Guardian: The Guardian Part 4

"It shall be fun renovating it, princess. You just wait and see," he says happily. He then follows the seller around the garden, tailed by my grandparents as they discuss the grounds and its amenities.

I turn towards the road, to look for the two princes, as I call them. I don't see them. Are they gone? I ask myself. But then I hear the low wisps, sounds like a gentle wind rustling against leaves, but I know that that's not it. For it sounds like a whisper of the language, shon ka something, that I had just heard them speak. Only now I do not understand what is being said. I only understand them when I am in physical contact with one of them.

The adults then round up back at the driveway, shake hands, and we begin loading ourselves into the car again. As we drive away, I look behind me to see if the creatures are following me, but nothing seems amiss. The rich air still clings on me, begging me to inhale it deep and lose myself in it like before. But I am now forewarned. Both times that I have lost myself into its thrall, unexplainable scary stuff has happened to me - shadowy spirits turning into human-like creatures with wings. I am definitely not letting it happen again. I stay attentive the whole drive, even after the air thins out into the normal crispy summer air with a light breeze. I embrace the calm that settles in me as we crawl onto my grandparents' driveway.

Sleeps comes hard that night, after hours of my staring into the dark ceiling, wondering just what mess I've walked into here.

Chapter 8.

"Dad please, come on!" I shout in frustration, banging the stupid door almost off its hinges behind me.

Dad is insisting that I go to school this morning. He played me like a silly child, promising me all along that should the morning of the first day of school come, and I still felt strongly against going, he would let me stay home. Yet here he is insisting that I ought to go to school. I try relax while leaning against the door, inhaling deeply.

"Caroline," he calls from outside the shut door. "It never gets better, even if you keep postponing the day you should start at your new school. Just go and get over with it, princess."

"You promised!" I choke up bitterly.

"I know," he replies, "and believe it or not, I have considered it this morning. And I still think you should go to school." He insists in his quiet but firm manner. I bang the back of my head against the door in defeat, for I know he has won. How could I refuse now without coming off as very childish?

"Your grandfather will drive you," he adds softly. "Have a great day at school dear," he finishes, before his footsteps begin fading away. I yank the door open and run after him.

"Dad!" I call, and when he turns, I fly into his hands, burying my head against his neck, my feet not touching the ground.

"I won't fit in," I whisper softly in anguish.

"Yes you will, Caroline. There are many non-ethnic Danes in the school," he insists as he rubs my back comfortingly, before kissing my cheek.

"Hakuna matata, eh?" He says, placing me back on my feet.

"Easy for you to say!" I return with a frown, and he chuckles.

"Be good, be on time, and cheer up!" He calls out as he unchains his city bike hurriedly before riding off. I turn back into the house with an uneasy feeling deep in my stomach.

I miss my mother. She would have understood me better. I miss New York, the anonymity one often feels as they walk down its streets or in the crowded school halls, blanketed by so many other individuals, most of them even clamoring for attention, hence benefitting those like me seeking invisibility.

How many students would be in my new school? A hundred? Less? How many in my cla.s.ses alone? I feel the familiar bands of fear encroaching my chest from all sides.

I rush into the kitchen, b.u.mping into my grandfather, whom I clutch tightly and look pleadingly up into his eyes. He shakes his head in response, denying the request that I haven't voiced out yet.

"Please, granddad, please don't take me to school," I beg tears welling in my eyes. "Please," I break into sobs. The poor old man looks at me helplessly, before he rests my head on his shoulder.

"It will be okay, Caroline," he cajoles me softly.

"No, it won't!" I cry out.

"Okay, listen. Let us go to school and finish the paperwork. And if you still want to come back home, you can come back with me," the old man says softly while rubbing the wild curls at the top of my head.

I nod in agreement, to his compromise, and rush off to my room to change into a pair of denim shorts, a green tank top and a grey sweats.h.i.+rt.

I rush to the kitchen to grab an apple, and sticking my feet into my red converse shoes at the entrance. I then rush out and seat on the bonnet of the car. Grandpa walks out of the house slowly, with a bemused look on his face.

"Shan't you have any breakfast?"

"Why should I, when I know I will be coming back home with you right after registration?" I ask, smiling up at him. He shakes his head at my stubbornness as he slides into the driver's seat.

"Should you go to school tomorrow, the bus stops here every thirteen over, and forty two over the hour," grandfather says, pointing out at the small bus stop across the road.

