Almost Brave: The South Louisiana High Series, #5

By Paula L. Jones

For as long as 22-year-old Gina Russo can remember, she's felt suffocated by her life in Swamp Rose, Louisiana.
She desperately wants to pack her camera bag and move to a city where things actually happen.
But when her small town's invisible vigilante, "Unseen," saves her life, Gina's focus begins to shift.
Now determined to find her savior and, at the very least, thank him, Gina realizes that Unseen is a difficult super to catch up with.
But something odd happens as she works to find and unmask her brave rescuer. Through every step of the process, Gina gradually begins to unmask her own strengths and weaknesses.
In her quest to find Unseen, she discovers her own courage.
This courage comes to the fore when a group of superhuman enemies with abilities similar to Unseen's kidnap her best friend.
Meet Gina and the friend she risks her life to rescue in, "Almost Brave," book five of the South Louisiana High Series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Paula L. Jones
• Release date: Dec 23, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223255635

Book preview

Prologue

Five Years Ago- April, 2010

Bravery starts with imagination, which explains why little kids are so brave. I paused and lowered my notes.

Nonno was seated on our living room couch in front of me, waiting to hear the rest of the presentation I’d written for English class. He raised his thick white brows as if to ask, Why did you stop reading?

As a man of few words, he didn’t actually say this out loud. The only sounds in our living room came from the whirling ceiling fan above our heads and the sizzling sausage Mimaw was frying in the kitchen.

I sighed and plopped down on our coffee table. It emitted a low creak. Nonno’s gaze went to the ancient piece of furniture as he broke the silence. What’s wrong, kiddo?

Do you think I’m flaky? I looked down at my schoolbag and gave it a kick.

Gina! Mimaw hollered from the kitchen. Did I hear my coffee table creak? You best not be sitting on it!

I slid off the table and onto our old brown couch.

She’s on the couch, Mona, Nonno said, his dark eyes assessing me.

Every time I looked at my grandpa, I saw my eyes staring back at me; the exact same oval shape and chocolate color. Maybe it was a little narcissistic of me, but I liked looking at him and seeing myself.

He winced and rubbed the crook of his left arm as he leaned forward. So, what do-

Okay then! Mimaw hollered from the kitchen, inadvertently cutting him off. Now y’all come get breakfast before Lyla come to pick Gina up for the school. She can’t be late. She got that report today.

Nonno rolled his eyes good-naturedly. Yes, Mona, we know, he said. Thank you, my love.

We shared a look and chuckled. Laughing at Mimaw for her thick Cajun accent – which sounded very different from the way my New Jersey-born grandfather spoke – and overly anxious ways was another thing we had in common. Thankfully, Mimaw was as sweet as she was strong, and our teasing never bothered her.

Back to your question, Nonno said, a hint of concern in his eyes. "What do you mean by flaky?"

I glanced at my notes, which were scrawled in black sharpie on the index cards I’d thrown down on the coffee table. My thoughts went back to the expression on my best friend Lyla’s face last night, as she’d read the very end of my report and then burst out laughing.

I toyed with my bracelet. Someone read my report and they… I hesitated and Nonno leaned forward expectantly.

And they what?

And they laughed at it and said none of it was true because I’m – I lifted my hands to create air quotes. "Flaky. Like, I don’t stick with things."

I glanced at Nonno to see whether he’d agree with Lyla’s assessment of me. He didn’t usually agree with Lyla’s world view, but this was different. Deep down, even I sort of understood what Lyla meant about me being flaky.

Why do you think this person said that? Nonno crossed his arms.

Um, maybe because-

Y’all coming for breakfast? Mimaw called.

Just a moment, my love, Nonno said before nodding to me. Go on, because what?

