The A-Word

by Joy Preble

  When I still couldn’t sleep, I started nosing around Casey’s room. Once I started, it was impossible to stop. I looked at it all. His old baseball trophies from when he was little. Swimming ribbons from the couple of years we both swam summer league. Movie ticket stubs from dates he’d gone on with Lanie, wrinkled up because he wasn’t a girl and even though he kept it, it was just stuffed in his desk drawer with old Chuck E. Cheese prize tickets he’d never redeemed. My brother had been a whiz at skee-ball once upon a time.

  Some framed pictures of him and me at SeaWorld once. Football group pictures with all the guys so tiny that I had to squint to pick him out. In his closet, I flipped through all his clothes: Jeans hung this way and that on hangers. Dress shirts and older stuff—basketball jerseys he’d outgrown, ancient pairs of New Balance sneakers with holes in them. Report cards from elementary school when he always made the highest grades. His old letter jacket, which I put on and then took off because it smelled like him still—sweaty and musky and somehow like the night air. Guy stuff. My brother’s stuff.

  He hadn’t lied to me: the bongs and all the weed paraphernalia were really gone. But there on his desk, shoved half behind his English textbook so I almost missed it, was that damn paper sack project for Teen Leadership. My hands shook as pried open the bag.

  Inside were the following items:

  • A picture of our family at the aquarium in Monterey, CA, all wearing the same sea lion T-shirt and smiling like we didn’t have a care in the world. Dad, Mom, Casey, and me.

  • A picture of him and Lanie Phelps at Homecoming their freshman year. The theme had been Hawaii and they both had these silly leis around their neck and were posing in front of a fake beach scene.

  • A list of the classes that you had to take for a forensics major at Sam Houston State.

  • The football patch for the last round of playoffs two years ago. He’d gotten it and quit right after. Mom had never helped him sew it onto his jacket.

  And that was it. He wasn’t done, obviously. Or else he felt flummoxed, because how could he explain to the class what he really was? What he was aiming for and spending his time on? They couldn’t see all that, anyway now, could they?

  I lay back on his bed. I hadn’t cried, not really, in a long, long time. But now I couldn’t stop. I cried and cried and cried, the ugly screw-up-your-face-and-send-snot-everywhere kind of cry. Casey was dead. No matter how long he’d stuck around or even if he came back, all these things—these ideas, these hopes and plans, even the ones he hadn’t put in the stupid sack—they were nothing now. Gone.

  I thought about that one white feather that had fluttered to the ground after he disappeared. The one that now sat in my underwear drawer, where you put all the things you don’t know where else to hide. And decided it would be just one more useless thing to put in this sack.

  DAWN WAS BREAKING when my phone vibrated. I leapt up, not even checking the caller ID.

  “Jenna?” It was Maggie. I could tell from her voice that Bo’s damage control hand to her shoulder had worn off. “Do I need to come over there? You are definitely not okay, are you? Never mind that. I’m on my way. You’re home, right. Stay put. I’ll be right there.”

  “No!” I bellowed at her. “No … I …”

  “This is me walking out of my house,” Mags said. And you know what she did then? Because unlike my family, Maggie’s parents are COMPLETELY AWARE of their daughter’s comings and goings, so it’s not like she could actually leave and they wouldn’t notice. But Maggie took something—probably her lace-up knee-high Converse—and thumped them on her floor so I would think she was walking.

  At least that’s what it sounded like.

  I didn’t plan on laughing ever again. But there I was, cracking up until my stomach hurt. I guess that’s why the real story—shortened so that I could get it out before Christmas break—came pouring out of me. That Casey had died in that car accident last year. That he was sent back as my guardian angel. That Amber and Bo were angels, too. That yes, he had really flown tonight; did she remember this? That he’d saved stupid Lanie Phelps. That he had saved me, too, last year. We were not skydivers. I talked fast, barely pausing, the words escaping in a mad rush.

  “But now he’s gone,” I finished. “And I don’t know if he’ll ever come back.”

  I sucked in a long breath. I could hear Maggie breathing, too, over the cell.

