Page 4 of As the Rain Falls (Sainte Madeleine #1)

YOU'RE A VIRGIN WHO CAN'T DRIVE!

Cassandra

Thunderstorms light up the dark sky, and the wind picks up at the same time. I glance behind me, checking to see if anyone is on their way to the city, but unfortunately the streets are completely empty.

The bad weather really adds a creepy atmosphere to how Port des Ondes usually looks.

It makes everything overly blurry, like my eyes are lenses with mud all over them.

And yet, out of all the neighborhoods in our district, this one is the nicest. My parents pay a stupid amount of money to keep us in this house for a reason.

We went from owning nothing to owning some. It’s the comeback story of a lifetime.

Tall ceilings, deep pools, and enough space to plant whatever flower housewives seem to like.

Port des Ondes is worth the price. Affording these things when others can’t makes my parents look good, and in a small town such as ours, looking good means you get a free pass at everything.

Shitty older son with his shitty drinking habit and all that.

“Nathaniel could be nicer sometimes,” I mutter, completely bummed out. My umbrella starts flipping around, the sides of it twisting, not resisting a single bit against the storm. “It would have taken him like twenty minutes to drive me.”

Le Port is nowhere near the fanciest place to live, but it certainly is a charming, cheaper option if someone wants to experience an exotic adventure.

I’m afraid to say not a lot has changed since my childhood days: the rich assholes are still immigrating from places like Western Europe, like they did back in the nineties.

And they still gather along the privately owned parts of the coast, far enough from the insides of the island where all the noise of the city is but with easy access to all our best services.

With all the luxuries money has managed to provide us over the years, I should be able to at least afford a ride or a taxi.

I really can’t ride to school in this weather.

The streets leading to Sainte Madeleine get blocked by floods when it rains too much, and it becomes impossible to cross the bridge to the other side of the island without a car.

No bus is available either. Le Port is a small island located in Atlantic waters.

It’s independent and isolated, and public transportation is, well, utter shit.

Bus drivers never come to this part of town, mostly because they don’t have to.

Rich people always own more than one car, but apparently not my family. We’re not there yet.

I keep walking, absentmindedly trying to fix the umbrella, and don’t notice when my right foot misses the sidewalk.

“Ah!”

One second, I am standing and holding the umbrella, and the next I am falling towards the ground. It is not a steady fall, more like a harsh drop.

My eyes start to close as my right knee hits the cement, pain shooting up my leg. I wait for my face to hit the floor.

And wait and wait.

Nothing happens.

Tilting my head up, I blink confusedly while deep blue eyes stare back at me.

“You’re good?”

“A-ham!”

Better yet, I’m safe. Safe and being pulled up, up, up until I am standing on my two feet again. My neighbor’s hands. Warm, steady, reliable fingers around my waist, keeping me from falling again.

I should really not be thinking about how large his hands are right now.

Stop thinking about his hands!

Beckett Evans scratches his chin, seemingly bothered about something. “You know, you could really hurt yourself by walking around in this weather.”

“I know,” I whisper, wincing as he holds me by the arm. “But I’m late to school.”

“School?” Beckett echoes, sounding almost alarmed. “Cass, that’s really not a good enough reason for you to go outside right now.”

“Nathaniel can’t drive me,” I explain sadly, gasping with pain. “Well, at least not today.”

Beckett frowns suspiciously at my words, and my cheeks start to redden immediately.

“He is such a useless fucker.”

“Be nice. That’s Nathaniel you’re talking about,” I point out, holding his shoulder to keep myself from slipping again. “No matter what, he’s still my brother, remember?”

“Yeah, well. It is what it is.” He lowers himself to inspect my scratches, brushes his fingers gently over my knees, and cleaning up the dirty water that’s around the wound. “At least I’m not saying it behind your back.”

“I guess you’re right,” I smile weakly because I do appreciate his honesty.

“Of course, I am.” Beckett pulls his hair back, fingers dragging to the back of his head and neck in a hurry, before he stares at my house.

A second later, he locks eyes with me again.

I try not to stare back at him for too long, but it’s impossible not to. His eyes are made of a deep blue, almost indigo with the poor lighting, whereas mine are always a bright green. His are definitely prettier.

My umbrella is flying away, rolling onto the grass and being dragged by the harsh wind.I motion to pick it up, but Beckett does it for me.

“Let me help you.”

“Sure.”

I won’t complain about being helped, not when my uniform is almost entirely wet. Helping is what boys like him are for, after all.

The blue pleated skirt and the white cotton chemise are sticking to my skin. The black sweater I picked to wear on top of it is ruined by the rain too.I feel disgusting.

Beckett slips the umbrella over our heads, and the rain falls above the pink nylon fabric. I dry my face with the back of my hand, my back shuddering.

God, it’s really amazing how much you can notice about someone when you really want to notice something.

He wears a tight black t-shirt and oversized grey sweatpants hanging low around his hips, looking like he just rolled out of bed.

It’s a good look on him, but seriously, Beckett looks good wearing just about anything.