"Maybe because freshman year I was really into cheerleading and I told everybody I was going to be a professional cheerleader. But then I got into acting and theater and forgot all about cheering, and then in eleventh grade, I started getting more into film. So now, some people don’t think I’m serious about film. I shrugged. But, they don’t understand. I’ve always loved movies. This isn’t just ‘a phase.’ I seriously want to be a director and make movies when I grow up. I just want people to understand that."

Nonno scowled and clamped his hand around his left arm, giving it a squeeze.

I touched his arm. What’s wrong? Is your arm bothering you?

I slept on it funny. He sighed, but his eyes softened as he returned his attention to me. Gina, you’re a very special kid. Just like your mom was. When you put your mind to something, whatever it is, you focus on it until you get it right. If you ask me, that’s genius to be able to do that.

I couldn’t help but grin at his praise.

He scratched his ear. But there is one thing I think you could focus less of your attention on. His tone grew gentler as he continued, "You care a lot about what your friends think. They say you ought to have a boyfriend, so you get one. They say that boy isn’t good enough, you should be with some other one. So you get some other one, and then you get another…"

My cheeks warmed and I glanced down at the charm bracelet my most recent boyfriend had given me the other day.

I knew exactly who Nonno wished I’d go out with: Luke Kennedy.

To be honest, I wished it too.

But Luke was one of my best friends. And more importantly, he’d just broken up with my other best friend, Lyla. So there was no way I could go out with Luke. Not unless I didn’t mind turning my life into a soap opera with me playing the part of the boyfriend-stealing villain.

…they accuse you of being flaky and it crushes you, Nonno continued. "It’s good to care about your friends, but there’s a limit to how much you should let their opinions matter. Don’t let them define you. Be brave enough to be who you want to be. Even if that means changing your mind about whether you want to be an actor, a film maker or a…well, hopefully not a cheerleader." Nonno wrinkled his nose in distaste.

I don’t let my friends define me, I said. "I just want them to understand me, which means I have to be more like them. That’s the only way they’ll even want to understand me."

He made a face. So, you’re saying you want to be understood by kids who don’t have any interest in the real you?

No, that’s not- My phone, stashed in the front pocket of my school bag, vibrated.

At the same moment, Mimaw shouted, Gina, Lyla’s in the driveway! You going to have to bring your breakfast with you. And ask Lyla if she want some grits. She so skinny…

While Mimaw went on about Lyla’s need to gain weight, I turned to my grandpa. So, do you think I’m flaky?

He smiled. Gina, I think you’re perfect exactly the way you are.

I rolled my eyes. I knew you’d say something like that.

Nonno chuckled and planted a kiss on my forehead. I love you, kiddo. La mia stella più bella.

I got the ‘I love you part,’ but you lost me at the Italian... I grabbed my bookbag and Nonno collected my index cards from the table.

Lyla honked from the driveway.

Time to skedaddle, he said, handing me the cards. I’d tell you good luck on the report, but you don’t need luck. Your film’s great and I’m sure the report is too. Go get ‘em, kiddo.

Thanks. I gave Nonno one last kiss and scurried off.

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As Lyla pulled out of my neighborhood, the tires of her Corvette squealed, which I’m sure my neighbors loved at 6:45 in the morning.

I maintained a careful grip on the warm plate of grits and sausage in my lap as I looked around and sighed. I want to marry this car. I ever so briefly released my plate of grits and sausage to run one of my palms along the black leather passenger seat. I took a deep breath, drinking in the new car scent.

Lyla glanced at me. And that’s not weird at all.

I grinned and returned both of my hands to the plate, reaffirming my grip on it. Yep. A hundred percent normal. I still can’t believe your mom bought this for you. It’s like heaven on wheels.

Lyla’s mom, Dr. Nora Oni, had surprised her with the pretty silver sports car exactly two weeks ago. It was Lyla’s early graduation present.

Yeah, to make up for the fact that she’s choosing to go away on vacation with her boyfriend during her only daughter’s high school graduation, Lyla muttered.

