The Guardian by Carey Corp

as good as you claim they are, why don’t you ask them to help you?”
    I shrug, unable to format a safe answer easily. “I—uh—don’t want to burden them, I guess. And it’s private.”
    Nodding, he says softly, “I hope you find him.”
    “Thanks. I hope so, too.” I send out a short prayer to whoever might be listening for Derry’s safe return. Somewhat astonished, I realize we’ve already crossed Orchard Avenue. I glance behind me, but the residential street’s deserted. With the perpetrators long gone from the scene of their crimes, that place no longer has any hold over me.
    Turning back to Gabriel, I announce, “My turn again.”
    Raising his hands in surrender, he jokes, “Shoot.”
    “Tell me about your family.”
    “Well,” he draws the word out with extra emphasis on the end consonants. “It’s pretty basic really. My older sister goes to UCLA. Both my parents work and we just moved here from sunny California because of my mom’s new job.”
    “Your dad relocated for your mom?” My voice gets squeaky sometimes when I’m impressed. I hate it.
    “Yep.”
    “That’s pretty amazing of him.”
    Shrugging it off, Gabriel kicks a rock out of our way. “Well, we’re a progressive, modern family.”
    Envisioning it in my head, I see a tidy woman in a smart suit standing in front of an elegantly understated home. I imagine her having Sunday brunch with the husband and son who’ve sacrificed for her. As they eat, they trade sections of the paper and make leisurely small talk. Wanting to picture more, I ask, “What else?”
    “I dunno—what do you want to know?”
    I think for a split second. “Do you own a dog?”
    “No pets.” He explains, “I’m allergic.”
    “What’s your sister studying?”
    “Communications.”
    A black convertible overstuffed with laughing kids barrels down the street. Over-rated pop music blares as the driver swerves, narrowly missing a parked car. “Do you drive?”
    “I can drive—if that’s what you’re asking—but I don’t have my own car. That was part of the appeal of this neighborhood—for my parents, at least—just a short walk from school.”
    “What do you miss most about California?”
    Without hesitation he declares, “The ocean—surfing.”
    In my mind’s eye, I see him on a surfboard, the breeze ripping through his sandy hair as he rides turbulent cresting waves then comes home to collapse, smelling of sea and sunblock.
    Because I’m silent, imagining Gabriel as the golden surfer-boy, he asks, “Is it my turn?”
    “Yep.” Half a block until Kate and Steven’s. I find myself hoping I can get in one last turn before our time’s over. Irrational suspicions have been running on a loop in the back of my head and growing stronger with each coincidence. Though I’ve been doing my best to ignore them, I’ll get no rest without answers.
     “How do you really feel about the Fosters?” he asks.
    Without pausing to edit my reply, I blurt out, “I really like them. They’re both super nice and so generous. The only thing I can’t figure out is why they want me.”
    As Gabriel stops in front of the blue and white porch with the red door, his eyes turn sultry. “Give yourself some credit. The question that leaps to my mind is why wouldn’t anyone want you?”
    Butterflies, goose bumps and red cheeks—my body explodes with the works so that I’m torn between hiding my embarrassment by escaping and asking the question that’s been on my mind most of the walk home. My need for answers narrowly wins. “One last question before you go?”
    “For you? Anything.”
    “Why are you doing this?”
    His eyebrows lift. “Doing what?”
    “This,” I sweep my hand to indicate the two of us, my backpack he’s still shouldering, the seven blocks he’s walked with me three times now, and the house with the pretty porch that signals the end of our time together. “Why me?”
    Rolling his eyes at me, he chuckles. “I thought it was kind of