“Why didn’t you knock? You know I can just drive you.”

When I don’t say anything, he just shakes his head.

Thunderstorms again.

Louder this time.

“Come with me.”

Beckett clutches the car keys in his pocket, taking them out and spinning them between his fingers. I only now notice that his red Chevy is parked on the other side of the road.

The sky lights up.He breaks our eye contact just to stare angrily at it, like the weather is personally irritating the shit out of him. My neighbor doesn’t like it when it rains either. It makes me smile a little, how we have at least one thing in common.

Beckett pulls me closer, hugging me sideways, and I try to speak above all the noise as we walk.

“Tough morning?” I ask, keeping my tone light.

“Oh, shut up!” Beckett answers with a snort.

I roll my eyes dramatically and say, “Sorry for asking.”

The umbrella is big enough to protect the both of us, but he keeps tilting it back towards my side so that rain falls more over him than me. It’s cute.

I try to tilt it back on his side, but as soon as rain touches my hair again, I shudder, feeling cold.

“It’s okay, Cass,” he promises. “I don’t mind getting rained on.”

“But you’ll get cold.”

I trace the side of his face with my eyes, noticing the faint expression lines drawn between his sharp, thick eyebrows. They only happen to show if he frowns too much, which he is doing now.

Beckett smirks. “Oh, Cass. I never get cold.”

He’s so goddamn pretty.

Beckett Evans is the perfect example of a classic pretty boy.

He is the prettiest boy in town, in fact.

It is almost a rite of passage for girls around town to fall for his looks.

Everybody I know is guilty of it, and in a lot of ways, so am I.

It’s like that one quote from Clueless, but only the opposite of it.

Beckett Evans is not a Monet: he looks even better up close.

“What’s up?”

I blink fast. “Oh, nothing.”

“Cass,” his tone is flat.

I wince and say, “Yes, Becky?”

“Are we really doing this?” he insists, fighting off one of his boxy smiles. He asks again. “What’s up?”

“I’m not going to tell you!” I press my hands to my cheeks, choosing to stare at my feet as we walk. “Wouldn’t want to feed your ego, or something.”

He blinks hard, confused.

“My ego?”

“It’s gigantic and out of this world!” I try really hard not to let out a girly giggle as he keeps me from tripping over my feet again by grabbing my waist. “I’m serious!”

He rolls his eyes playfully. “Like hell you are! Tell me what’s up immediately, Rivera!”

“Let it go!” I speak in a singsong, glancing at him sideways.

“Okay, I will!” he sings back, fixing his hair in the rearview.

God, I really can’t take my eyes off him for some reason.It’s entirely embarrassing.

The heat getting to my face is making me sweat, and the feeling increases tenfold when he avoids my gaze, his face breaking into a knowing smirk.

“Oh,” he hums, like he knows exactly what I’m thinking.“I see.”

I wet my lips, finding it a bit annoying that I can be so easily read. “Don’t oh me.”

Beckett clears his throat and smiles at me. “I was not oh-ing you.”

“You were totally oh-ing me, Becky.”

Truthfully, there’s more to Beckett than just looks.

I know it because I’m his neighbor, but also because I like to think that I’m his friend-to-be.

Maybe I’m crazy for thinking like this, or maybe I’m just right.

I mean, something about the way he carries himself always made me pause, even when I was a little girl.

Beckett is quiet by nature, almost too introverted, just like I am.

That is, unless you know him. He becomes more talkative and cheekier if you do, and that’s something I can easily relate to.

Like, I get talkative and cheeky too if you really get to know me.

We really do have so much friendship potential!

Besides, he is also the most hardworking guy I know.I mean, he basically raised Lucia all on his own.

My brother is autistic, you cunt!

Lucia’s voice echoes in my head. Her delicate features are sharp in my memories like a charcoal drawing.

Beckett had something like a meltdown in the middle of our annual Christmas recital back in middle school.

He was stuttering through his words, complaining about the lights, or maybe it was the noise. ..

Yeah, it must have been the noise.

A stupid kid cursed at him, using that word… and Lucia promptly pushed him down the stairs in response, almost giving the kid a concussion.

I know Beckett never actually got diagnosed with autism, though. For one thing, Sainte Madeleine wouldn’t have accepted him as a student. My father claims the academy doesn’t want the hassle, which doesn’t make a lot of sense to me. It’s not like people can control how they’re born, right?

People know him as a genius, and they act like the two things could never go together hand-in-hand. I don’t agree. To me, they could. But I don’t bother explaining it to my father, because that’s just asking to be grounded.

“Let me unlock the car first. I’ll take you to the passenger seat so you don’t get all wet.”

I nod and sigh, “Thank you.”

Click .

Genius.

That’s the kind of box that fits him.

Just like slut fit Lucia once, and weird fits me still.

But in my opinion, Beckett is no true genius. After all, a genius wouldn’t stay here. Not after all the things he just went through, with Lucia’s death and all.

I would’ve left Le Port a long time ago if I were him. This town—and the people living in it—is not worth the trouble.