I ditched my smile and glanced at my bestie. Lyla’s green eyes darkened as she pursed her lips and stared at the road ahead, shifting gears with the ease of an expert. Lyla had been a quick study when it came to learning how to drive a stick. She tried to teach me, but when I nearly drove her brand new car into my grandparent’s mailbox, we looked at each other and mutually decided to leave the driving to Lyla.

Why are you staring at me? She arched one of her perfectly shaped brows.

Your mom does love you, you know, I said.

Lyla shrugged.

I fidgeted with my plate, my bracelet hitting its edge and emitting a clink. I know she’s got a funny way of showing it.

"I wouldn’t call never talking to your own daughter ‘funny.’ And, Gina, you don’t get it because your grandparents actually listen when you talk to them. My mom doesn’t even understand the concept of a conversation. A car can’t make up for that. Lyla slowed for a red light and took a deep breath as we came to a stop. But I’m used to it. I don’t even care anymore, so it’s fine."

My heart sank.

I could see where Lyla was coming from about me not being able to wrap my mind around her situation. As much as I admired her fancy car and drool-worthy wardrobe, I wouldn’t trade my grandparents for any of it.

Dr. Oni had recently bought a huge house in Swamp Rose’s most exclusive neighborhood. But after a rough day at school, a big empty house couldn’t wrap Lyla in its arms for a hug, bake her favorite cookies, or give her a listening ear. I think that’s why Lyla usually came home with me after school. She even spent most of her nights in our ratty little house. Besides, at that point it had only been a month since she’d broken up with Luke. And I suspected that was a big part of why she felt even lonelier than usual.

I looked out of the window as I wondered what I could possibly say that would cheer Lyla up.

Lyla pulled through the now green light. As we sped past a wooded area on Highland Hills Road, I finally said, "You have me. I listen."

She chuckled and turned to me, her dark curls bouncing with her every move. If you get any sappier, you’re going to give us both diabetes.

I returned her smile. You like sappy. That’s why we’re friends; you need my sappiness.

Whatever. Anyway, are you nervous about your report and showing everyone your movie?

A little. I squinted at the sunrise ahead and let my gaze wander across our small town’s pretty, yet somehow stale, landscape. The cookie cutter homes with their fleur-de-lis flags and matching mailboxes, the clusters of oak and magnolia trees, moss hanging from their limbs – it was very picturesque, but also very expected. To live in a city where every morning delivered unexpected noise and sights would be a dream come true.

In fact, that dream fused the initial bond between me and Lyla. Back when we met in middle school, we both agreed that as soon as we finished high school, we’d hightail it out of Swamp Rose and move to New York City. We’d be roommates at NYU and explore the city together.

Girl up, Gina, Lyla said, glancing at me. You can handle it. You’re brave.

I nodded. Yeah. I know.

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Bravery starts with imagination, which is why little kids are so brave. I paused, looking up and squinting into our classroom’s florescent lights. And then I sneezed for the bajillionth time.

Sniffing, I faced the eight rows of students in my English class and found myself glaring at the one classmate responsible for my sinus attack: Crystal friggin Lovett.

Usually, I left the glaring at Crystal to Lyla. But that morning, it was my turn to eye our class scapegoat with unrestrained contempt. Crystal was lazily examining her numerous split ends as she sat in the front row, completely oblivious to the fact that her cheap body spray was causing my sneezing fit. For the past few minutes, I’d been trying not to dramatize the fact that she’d doused herself in what smelled like off-brand roach spray because I didn’t want her to get teased. But at this point, the overpowering smell was practically ruining my report.

Bless you again, Lyla chirped from the back of the classroom. Her sentiment was swiftly echoed by a few of our closest friends.

Thanks, y’all. I gave The Groupies – I never called them this to their faces, of course – a grin and the three of them, Mindee, Tammie, and Katrina, beamed. They were a sweet bunch…somewhat herd-like, but sweet.