"It will take you to the main bus station in town, taking about fifteen minutes as it does not take a direct route. Once there, you should change buses and pick number 502 that goes to Snderbirk. Most students at the station will do the same, so you can just follow them if you get confused. You will know at what stop to get off the bus, because again many students will alight there, as there is an elementary school right across the road from your school. But just in case you are unsure, feel free to ask the bus driver," he explains further, and I nod again in answer.

It takes us about twenty minutes to drive to the school. It is a small school, a single two storey building on the edge of a small town, slightly larger than Lejtoft, my grandparents' town.

When grandpa stops the car and walks out of his door, I follow him reluctantly. I feel some of the kids' quick glances before they turn away, and I am immediately grateful for the reserved nature of the Scandinavians. Any other small town, I would have been stared at and ridiculed as the weird kid that needed her grandparents to drag her to school.

The school is small, probably about fifty to seventy students in total. Grandfather walks right ahead towards the offices without asking his way about. He had probably gone to school here too, back in time, before the gymnasium specialized only in creative arts.

Dad might have gone here too, for the Christiansens have always lived in this area. The thought of myself living my whole life in this small town area is depressing. Grandpa is happy with it, but I know I am different. My parents' addiction for adventure is buried deep in my DNA too. The minute I get the chance, I will get away from here as fast as I can.

The princ.i.p.al is helpful and kind, speaking slowly enough for me to understand her, and calling a student to show me to my cla.s.s. I want to protest that I am not to start today, but she does not give me the chance. On his way out, grandfather smiles triumphantly, handing me a 50 kroner to buy lunch with and the bus ticket home. I thank him and follow the quiet plump girl to cla.s.s.

The teachers go out of their way to speak slowly, for me to understand them. I have a hard time keeping up eye contact with them. For some reason or other, Danes like to talk to someone while looking at them straight in their eyes, all the time. It is hard enough keeping eye contact with my family at home, and those I know. Maintaining eye contact with strangers all day, however, can be quite strenuous.

I suspect that the rest of the students must be put out a lot, at having to listen to their teachers talk slowly for my benefit, and keep asking me if I understood a word or the other. I keep nodding in agreement just to keep them off my case.

Some of the kids talk to me over the breaks, in not too shabby English either. I now realize that I'd probably overreacted in my attempts at avoiding school, and my irrational mindset that I would not fit in.

"Where do you live?" A lanky blonde boy asks over lunch at the canteen. I have managed to get a small carton of yoghurt and an apple for myself.

"Lejtoft," I say, and they all begin laughing at me.

"What?" I ask puzzled.

"You p.r.o.nounce it terribly!" A tall skinny brunette to my side says, her beautiful green eyes twinkling merrily. Her name is Anne-Marie, and I like her best in the school. She is majoring in drama and theatre, but we have many of our basic cla.s.ses together.

"Magnus lives there too," she says, pointing at the blonde guy that had asked the question.

"Cool! We could catch the bus together until you learn to find your way," he proposes kindly.

"I think I have a higher chance of dying of boredom in the buses than losing my way," I say, considering the fact that I come from one of the world's largest cities and I knew its public transport system like the back of my hand.

"So I'd rather we take the bus together just so I can have your company," I say to him laughing, and the others laugh lightly too.

"Deal," Magnus says cheerfully. I smile up at him, glad to have gained a friend.

"Umh..." I start up when I think of something. "Does any of you know a town... No a village actually, or even smaller," I am interrupted by my own giggles as I try to find the right word for it, but shake my head giving up. "A place called R?"

"What?" Anne-Marie, the pretty brunette asks.

"R?" I say again, but they all look back at me in confusion.

When it becomes clear to me that I am most probably p.r.o.nouncing it wrong, I take out my phone and type R in my messages, and show them the word.

"Oh! R!" Charlotte, Anne-Marie's best friend with the amazingly long, rich blond hair speaks out. "I know it. A bunch of five or so houses on the way to Rundskov Park. I always biked past it with my sister when we still lived in Sejtrup and often spent our afternoons in summer at the park."

"So Rundskov Park is right by R?"

"Yeah it is. A five minutes' bike ride away. Why?"

"Umh... We are probably moving to R," I say reluctantly. Charlotte chokes on her yoghurt right then, and has to cough a little. Mikkel, a tall boy that plays football with Magnus, mockingly taps her between her shoulder blades.

"How bad is the town?" Mikkel asks, swiping his beautiful brown hair back from his forehead and arching his eyebrows. He is a handsome boy with the typical boy-next-door looks that many American girls would go wild for. I cannot help smiling up into his deep blue eyes dreamily.

"It's bad!" I say laughing to the faces before me.

"Really bad," Charlotte adds, shaking her head, folding her face in mock sorrow.

