Chapter 11
The subsequent week stretched by more slowly than I thought possible.
I worked four shifts at the bookstore, and by the end of the week, I felt more comfortable there.
Despite Saturday feeling like it might never come, I enjoyed spending time with Cleo in the shop.
We were more alike than I would have thought, and one time after work we went thrifting at Goodwill together.
She rolled her eyes numerous times when I exclaimed at the sheer size of the secondhand store.
And rolled them again when I FaceTimed Nic so she could help me decide whether to buy a suede trench coat for only fifteen dollars (I did).
I spent one evening fixing up my Prada bag; my work wasn’t perfect, as I only brought my emergency sewing kit with me, but it was good enough.
Cleo let out a gasp when I wore it to work, and another gasp when I told her I bought it not too far from the store.
When Saturday came, Zain picked me up outside of work in a black Land Rover—its wheels were half the size of me.
I’d told my dad I was doing a full day shift.
“Good Days” by SZA rang out, and Zain turned the music down as I got in.
Rather than comment on his good taste in music, the first thing I said was “You too?”
His brows knitted together. “What?”
“Everyone here has massive cars.”
Zain chuckled. “I can’t say I’ve noticed. Hello to you, too, by the way.”
“Hi,” I said quickly, before continuing, “It’s like you all want the biggest things in America. Big vehicles. Big drinks. Big houses. Capitalism on steroids.” I pressed my back into the leather seat, which was admittedly very comfortable.
He shook his head, smiling, as he toyed with the air-conditioning.
Cold air blasted into the car. I saw him in profile again, the sharpness of his jaw prominent, his lips soft and plump.
It reminded me of my first dream, and I wrestled with telling him about it.
Or the one of him in the courtyard. I bit the inside of my lip like that would stop the words from coming out.
I needed to be careful, even if I thought I could trust him.
“You notice a lot of things, don’t you?” he said before pulling out of the parking spot.
“Everyone notices things.”
He kept his eyes on the road. “Not everyone. Lots of people deliberately don’t look at the world around them. You seem happier today. Did you have a good week?”
I pressed my lips together, not quite loving being seen by him and feeling suddenly nervous. “It was fine, busy.”
To distract myself, I reached across to turn the radio up, not realizing that Zain also had that intention.
Our fingers briefly touched, and an electric snap coursed between us.
I snatched my hand away. I had déjà vu of being in a car with Zain, our hands meeting.
Somehow, I knew what it felt like to have his hand wrapped in mine, how strong and warm they were, his thumb tracing circles on my palm.
I knew that he would keep going until I shivered into him, and that it would make him smile to know he had that effect on me.
But most of all, I knew the feeling of being safe with him.
Except, I had never held hands with a boy before, so how could I know any of those feelings?
“Sorry,” I said quickly.
“Don’t worry about it. It must have been from our clothes or something—the shock, I mean.
” Zain gently bit down on his bottom lip as he drove, like he was deep in thought.
I didn’t know what to say, think, or do and moved my gaze ahead as he effortlessly weaved around cars, bypassing traffic and taking us toward the highway.
It vaguely occurred to me that I was doing exactly what the police who came to my primary school told us not to do.
Get in the car with strangers. Especially if you considered that I had seen him kill something—be it a jinn or not.
Even if I hadn’t seen that, I knew better than to get in a car with someone I barely knew.
And yet, here I was. But I didn’t feel unsafe. In fact, I felt safer with Zain than I did at home, or than I had in a very long time.
—
“How was training?” I asked when we left the car and began the hike up to Red Rocks.
The rocks were rusty, like a Martian landscape in one of the sci-fi movies Ehsan made me watch.
The orange mountain park stretched beyond my sight, and to the side was the amphitheater, which was closed for Boygenius playing there later.
I told Zain I wished I’d gotten tickets, but the concert was sold out.
And he said, with a wink, not to worry about it.
I briefly considered what he meant but pushed the thought aside as quickly as it had arisen.
The surrounding area of the park was quiet, with one family far in the distance.
The air was cooler, a welcome breeze brushing my hair off my face.
I reached up and tied my hair into a high ponytail, allowing the air to hit the back of my sticky neck.