All right, Gina, our elderly English teacher said with a smile. Snot-free and ready to proceed? He’d been sitting on the edge of an empty desk in the back of the classroom, quietly listening to our ‘I Believe’ presentations all morning. With his chocolaty brown skin and hazel eyes, he looked nothing like my Nonno, but personality-wise, the two men reminded me of each other.

I nodded and resumed my report. Thrust from the womb and into a foreign world, kids not only depend on their five senses, but their imaginations to decode their new environment. Surrounded by the unknown, they could easily fear every new encounter. Instead, with their imaginations as a buffer, they aren’t afraid of what they don’t understand – they’re simply curious.

Another whiff of Crystal’s body spray snuck into my nostrils. This time, instead of sneezing, I proceeded to hack up a lung.

While I had a fabulous time dealing with my massive amounts of phlegm, Brad – a boy I’d gone out with for a minute in ninth grade – shouted, "That’s hot!" and punctuated his sarcasm with a wolf whistle.

Brad, our teacher warned.

I ignored my classmates’ snickers, cleared my throat, and continued. "Unfortunately, bad things do happen, and the longer we live, the more bad things we experience, meaning we become more fearful. It’s as if cowardice grows with age and, by the time we’re adults, it’s overtaken us with a vengeance. It leaves us imagination-less and thoroughly afraid of the unknown. This is where storytellers like me save the day."

The classroom’s AC came on and it carried Crystal’s scent my way. I cleared my throat. Once the itchy, I’m-going-to-sneeze feeling passed, I returned my attention to my index cards. Storytellers, like children, are completely in touch with their imaginations and are, therefore, immune to cowardice. Fortunately, we don’t hoard our bravery. We share our gift by writing and producing stories the way Habitat for Humanity builds and gives away homes. Every time our characters slay a literal or metaphorical dragon, the people who watch our movies and read our books live through these heroic characters and grow a little braver themselves—

Conceited much? Crystal muttered.

I lowered my index cards and glared at Crystal. Stink much?

My classmates laughed and Crystal’s cheeks turned bright pink. She looked down at her desk. I glanced at my teacher. As our eyes met, he frowned and slowly shook his head.

My cheeks burned with shame. I’d disappointed him, which was much worse than being yelled at.

I mumbled, I’m sorry, and returned my attention to the last of my index cards. I forced perkiness into my tone. I want to make our world a braver place by telling my stories through film. So, after I graduate, I’m moving to New York where I’m going to study screenwriting and filmmaking at NYU. My name is Gina Russo, and I believe in bravery.

The class applauded and, despite my temporary distress at the look of disapproval from my favorite teacher, the sound sent a delicious surge of euphoria straight through me.

I was still grinning as I raised my voice above the noise and announced, Wait, everyone! My report isn’t over yet. There’s a second part – a short film I made.

My teacher’s eyebrows went up. Impressive. Go ahead, Gina.

I won’t show the entire film…just a clip. I set my index cards on the podium and clasped my hands together before diving into my well-rehearsed intro. We all know that Swamp Rose is a mysterious town, full of myths and rumors. There’s the tale of Unseen, an invisible man who averts disasters and robberies—

Shout out! yelled a boy named Jeremy. He’d claimed that Unseen had rescued him from a car accident last year.

Personally, I had my doubts about Jeremy’s story. If he’d been held at gunpoint and rescued or pulled from a burning building, that would have been believable. But a car accident? What kind of superhero goes around rescuing people from fender benders?

Despite my doubts, I smiled at Jeremy. There’s also the tale of the ghost who haunts Serenity Bayous. And today we’re going to take a look at the ‘true’ story of this ghost and his origins in a film called ‘Adam has Autism.’ You can watch my film in its entirety by clicking on the YouTube link Lyla’s sending to your phones right now … I paused and glanced at Lyla. She gave me a thumbs up and less than a second later, every phone in the classroom began to vibrate.

And now, I continued, please direct your attention to the television in the back of the classroom for a five-minute clip from my movie. Unable to stop grinning, I watched everyone turn around and face the TV.