  I guess even for someone like Maggie Boland, who believes that the universe has a plan and that it is her job to figure it out, some things are too much to accept.

  “I’m your best friend, Jenna,” Mags said finally. “Do you really think you have to make up a crazy story? Your brother’s a flake. Even if he’s cute. You know I already know this. I’ve been asking and asking you if something’s wrong. I can’t believe you wouldn’t trust me with the truth. God, Jenna. Your brother. An angel. Seriously?”

  Well then. I had nothing else to say. My heart sank to my toes. I figured that’s where it would stay.

  We breathed at each other for a while, and then we hung up.

  I curled into the tiniest ball I could and closed my eyes.

  I don’t remember falling asleep, only that I was thinking that I probably should just shower and get dressed and figure out how I was getting to school.

  Like that other dream I’d had, this one felt real.

  Casey was sitting on the side of his bed. “I washed that comforter,” he told me, grinning. “You know, in case you were worried about hygiene.”

  “Liar,” I said, sitting up.

  He socked me on the arm, not hard. But I felt his warm hand on my skin. My heart lifted from my toes and danced through my body. He was back! It would be okay. He was still an angel. But he was here. Guarding me like he was supposed to.

  “Jenna,” Casey said. His voice vibrated in my chest, making me nervous all of a sudden because for some reason it reminded me of Bo. And I hated Bo. “You know more than you think you do. You can figure this out. You have to figure it out. I love you. I’ll always love you. Just take it step by step and you’ll know what to do. The pissant will help you, maybe. I think he will. And you may get in trouble, but hey, that’s the Samuels way, isn’t it?”

  He was glowing golden, but fading in a way that made me feel cold.

  “I know you think I screwed up, Jenna. But it was for the right reason. The big stuff always is. I know … Jenna you need to trust me. You need to trust yourself. That whole Spidey sense thing? And you? Well—”

  “What about Bo?” I hated saying his name, but I did. “Is he for real with that story? His wife getting killed and all the rest of it? But it doesn’t excuse what he didn’t tell you. Casey, I need to know—”

  He was going to tell me. I was sure of it. I could see it in his face. Which was when I woke up.

  Alone.

  Mom was still in bed when I walked out the front door. I almost smacked into Amber Velasco.

  “You need a ride to school,” she said, telling, not asking. She was wearing her EMT outfit. The Camaro was parked out front. I was wearing the jeans she’d given me because they were sitting on my desk chair—and even though I was feeling highly conflicted about the entire A-word community of which she was a card-carrying member, I refused to take that out on a pair of pants that made my ass look spectacular.

  But I tossed the white shirt. I had to draw my line in the sand.

  I’d also swiped on a healthy bunch of makeup. This was for two reasons: 1. I looked pasty and exhausted and I was not about to face my former best friend and my soon-to-be former boyfriend looking like shit. Also, 2. My brother had given me the Sephora kit. I would use every last drop of it.

  “Gold glitter shadow is for night,” Amber said. “And there is such a thing as too much eyeliner.”

  I sashayed past her, pretending I hadn’t heard. Of course then I realized I didn’t even know where the bus stop was for the Spring Creek bus. I hadn’t ridden a school bus yet this year.

&
nbsp; “Let me drive you.” Amber’s work boots slapped the pavement behind me.

  “I’m fine,” I said, although we both knew that wasn’t true. What was true: I did not want to talk to her. I did not want her to help me. My guardian angel was gone. The reality of this was sinking in as the sun rose higher in the sky.

  I ran, mostly because I had so much inside me with nowhere to go. A yellow bus rumbled past as I reached the cross street. I waved my arms. It stopped. I climbed aboard and headed straight toward the back.

  “Little Samuels,” drawled Corey Chambers, looking red-eyed and high. He was sitting on the aisle at the very rear. He patted the inside seat next to him and I slowed, hovering over him, deciding if it was worth it to sit.

  “Your brother still friends with Dave?” Corey asked. This was Corey-speak for drug intel. Spring Creek and Ima Hogg had lost their most reliable dealer when Dave had moved. I couldn’t help myself. I slapped him.

