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Part 1|Part 2|Part 3|Part 4|Part 5|Part 6
“I talked to your father today,” the doc says as I take my seat on the couch.
“Oh yeah?” I ask coolly.
“Yes. He says that your sister and step-father are worried sick about you. I noticed that he didn’t include himself in that scenario.”
“Are you suggesting I have father issues?” I smirk.
“Perhaps. What kind of father would you say he is?”
I think about that one for a moment. Dear old dad, with the emphasis on old. He was playing an English nobleman during the Victorian era. But I can’t tell the doc that. He’d think I was crazy. That thought hits me as hilarious as I am sitting in a psychiatrist's office. I burst out laughing.
“What’s so funny?”
“Nothing. Dad is a hands-off kind of guy and I appreciate that. He lets me be who I am, whereas everyone else tries to put chains on me.”
“Could it be they just want what’s best for you?”
I shrug. Maybe. “Can I just tell my story now?”
The doc nods. “By all means. Continue.”
OOO
While driving back to Dad’s, I think about what weapons are in my arsenal. Number one, I’m likable. Women like me. Fourteen-year-old girls probably like me, too.
I need to watch her house and find out what her habits are. But I've seen the movies. I need a disguise. So I stop by the local drugstore and get some blond hair coloring. The box says it’ll cover anything and, as my hair is black like my dad’s, this will be a test of its advertising.
Forty five minutes later I do the final rinse and, voila, I’m now a blond. Sort of. At any rate, I no longer look like me. I even dyed my eyebrows although the box warns you not to do that. Hey, we covert types need to cover all our bases.
On the way to her house I work on my cover story. I take my place down the street from her stop and wait.
The bus arrives at precisely 3:35 p.m. Three students get off - two boys and a girl. Attempting to think like a detective, I begin to speak into my phone recorder. Subject is tall for her age - as if I would know. Her beautiful blond hair is pulled back in a simple pony tail. Dressed casually in jeans and a t-shirt, I can tell she’s comfortable with who she is. Muscular legs tell me she’s good at some athletic sport or other. She walks alone to her house. The door opens and a tall, slender blond woman greets her with a hug. They laugh and go inside.
I leave just long enough to get some grub, then return, determined to wait until something happens. By six o’clock, I’m lolling from boredom - how do cops do this? - when the door opens and she pops out, all geared up for a run. Instantly on alert, I watch as she takes off for the wooded path at the end of her street. How perfect is that?
Off I go to buy a jogging outfit and shoes. Tomorrow, I’ll be ready for her. But now I need to go back to the house and check on Kayla. She was asleep when I dyed my hair. No idea where Pink, Dad and the twins were off to.
I sneak in the house and up the stairs and peek into the guest room. She’s sitting at the makeup mirror putting her contacts in. I see her purse lying on the bed. How’d she get that back, I wonder. Walking in, I casually say, “Hi, Kayla. I see you’re doing better.”
She turns and gives me one of her precious smiles. “Love the new twigs,” she says, smiling. “What are you hiding behind your back?”
“These are for you.” I show her the flowers I bought from a street vendor along the way. She grins with delight. Then I hold up the bag. “And this is for my new healthy lifestyle. I’m taking up jogging.”
She laughs. “You, jog? Now, that’s funny.”
I pretend to be hurt. “Are you saying I’m a lazy slug? I’ll show you how much energy I’ve got.” I throw the bag on the bed and grab her, tickling her until she screams for me to stop. When I begin to kiss her, she responds, just as I knew she would.
Soon we’ve moved to the bed. As I’m making love to her, I hear a clunk as my latest purchases slide onto the floor.
We've just returned downstairs as my sister comes out of the bathroom. She lets out a startled scream. “Sis! It’s me, Blue!” I say. She stops screaming, blinks a couple of times and puts her hands on her hips. Uh-oh.
“What on earth have you done to your hair?” Sometimes she sounds way too much like her dad.
“I needed a new take on life,” I reply.
Apparently deciding I’m beyond help, Sis turns to Kayla and asks, “Do you want to stay for dinner, Kayla? You’re more than welcome.”
Kayla shakes her head. “Thanks, but I really just want to go home. Can you drive me, Blue?” She’s pulling me toward the door so I wave goodbye to my sister and follow her outside.