My phone, stuffed in the left pocket of my skirt, began vibrating. I reached for it as someone turned the classroom lights off. While my film’s intro music filled the room, I glanced down at my phone.

Mimaw: Lyla’s mom is picking you up shortly.

Confused, I reread my grandma’s text. Why would Mimaw ask Lyla’s mom to pick me up in the middle of a school day?

Gina? My English teacher’s voice startling me, I looked up to find him beside me. He wasn’t smiling. In fact, his mouth had the pinched look it often got when a kid disrupted class. Would you get your things and step outside? he quietly asked.

Why? What’s wrong?

We’ll talk in the hallway. Get your things.

Okay. I started for my desk.

The class laughed as the film opened with one of my title characters – an overworked Serenity Bayous orderly, played by my friend Darrell – coming face to face with the ghost and promptly passing out.

While I made my way to my desk at the back of the classroom, I tried to figure out what was going on. Had there been some kind of accident involving my grandparents? After all, they were getting older and Mimaw’s doctor had just called last night to say he wanted to see her this afternoon ...

The class laughed again. Despite my curiosity about what was happening at home, their laughter sent a wave of pride my way.

They like it, Lyla whispered from her desk, which was just beside mine. She lifted her fist expectantly and grinning, I bumped it with mine. A compliment from Lyla was high praise.

Still smiling, I grabbed my backpack. Just under the sound of everyone’s laughter, I heard Lyla’s phone vibrate. While she reached for it, a ray of light cut into the dark classroom and landed right smack in my eyes. I squinted and turned to the source.

The light was coming from the classroom doorway where my English teacher stood, already waiting in the hall.

Yo, can we close the door? a boy in the back row called. There’s a glare on the TV.

Our teacher said nothing in response – he only lifted his hand, beckoning me.

I made my way towards him, stepping over backpacks and feet as I crossed in front of my classmates.

I passed April, the class nerd, and she whispered, Great movie, Gina.

I turned back to her and grinned. Thanks, April.

April blushed and returned her attention to the television. I glanced at the brown Lord of the Rings t-shirt she wore. On the front was a picture of Gandalf.

I like your shirt, I whispered. Gandalf’s my favorite character. Hoping no one else had heard me, I hurried away.

Back then, at South Louisiana High, it was perfectly acceptable to say you loved Iron Man or Batman, but admitting to being a Lord of the Rings fan was social suicide. Don’t ask me why. I didn’t make the social rules, I just followed them.

I finally slipped through the doorway and stood before my English teacher where I searched his eyes. Minutes ago, they’d been full of good humor, but now they were full of distress.

What’s wrong? I asked, my nerves resurfacing. Is something going on?

Come on into the hallway completely so I can shut the door.

I did as told and he closed the classroom door behind us.

South Louisiana High’s linoleum floors must have recently been buffed because they shone brightly beneath our feet. They acted as mirrors, reflecting the hall’s fluorescent lights above.

I watched my teacher turn to face me, his expression grave. Gina-

The classroom door swung open and we both jumped, startled, as Lyla burst through. Her long dark curls trailing behind her, she shut the door and faced me. Lyla’s green eyes were wide and without a word, she grabbed my upper arm.

At this, my heart began to hammer in my chest and I turned to my English teacher. What’s going on?

Gina, he spoke softly. Your grandmother contacted me, she … He took a deep breath. She wanted me to prepare you for what’s happened. There’s been an emergency.

An emergency? I repeated.

Lyla tightened her grip on my arm.

Your grandfather had a heart attack and he was rushed to the hospital. But I’m afraid he didn’t make it. My teacher paused. I’m so sorry, but he passed away.

What? I looked from Lyla to my teacher. I don’t … wait. What?

While my teacher repeated himself, my brain expanded and then constricted. I guess this was because the whole world sort of shifted. Everything went blurry. I closed my eyes and I didn’t notice when Lyla pulled me into a hug.