  After writing me a referral, the bus driver informed me that I was banned from public school transportation until such time as the Principal Baker decided to reinstate me. I told myself it didn’t matter. I was now the perfect candidate for a hardship license—least once I got that permit … which I couldn’t get until someone drove me … that someone NOT being Amber. My vehicular issues were becoming legendary.

  AT SCHOOL, EVERYONE was talking about last night and Lanie’s fall. But there was a big chunk missing. The lightning strike, the stupidity of Spring Creek High allowing the event to continue during a terrible storm, the fire … all of it was conspicuously absent from anybody’s gossip. I began to seethe. No doubt that angel damage control was already in full swing. I waited, holding my breath, to hear the rest of what I expected. People yammering about Casey Samuels and his skydiving routine and what a lamebrain he was to be out on the field when he didn’t play football anymore.

  Instead, I heard nothing.

  This one and that one—students, teachers, even my guidance counselor—everyone harped on how lucky it was that Lanie hadn’t been hurt. Like she’d just landed on her feet. Still, she was taking classes off for a spa day.

  I waited again for someone (Donny Sneed maybe, that would be good) to say something, anything, about Casey. I was in the mood to slap another face. But no one mentioned my brother. Not one tiny little word. Not even Donny Sneed.

  I stormed to History, ready to give Bo Shivers my piece about damage control.

  I was greeted by some lady with dyed red hair, a fake leather skirt, and a V-neck floral blouse that showed a heinous amount of tanned wrinkly cleavage. Sub again.

  I turned and walked away. History would live without me, again. Screw it. If Lanie could have a spa day, so could I. I was halfway to the exit in the Commons area, when Maggie grabbed my arm.

  Maybe I’d have twisted away from her too, but she held on tight, face serious, eyes burning with something I couldn’t place. Plus, she was wearing baggy jeans, a generic white T-shirt, and her old Girl Scouts hoodie. Maggie had not been a Girl Scout for a very long time. Maggie did not like anyone knowing she had once sold those cookies. Not that being a Girl Scout was a bad thing. Just that it was not Maggie.

  “Jenna,” she said, her voice low. “I believe you.”

  “You’re wearing your Girl Scouts hoodie,” I said.

  The serious look did not leave Maggie’s face. “It felt like the appropriate outfit for what the universe had handed me.”

  I stared at Maggie, assessing.

  She stared back at me, wrapping her hoodie string around her fingers and then unwrapping. All of a sudden, I felt like sand was slipping through an hourglass, like time was running out, even though my brother was gone and two of the most important people in my life were dead liars with no answers. The future was just more of the same, only emptier. So why the prickle in my spine? Why the Spidey sense?

  “You swear?” I asked her.

  She nodded. She didn’t blink. She held my gaze, eyes wide. “I was up all night. I just didn’t … I might not believe a lot of things, but I always believe you. Believe in you. Which is the same, you know?”

  Around us, Spring Creek High continued to do whatever it was Spring Creek High did. Inside me, hope rose and swelled. Maggie believed me. She believed me. I sniffed back the tears stinging my nose. If my heart had not already burst with sadness, it would have exploded with relief.

  “You need to tell me again,” Maggie said. “Everything. From the beginning. I don’t remember much. Which is the other reason I believe you. I realized something important.” Here she lowered her voice even more. I had to lean in to hear her. “I always remember everything. You know that, right? And last night feels foggy.”

  “There’s this damage control thing,” I said, trying to explain calmly. “It makes you remember it differently than it was.” I put a hand on Maggie’s arm. “Listen, I’m cutting world history. Bo, um, Mr. Shivers isn’t there.”

  Maggie sucked in a long breath. Blew it out. I smelled raspberry yogurt on her breath. “So he’s really an ang—I mean him and your brother are both really—”

  “Yeah,” I whispered.

  The warning bell rang, and people were running like a noisy herd of cattle.

  “Angels,” I went on, hushed. “Casey, Bo, and Amber. Wings under their clothes, full-fledged heavenly beings. Although you’d never suspect it with all their bad habits. Except Casey gave up one of his, which I still have to tell you about … But that’s the point, Mags. They can walk among us and who the hell would suspect—”

  “What did you say?”

