neither,” he says quickly. “What if they were just someone else?”

 I focus my gaze on the TV screen. “I wouldn’t appreciate them lying to me.”

 “What if they had to?” He fidgets with his thumbs and doesn’t look me in the eyes.

 “What if they had to? You never have to lie. There’s always a choice. You just have to choose the right one.”

 “But, what if-”

 “We’re talking about hypothetical, right?”

 He pauses, finally looking at me. “Um, yeah. Yeah, obviously.”

 Something in his eyes keeps me from believing. “Well,” I examine strands of my hair. “If, hypothetically, someone I cared about had been lying to me, they’d have to have a heck of a good reason for it.”

 He nods like he’s satisfied with this answer. “Just wondering.”

 “You know...you can tell me things,” I say quietly. “You don’t have to worry or hide things. I share. I want you to do the same. I want you to-”

 “Trust you,” he finishes. “I know. And I do. I promise you, Autumn, I do.”

 I give him a smile. “That’s all I ask you.”

 His smile glows in the TV light. He reaches casually for another slice of pizza. He chews thoughtfully and studies the TV screen.

 “Let’s do this again sometime,” he says.

 “Eat pizza or watch a movie?”

 “Both.” He grabs another slice of pizza and I’m ready to tease him about his big Canadian appetite when, instead of taking a bite, he smashes the slice against my face. I rip it away, swiping pizza sauce out of my nose. He tries to stifle a laugh but it slips out his nose in the form of a snort. I scrape sauce off my cheek and fling it at his face. Bingo: it lands in his open mouth. 

 He gapes, choking and sputtering. 

 I stare. And then I explode into a bout of hyena laughter. My sides and stomach ache and tears stream down my cheeks. I know my mascara is forming dark tracks down my face, but I can hardly breathe, much less care. 

 He spits out the goop into the pizza box and scrapes his tongue. 

 “How d’you feel about that?” I smirk triumphantly. 

 Gagging, he says, “You surprise me.”

 “I have that effect on people.”

 “Oh, really?”

 I nod my affirmative. 

 His eyes dart along my face. Carefully, his fingers brush off crumbs of crust from under my mouth. My face burns hotter than a fireplace. My stomach heaves and flips and does all kind of acrobatic tricks I would die if I attempted to do. My heart beats double time, pattering in a rhythmic tattoo. His eyes don’t leave mine, even when his fingers tilt my chin up. 

 I can’t think. I can hardly function and what is happening what is happening what is happening. 

 He’s brave and chivalrous. He asks for my permission. 

 Because he is all good things. Things I could never even dream of being. 

 “Autumn?”

 “Adam?”

 “May I?”

 I dip my head the slightest bit. My choice. My decision. I trust this boy. He trusts me. 

 So what’s stopping this one small thing?

 It’s brief, just a whisper of a kiss. Nothing long, nothing infinite. Just his lips brushing against mine for moments that I hold in my memory, never letting go of, never letting go of. It’s hardly anything in the grand scheme of things. But a first kiss, I’ve imagined, always changes something. 

 And then I’m wrapped in a hug. His shirt smells like pizza and laundry detergent and I don’t have words to describe the feeling of safety that this moment invokes. I feel like I could fly. I feel like I could do anything, so long as I had the promise of a hug like this forever. 

 We blink in unison when we pull back and I can hardly believe the anythings going on around me. The light of the TV fades into a hazy blur until it’s hard to see. All there is is Adam and me. 

 “Autumn?” Mrs. Camden calls from the kitchen.“Time for Adam to head home.”

 We don’t break eye contact. It’s almost impossible to. But slowly Adam stands. When I follow suit, I’m hit with a head rush of emotions. 

 “How?” I whisper feverently. “How can you care about me like that?”

 His face breaks into a heartbreaking smile and he twines his fingers with mine. “You know, someday you’re going to see you the way I do. Someday you’ll realize that you aren’t defined by a distorted limb or a shattered family.”

 This isn’t the first time that I’ve felt like he’s too perfect. The things he says, the things he does. Something about him just can’t be real. 

 It’s almost like he’s some sort of angel. 

 “Okay,” I whisper. 

 He squeezes my hand. “I should go. I’ll text you, okay?”

 I squeeze back. “Okay.”

 His smile is as warm as the second hug he enfolds me with. “I hope you know how special you are to me.”

 This can’t be real. Guys like this just don’t exist, despite what Stephanie Meyer and the other women who write vampire romance novels say. 

 More than a few tears poke the corners of my eyes. 

 You too, my heart says. 

 Adam pulls away and I walk him out the door. He waves, moonlight painting him in silver. I return his wave. I watch the window until he’s disappeared from my line of sight. This isn’t happening. I wasn’t kissed. I am not a pathetic, typical teenage girl who was hit by a strong Cupid’s Arrow. 

 This has to be a dream. 

 But when I go up to Mia’s room and find her fast asleep, I know that it wasn’t. In the shadowed surface of her mirror, I see traces of pizza sauce lingering on my face. I can make out a twinkle of excitement in my eyes. I beam. And, (dare I say it?), I feel beautiful. 

 Once I’m ready for bed, I shut the curtains tightly. I want to sleep soundly tonight and dream of beautiful things. Mia sleeps like a log most of the time which is annoying and unfair. Thankfully, I have a pair of ear plugs that I pop into my ears. I am so very determined to sleep well.

 I snuggle into my blankets and smile. 

 When I drift off, I think of Adam.