I’m not sure how long she held me, but I remember that she smelled like expensive perfume, hairspray, and the faintest hint of cigarettes.

Eventually, beyond her arms, was the sound of muffled applause.

I opened my eyes and my English teacher came into focus, the classroom door just behind him. I realized the applause was coming from behind the door, which my teacher turned to open. He asked everyone to please quiet down.

Crystal Lovett, however, did not comply. In fact, she seized the opportunity to shout, Your movie sucked, Gina!

Lyla released me and growled, I’m going tokill that girl.

But Crystal’s insult didn’t matter. Neither did my movie or my I Believe report.

I stared down the locker lined hallway, trying to make sense of what was happening. But, I couldn’t. My grandpa couldn’t be gone. How could that even be possible? I’d just seen him a few hours ago. He had to be okay. He couldn’t suddenly be gone.

Lyla pushed past our English teacher and ran into the classroom. No, Lyla! he exclaimed, starting after her.

Crystal Lovett’s earsplitting shriek was followed by someone yelling, Fight!

I turned away from the noise, started down the hall, and headed to the school parking lot.

Once there, I sank to the cement curb, completely numb. I sat there until Lyla’s mom picked me up.

In retrospect, I see now that in that moment, something in my brain must have literally short-circuited. I think sometimes that’s what grief does.

Now, five years later, I still don’t feel quite right. That overwhelming sense of confusion, and of living in a world that’s a bit too tilted on its axis, still hangs over me like a fog.

In my I Believe report, I called myself a storyteller. I spoke about my future with unwavering certainty. But the moment Nonno died, my big plans and I began to unravel.

I miss him, and I miss being the brave kid who made him proud.

Chapter 1- Gina

Monday, February 26, 2015

Make a wish, Gina Russo. Seth sets my eyelash on the back of my left hand and I grin, despite the dull ache that’s settled around my forehead.

When did I tell you my last name? I ask with a laugh.

Oh, God. Laughing only makes the headache worse.

I ditch the laughter and smile into Seth’s pale blue eyes. He leans towards me and a strand of his long hair falls forward. It rests on my nose while he brushes his lips against my cheek.

I can’t believe he’s being so sweet …

Warmth flooding my face and neck, I try not to let my surprise show. My one-night stands aren’t usually the type to gently kiss a girl on her cheek the next morning. In fact, by this time, they’re typically gone, which is fine by me.

But there’s something different about Seth. I actually wouldn’t mind him sticking around for a few more minutes.

You said a lot of things last night, he murmurs, his breath warm against my ear while he plants another kiss on my neck.

In the next room, Lyla’s shower starts to run.

I turn to the noise. Lyla’s room is just on the other side of my closet and sometimes I forget how thin our apartment’s walls are.

I hope we weren’t too loud last night, I say. Or this morning. Or whenever it was that we got in.

"You were loud. Seth snorts. But who cares? Hey, come on, you’re not in a wishing mood anymore? You were last night."

I turn back to him and at the sight of his pretty eyes, I nearly forget about my headache. I glance at the eyelash he’s placed on my hand. Was I?

Seth’s long legs are entwined with mine as he moves to rest on his side, his chin in his right palm and those piercing blue eyes of his peering back at me.

Last night it was those eyes that caught my attention all the way from across the club. I’d elbowed Lyla, pointed to the blue-eyed stranger with the long dark hair and whispered that we were definitely going to have a guest tonight. Lyla laughed and said okay … but come to think of it, there was something about the way she looked at me that kind of, like, threw me. And I know I didn’t just imagine it because at that point, I’d only had two drinks. I still can’t put my finger on what Lyla’s pinched mouth and intensely narrowed eyes meant. All I know is it made me wonder if I had something in my teeth or pit stains on my dress.

Last night you asked me to grant you three wishes. Seth flashes a smile that’s so perfect, he could literally be cast in a Crest Whitestrips commercial. Apparently, you thought I was your personal genie.

