Page 30 of Paging Dr. Hart
I nod my head miserably. I didn’t think he knew my name.
Now that the fight is over, Rafe loses some of his bluster. He looks around like he wants someone else to deal with my hysteria. Finding no help nearby, he sighs and gathers me up in his arms, holding me like a child. It’s comforting. I rest my head against his hard chest, all modesty forgotten in my trauma.
When he starts to walk toward the school, carrying me, I panic at the thought of everyone seeing me like this, tear-soaked with torn clothing. It won’t be hard to figure out what happened. I don’t want to be known as the girl who got attacked. The weak girl who couldn’t fight for herself. I clutch Rafe’s shirt and mouth the word “no.”
He changes course, understanding my silent plea, and heads for the parking lot. We end up at a beat-up truck, the color so sun-faded that it’s impossible to tell if it was once gray or silver. It’s been lifted. Aftermarket bright red shocks are visible in the wheel wells.
Juggling me awkwardly in his arms, Rafe kicks open the passenger door and gently hoists me up into the seat. I sit high in the tall truck, easily seeingover the tops of the surrounding cars. He moves around the vehicle and climbs into the driver’s seat. Once settled inside, he turns on the engine. Latin rap music blasts out of the speakers, so loud that I clap my hands over my ears. He quickly dials down the volume until the music is a faint hum in the background, and I lower my hands.
The air conditioner gives a rattling gasp and turns on. Hot air bursts into my face and then slowly turns cold. It’s soothing, the air drying the sweat from my hairline. I’m still crying. It’s like a dam has burst open inside of me, and I can’t plug it up.
A silence settles between us. He looks out his window, giving me privacy to pull myself together. Eventually, I calm down enough to speak. “Thanks for helping me.” It’s a whisper as light as a feather.
He nods in acknowledgment. “That guy’s a prick. He won’t try it again,” he says gruffly. “You should be fine. If he, or anyone else, bothers you, just come to me, and I’ll take care of it.”
I wonder what kind of power Rafe has that he can make these promises with such confidence. Maybe I should be more suspicious, but I believe he can deliver the justice he’s threatening.
“Okay,” I agree. “You’re Rafe, right?”
Emerald eyes turn my way, and my breath catches. It’s likely residue from my earlier adrenaline rush, but everything appears extra sharp and in focus. Like I’ve developed some kind of super vision. I can see the ebony stubble on his cheek. The slight chapping of his lips. Rafe’s not classically good-looking. The artist who drew him was too heavy-handed for that, but he possesses a dark beauty. He exudes magnetism, and I feel its pull.
“Yeah, that’s me.” His voice is deep, a man’s voice in a teenager’s body.
I try to remember if he’s one or two grades ahead of me. The silence settles again, making me self-conscious. Maybe he doesn’t want me here? Should I leave? About to crack open the door and escape, I stop when Rafe asks, “Where do you live? I’ll drive you home.”
Caught off guard, I stutter, “Oh, it—it’s okay. I can catch the bus.”
When I look down at my watch, I realize it’s later in the afternoon than I thought. The public transit I usually take home has already come and gone.The next bus won’t arrive for another 45 minutes and by that time Mr. Chen will start to worry.
Although I’ve outgrown the need for a babysitter, most days I still go to Mr. Chen’s after school. He’s kept his promise and teaches me piano and interesting medical facts. When I get stuck doing my homework, Mr. Chen is there to help. He’s good company, quietly puttering around while I work.
I consider calling my mom to come pick me up but decide against it. She’s home sleeping, preparing for a night shift. Mom has looked extra tired recently, dark circles under her eyes and her normally pale skin so translucent I can trace the branching river of veins at her temples.
Not wanting to bother my mother or Mr. Chen, my decision becomes easy. “Yeah. I could use the ride.” I give Rafe my address and directions to the apartment.
Without another word, he puts the truck into gear. It’s a stick shift, so his hand grasps the ball-tipped stick between us. He rests his palm loosely on top, with his hand so close he could touch my knee with the slightest movement. Watching that hand out of the corner of my eye, I’m not sure if I want it closer or farther away.
Red still stains the creases of Rafe’s knuckles. I assumed it was from the boy, but now I see fresh blood oozing. He must have broken the skin.
“You’re hurt,” I exclaim, dismayed. My body lurches toward him, wanting to examine his hand.
Rafe rears back at my sudden movement, shying away. “It’s nothing.” His jaw clenches.
“But you’re bleeding,” I protest.
His laugh is deep and harsh. “Trust me. I’ve had worse.” His eyes scan the road ahead like he’s ready for danger to jump out at any moment.
Uncomfortable with the quiet between us, I resort to small talk. After all, Rafe isn’t filling the air with chatter. “Do you like school?” I ask and then wince.What kind of lame question was that? Who am I? Someone’s nosy great aunt at Christmas?
This earns me a response, at least. An ironic smile crosses his face briefly before falling away. It was a nice smile while it lasted, white teeth against dark skin. “It’s okay. Guess we have to go, right? It’s good for business.”
What does that mean? He’s certainly not selling textbooks. It might be better to stay ignorant about what “business” Rafe does. Before I know it, we’re pulling into my complex. He parks in front of my building, angling his truck so it takes up several parking spots at once. The engine is still running. The heavy door screeches as I wrench it open. I free fall to the ground, landing on my feet so hard that the impact reverberates up my legs. At least I don’t stumble or embarrass myself. When I stand on my toes to peer over the seat, Rafe is looking down at me, his face impassive.
“Well, thanks again…for saving me.” It sounds lame to my ears, but I can’t come up with something better.
“No problem.” He leans over and grabs the handle of the door that I’ve left open. Just before he pulls it closed, he says, “Try to stay out of trouble.”
Then he’s gone, leaving a plume of exhaust behind.