I didn’t love having my ears exposed because they were large and I was often called Dumbo at school as a kid, but I was forcing myself to accept them.
“Tiring,” he said, giving me nothing.
“What does training for an angel consist of?” I pressed.
“We have to be prepared to fight, so a lot of the week we were sparring with each other, doing drills, strength training, practicing our powers. That kind of thing.”
“About those powers…” I began.
His lips quirked up. “Soon.”
I frowned but continued anyway. “So, I did some angel googling.”
“Of course you did.”
“Is it true that angels watch over humans? Like, are you a guardian angel for a specific person or every human?”
“Along with our powers activating when we come of age, we’re each assigned a human to watch over.”
“So, everyone has an angel looking out for them?” I asked.
“Not everyone, no. Only people who will have some impact on the good in the world in the future. Like if we know a person will find the cure for cancer one day, they’ll be assigned an angel to guide them, to try to stop anything from happening to them.”
“Right…And do they know they have an angel?”
He shook his head. “That’s the trick: You need to get close to them, befriend them, without them ever knowing.”
“So, who’s your charge?” I asked lightly.
He didn’t say anything for a moment, like he was weighing how much he should tell me.
“I won’t tell anyone.”
“I’ve already said too much. Way too much.”
“What’s one more secret between friends?” I said jokingly.
He rolled his eyes but ultimately gave in.
“I recently took a job as a football coach for middle schoolers so I could be close to one of the kids starting there, a Palestinian boy named Hassan. He’s only ten, so it’s just about watching out for him, being there when he needs someone, I guess.
He came over from there not too long ago and lost both his parents, so he is living with a relative here. ”
“Do you know what good he’ll do in the world?” I asked.
He shook his head. “No, that’s not the kind of thing they tell us.”
I wanted to ask who “they” were, but Zain spoke before I could. “Do you want to do the easy trail or the harder one?” he asked. At first, I had no idea what he was talking about, until I looked around and saw the path we were walking had diverged.
I wanted to say the harder one, to be the kind of girl who would enjoy that, but since I was averse to exercise, often skipping PE with Nic to have cheesy chips at the local café, I didn’t.
That, and I wasn’t dressed for a hike. I was wearing a midi dress and Docs.
Though I was aware we’d be coming here, I imagined more of a gentle walk.
I hadn’t even packed any athletic shoes, my singular pair of Converse in storage for when I moved on campus.
The hesitation must have been plain on my face because Zain said, while smirking, “You look like I’m holding you hostage.”
I led the way to the trail marked “easy” before I said, “I’m just not that into exercise. I prefer leisurely walks.”
He nodded, the corners of his mouth still perked up. “Got it, the easy trail it is.”
We walked in silence. The sky was a perfect blue, with not a cloud in sight. I listened for the sound of crickets, and birds softly chirping. The ground was uneven, requiring me to dodge various dips in the rocks, and I cursed myself for wearing such chunky boots.
I side-eyed Zain as I walked; he was wearing Adidas shorts, a loose-fitting top that still seemed to strain against his large biceps, and, smartly, sneakers.
I was struck, once more, by how attractive he was, my heartbeat picking up at how strong his body appeared to be.
I attempted to clear my throat. When that failed, I reached into my crossbody bag for a bottle of water.
“So, you grew up in Yorkshire?” Zain finally said, his face concentrating like he wanted to get it right.
“And ended up in Denver because of your Dad’s work?
But only until fall when college starts?
” I nodded glumly. “But you aren’t happy about it.
Couldn’t you have stayed in England over the summer? ”
I let out a sound that was something between a scoff and a tut.
“Yeah, maybe some dads would agree to that, but not mine. I could have stayed with my friend Nic, but he said he didn’t want me to stay with a ‘random family.’ He’s known her parents since I was in primary school.
I think he’s just in denial that I’ll be living in student housing in September…
” I paused. “That and I might have told him that there’re teachers monitoring us in the student halls. ”
“So, he’s strict?”
“No more than any other Middle Eastern dad,” I said. “You must know that, right?”
Zain continued to look forward, face unreadable, as he said, “Not really—I’ve never met mine.”
Another silence fell between us.
“Do you want to talk about it?”