I roll my eyes, which adds a bitter ache to my headache. There’s no telling what goes on in my head after a few drinks.

You fell asleep before you could tell me your wishes. He points to the eyelash. Now’s your chance, Gina Russo. One big wish.

Well in that case, hmm … I take a dramatic deep breath and let my gaze rove to the ceiling, making a show of how hard I’m thinking. Seth chuckles and I return my attention to him.

I wonder how long he’s going to be in town. I definitely wouldn’t mind hanging out again.

This is serious. I put on a grave expression and nod to my eyelash. "I only have one wish. That means it has to be good."

So make it count. Seth’s dark eyebrows dip in mock sincerity. What have you always wanted?

Under my bed sheets, one of his feet moves up and around my calf, sending a teasing tickle across my skin.

I grin and say the first thing that comes to mind. Bravery.

As the word leaves my lips, I blink in surprise and then giggle nervously, I wasn’t expecting to say that. I don’t even know where that came from.

It’s weird, the things you say when you’re not thinking. It’s like your subconscious completely takes over.

Seth smiles. Good. That means it came from an honest place. He then sits up and blows the eyelash off my hand. Gina Russo. He plants each of his palms on either side of me and leans towards me, which makes my bed emit a noisy creak.

I laugh. Yeah?

This dude makes me so shy it’s crazy. And I am so not a shy person, like, at all. But ever since last night, I’ve been blushing and giggling like a thirteen year old. Usually, I drink because it feels good, but last night I’m pretty sure I drank to cover my unexpected timidity.

You now have bravery. Seth meets my lips in a lingering kiss.

I close my eyes, savoring it.

I swear to God, I actually taste mint on this man’s morning breath – how is he so perfect? His flawless factor is actually beginning to scare me. Not in a, Er maw gwaad, is this man actually a cyborg?! way. But in an, Uh-oh I’m going to start liking this dude way too much meaning it’s really going to suck when he doesn’t call way.

Last night, when Seth said he was from out of town, I wasn’t surprised. Not only was his southern twang a dead giveaway – people around here have Cajun accents, not southern twangs –but Swamp Rose doesn’t produce men like Seth. There’s something almost European about his clothes and longish hair. Whatever it is, I like it. It’s unique.

Seth eases out of our kiss and tucks his dark hair behind his ears while I exhale. My gaze goes to his mouth, hoping he’ll kiss me again.

But Seth backs away from me and glances around my room. With this, he peels my sheet from his body and, suddenly appearing quite alert, frowns at the morning light streaming in through the slats of my blinds. Gina, are you sure it’s only seven?

He slides off my bed and I try not to let my disappointment show. Yeah, I always automatically wake up at seven to get ready for work because I have to be there at … uh, at eight … My voice trails off while I follow Seth with my eyes.

Nude and totally nonchalant, Mr. Perfect parades around my room on a quest for his underwear. His rock-hard abs and toned physique are lovely and I can’t help but stare at his butt while he stops in front of my computer desk, where both of our clothes have been haphazardly strewn.

I bet this guy, like, goes on 3 mile runs every morning and then ducks into the gym every evening. That’s way different from most of the men around here. The average Swamp Rose man considers hunting and fishing once a month exercise, and it shows in his beer belly.

Seth grabs his briefs from on top of my hard drive and, putting them on, points to my tricked-out computer with its monster-sized dual monitors. You a gamer, Gina Russo?

I blush and shake my head.

I love how he always says my full name as if it’s one word.

No, I, uh, mess around with editing short films and wedding videography, stuff like that. Self-consciousness spills all over me like a bucket of cold water and I actually shiver. I laugh out loud at myself.