No sooner are we in my car when she says, “Let’s go parking.” I'm thinking, what the heck? Kayla has always been a little erratic, to the point that sometimes it's hard to keep up. But then it hits me. This would be a great cover to keep an eye on Alex’s house.
“Great idea!” I say, and we head across town. Right now I’m pretending that I work for the CIA or the FBI, because honestly, if I tell myself I’m working for a wicked warlock who wants me to kidnap his daughter, my conscience will kick in. And we can't have that, now, can we?
I park where I can see the house and Kayla’s on me, kissing me and moaning as I kiss her neck in response, all the while never taking my eyes off the front door. Suddenly, the door flies open and the woman whom I assume is her mother, walks outside. She’s obviously dressed for some kind of meeting or work - nice business suit, expensive brief case at her side. After she gets into her car and drives away, I glance at the clock on the dash. Seven on the dot. Check and checkmate. Tomorrow, I put my plan into action.
I return my full attention to pleasing Kayla, who squeals in delight. When she finally cries uncle, I drive her back to her house and wait until she falls asleep before sneaking off to Sophie’s house.
By 3:45 the next day, I park a bit away from the bus stop, but close enough to see her disembark. It’s a bit of a walk to her house, but not that far, so I need to move fast. Just as she’s making the turn up her walkway, I run over and bump into her.
“Please forgive me. I not see you,” I say in the best Russian accent I can muster. I may have the blood of Russians in my veins, but accents are not my strong suit. She looks at me and blinks, startled no doubt by my good looks. Or my bad Russian accent - not sure which.
Undeterred, I try again. “Hello, my name is Kazimer Nurev, but my friends call me Kaz.” “I am new student at your school.”
“You don’t look familiar,” she says, obviously uncomfortable as she tries to step around me.
I block her every move. “I am in English class but I am out a lot. My dad is ambassador and I get, how do you say, jerked around?”
“Uh huh.” Obviously, she is not wowed by either my looks or my accent.
“What’s your name?”
“Alexandra, but my friends call me Alex.”
She gives up trying to evade and just stands there, finally making eye contact. I smile at her and stick my hand out. Haltingly, she shakes it. “I hope we can be … how do you say … bestie friends.”
She laughs at me and is starting to relax. “What do American girls do for fun?” I ask.
Biting her lip shyly, she says, “I like to hang with my friends and go jogging.”
There it is. “Jogging! Back in Russia, I jog all the time. I’m jogger nut, you might say.”
She blinks at me. “I have to go. My mom is waiting. She doesn’t like me to talk to strangers.”
“But I am not stranger. We are besties!” She finally bolts around me and runs for her house. “Wait! What time you jog? I like to join you, if I may.”
Just as she opens her door, and I’m certain I’ve lost my touch, she calls back, “Six o’clock. But I’m going, with or without you, so don’t be late.”
It’s 5:50 by the time I return. I hastily pull on my jogging shoes and wait.
At exactly 6 p.m., she comes out. I run to catch up. “There you are, Bestie Alex,” I say. “I like you. Do you like me too?” Gah, I sound like a wind-up doll! Note to self: Turn it down a notch!
She glances at me, unsmiling. “Hope you can keep up.” Without warning, she bolts into the woods and with my long legs, I have no trouble keeping up at all. Over hill and dale we run. Long legs or no, though, I begin to get fatigued. Running was never one of my strengths.
When we pop out of the woods on the far side of her house, she finally stops for a breather. Although I’m beat, I play like I’m not, smiling at her and running playful circles around her.
“I was trying to wear you out,” she says, out of breath. “I guess Russians live up to their fitness legend, after all.”
“We are a very fit people,” I say. My chest is aching and my feet are killing me, but I can’t blow this. I’m too close. “Say, would you like to go get ice cream?”
Frowning, she shakes her head no. “My Mom has to go to work and she won’t let me out of the house while she’s gone.” Alex’s front door pops open and the severe-looking woman I saw before stares in our direction. “That’s her now. I have to go. See you around, Kaz.”
She runs off before I can implement the next phase. Damn. Oh well, there’s always tomorrow. I hobble back to the car and collapse in the driver’s seat. Fitness sucks.