"I have never seen anything worse. There are five houses, and I did not see any living person in them. We might be its only occupants." I say, laughing out my frustration.

"Big change, from having lived all your life in a city with over 8 million people, huh!" Anne-Maria puts in, laughing at the irony of it all.

We spend the lunch break in that fas.h.i.+on of light conversation and good humor. It isn't nearly as bad as I had feared. I am making good friends with great humor, and who do not mind speaking English with me. Maybe school is exactly what I need, to find my niche here in 'good old Denmark'. Who would have thought?

"What are you planning on doing now?" Anne-Marie asks later in the day, after the last cla.s.s, as we walk together out of the school building.

"Catch a bus and head home?" I say doubtfully while cringing my nose, for her question had sounded as though she had a better idea.

"Or I could walk you around my hometown and you could catch a later bus," she says.

"I'd love that A.M." I had given her the nickname over lunch, her first names' initials, because Anne-Marie just sounds too long and impersonal in my mouth.

"Great!" She says, slinging her military green fjallraven bag over her shoulders.

"I'd like to check the bus schedule first," I tell her, as I drag her by the hand towards the bus stop where a large number of students have gathered again.

I almost don't see it, the quick movement that would be invisible to any other bystander. I have seen that kind of fast movement before, outside the 18th century house in R. My brain is now tuned to notice such incidences even when I am not paying attention, while I know others would not have seen it.

Are they following me? How did they know I'd be here? Are they both here, or just one? I must have been too much involved in my thoughts for I shake out of it only to see A.M. staring back at me.

"Sorry I s.p.a.ced out," I smile at her, shaking my head. "What is it you were saying again?" My head is still corked to my left, looking for any further movements from there.

"I asked if you would like to come home with me for a while, after our little tour of the town center. We live by the main street."

"Sure, I'd love that. But I need to call my dad and let him know that I'll be staying here a little longer..."

"Hey girls, see you tomorrow!" Magnus shouts out as he runs past us, Mikkel right at his feet waving to us.

"What are they up to?" I ask turning away from them.

"Oh, they must be running late for football practice," she answers me with a shrug. When she says football, I have to remind myself that this is Europe, so she actually means soccer.

We spend the afternoon walking through the small main street, looking into all the shops. It is a small street, probably not much longer than five hundred meters. It is however breathtakingly picturesque; the timeless cobblestone cladding the walking street, the old buildings of Scandinavian neo-cla.s.sical architecture and the large square in front of a sizeable gothic church, spotted by teenagers and young kids sitting on the city furniture, just hanging out with their friends.

"Do you want some ice cream from Paradis Is? It is the best ice cream in the whole world," she says cheerfully. I highly doubt that it is, for she has never travelled out of the country. I do not point that out though.

"No, I don't think I should. I have about..." I trail off rummaging for the coins in my pocket and count them, "32 and a half kroners left, and I don't know how much a bus ticket costs."

"Oh no worries, on me. And I think the ticket will cost 25 kroner, though I'm not too sure."

"Thanks, but no thanks. But you can just grab yourself some ice cream, if you want." I say.

"No, no it's alright. We can just grab a healthy snack at my home. My parents are obsessed with healthy living by the way." We walk together through the portal of one of the beautiful old buildings by the cobbled main street.

"Be sure to ask your father for enough money to buy a monthly ticket though. It is cheaper, and at least then you won't have to worry everyday about bus money," she points out helpfully.

"Thanks, I'll be sure to do that." I smile up at her, for she is about 3-4 inches taller than I am.

The apartment A.M. lives in with her parents and younger brother is beautiful, completely renovated and has a strict minimalistic interior. Striped grey carpet flooring, blank white walls interrupted by family picture frames and dark furniture. We both sit down at the kitchen table and nibble the homemade whole wheat cookies in a large tin jar as she entertains me with stories about her family, school life and her dance club.

"I better head back," I say. "The next bus is in fifteen minutes."

"Ok," she says getting up, dusting the cookie crumbs off the table into her palms, and swiping them together over the kitchen sink. "I'll just grab a jumper and we can leave."

"So," I begin as she locks the door behind her. "Do you have a boyfriend?" She laughs lightly before answering.

"No, not really. But I have hooked up a number of times with Mikkel."

"Really? Mikkel in our cla.s.s? He is hot!" I exclaim giggling.

"Yes he is," she answers, chuckling giddily too. "But we aren't anything, I mean, I'm not sure if there is something."

"Haven't you guys talked about it?"

"No, we haven't," she answers quietly.

"How could that be?"

"Well, we just never talk about it. At least I know he doesn't want to talk about it, and I don't want to push him."