Dude, I say. I don’t know why, but you make me so nervous! Can you hear it in my voice? I swear, I’m not usually like this. I flop onto my back and frown at my ceiling as it occurs to me that maybe it’s not just Seth that’s making me nervous. Maybe it’s my looming job interview this afternoon. I always blow interviews. And I have a feeling I’m going to especially blow this one because it would mean the world to me for it to go well.

That’s the story of my life: every time I really want something, I screw it up. And I’ve wanted a lot of things in life. That is why I am now, The Queen of Screw Ups.

Seth chuckles. The sound breaking me out of my thoughts, I return my attention to him.

So, if you’re not usually like this, Seth says while he flips his hair out of his face and tugs on his pants. Then tell me who you really are. What is Gina Russo like?

I smile and shrug. What am I like?

He shoots me a grin before pulling his undershirt on over his head.

He has a wide mouth with long thin lips and when he’s not smiling, between that mouth and his high cheekbones, he looks a little menacing. But when he smiles, it’s like … I don’t even know, maybe it’s kind of like the sun peeking out from behind a gray cloud. It’s beautiful. I also don’t even know how to answer his question. If I say I’m fun, that’ll sound hella lame ... and sadly, that’s the only adjective I can think of at the moment.

Fun? I giggle. I honestly don’t know how to answer that.

"Well, I know that you’re A. Sexy, Seth says. B. Did I mention sexy, and C. You wish you were braver and … let’s see, what else? He looks me in the eye and I blush. He laughs. Am I making you blush?"

No, I lie.

Right. Seth grins. "What else is there to know about Gina Russo? That she’s fantastic in bed. That I don’t make her blush. Come on, tell me more. Who is this mysterious woman?"

Oh em-gee, I don’t know! I laugh and watch Seth make his way to the small oak nightstand that my grandpa made for my fifteenth birthday. Stationed to the right of my bed, it holds my lamp, my Random Ideas journal, and an Anna Maxted book I’ve almost finished reading. I love, love, love Anna Maxted’s characters. If I were a real filmmaker, I’d beg Anna Maxted to turn one of her books into a script and then I’d film it for her. It would win us a butt-ton of Academy Awards and-

You get lost in thought a lot, don’t you? Seth’s laughter breaks me out of my Anna Maxted fantasy.

"Sorry. Yeah. I am incredibly A-D-D."

Seth grabs his phone from on top of the book and says, So, that’s one thing about you. Adorably A-D-D. What else? I really want to know. He glances at me and as our eyes meet I feel another blush take hold of my face.

I clear my throat. "Okay. Well… I, Gina Russo, was born in New Jersey. Right after I was born, my grandparents moved here because this is where my Mimaw’s from, or was from. Um, I’m a receptionist at an insurance company, which is incredibly boring. Uh, what else? I share this apartment with my friend, Lyla. Although, Lyla doesn’t actually live here anymore because she’s in school at NYU, so the place is kind of mine, I guess. Um … what else? Oh! Like everyone else in Swamp Rose, I’m a huge Unseen fan. He’s, like, so awesome. And, well, I think that’s about it."

I squint, wondering if I should tell Seth about my job interview this afternoon. Would that make me sound more interesting?

Not everyone’s a fan, Seth quietly says. I glance at him. He’s staring at his phone, a slow frown making its way to his brow.

Not everyone’s a fan of what?

Of Unseen. He slides the phone into his pocket, his scowl vanishing as swiftly as it appeared.

"Dude! Have you noticed all the ‘Unseener’ bumper stickers on the trucks around here? You do know what those mean, don’t you? It means the person driving the car, like, loves Unseen!"

I know that. Seth wrinkles his long nose and shrugs. But he’s got haters too.

I scoff. Yeah, like the criminals he puts in jail.

No, I’m not talking about them. Seth picks up my Anna Maxted book, scans the title and then sets it back down. Think about it. He’s invisible and has superhuman abilities; he’s a living, breathing weapon. That makes him the target of some of the richest and scariest people in this country. Seth’s gaze dances across my room, checking out every inch of my messy little sanctuary.

Yeah.