  I turned to see one Ryan Sloboda, eyes popping, shoving a hand through his spiked up hair.

  “Um, nothing,” I said. Then, “How much did you hear?”

  Did I want to know? Still I asked.

  Ryan’s face flushed, but only for a moment. Mostly his eyes were on me, dark and serious. What did this mean? Had he heard it all? Which led to the obvious next question: Was he about to stalk off and forget about me because I sounded like a looney? Calling my new history teacher an A-word. Talking about wings and damage control. Holy hell.

  “That was the last bell,” I said, trying for a distraction.

  Ryan looked completely heels-dug-in stubborn. Like I imagined he’d looked when he was hanging on to the Mutton-Busting sheep. “I knew it,” he said quietly, but so intensely that I backed up a step. He was going to break up with me, wasn’t he? “I know what I saw last night. No one seems to remember, but I do. I saw Lanie Phelps fall. I saw your brother … I saw him …”

  He took my hands in his. My skin felt hot and cold and then my insides felt good and bad and then I stopped trying to analyze my internal condition and just stood and waited. Maggie was still next to me. Uncharacteristically silent. Not even a peep, but I could hear her breathing.

  “Jenna,” he said. He hesitated, working something out. I held my breath. “I couldn’t sleep,” he went on. “It makes no sense, but then I told myself that maybe some things don’t have to make sense. Some things—maybe they just are. You know?”

  He was still gripping my hands.

  “Ryan,” I said. “It’s okay if you don’t—”

  “Here’s the thing,” he interrupted, like he had to get it out. “It’s like Maggie told you.” He glanced briefly at Mags. “I don’t know what else to do but believe you, you know? Because it’s you. Because you’re Jenna. And just because I saw something strange doesn’t mean it isn’t real.”

  Was this his comic book leanings taking over? I didn’t much care. The words were all that mattered right now. They were the right words. Very right. Even Maggie didn’t remember like Ryan Sloboda did. I wanted to kiss him again—had wanted to for a while and for a variety of reasons. But for now it was enough that he believed.

  “C’mon,” I said, my heart leaping like one of those salmon in a river. He knew. He knew and he was still standing here. With me. “We’re cutting history class, me and Mags. We’ll go somewhere, and I’ll tell you and
… well I don’t know what we’ll do after that.”

  My brain was in a dither. In the past five minutes I had done what I’d been avoiding for almost a year: I’d told the truth. The crazy A-word truth. The truth that my brother had made me swear I would never tell. This was unmapped territory. What would Bo do when he found out? What about Amber? Would they finagle some super-charged damage control for Mags and Ryan? What if it was too powerful? What if they forgot everything—including me? But what else could I do? Casey was gone. My father was with this Olivia person in Austin. Mom was … Mom.

  My personal truth? It felt good to tell them. Hell, it felt great. Scary, but okay. I was ready—more than ready—to spill the whole can of beans. No one was in charge of me now except for me.

  “I’m in,” said Ryan Sloboda.

  “Me, too,” said Maggie, finding her words again.

  My heart did the Texas two-step. Double-time. Maybe what Casey had told me in my dream was true. Maybe I could figure out what even the angels in my life couldn’t. Now that I had Mags and Ryan on my side, two people who were actually alive, I might find out how Amber was killed. Even if Bo knew and didn’t want me to. Even if we’d met dead end after dead end. Because now there were three of us: Mags, Ryan, and me. We were the living wild cards in this deck. We were the something unexpected. It was not my intention to think of Coach Collins and his Aggie football philosophy right then. But he popped in there anyway: Maggie and Ryan were my Twelfth Men.

  And if I solved this mystery with their help, then maybe what I really needed would happen, too. It was a long shot, but Texas was founded on long shots.

  Then I could figure this whole mess out just like I’d hoped when we went to Austin—just like I’d told Casey. And when I did, Management would send him back to me.

  WE SNUCK OUT a side door just as the last bell finished blaring. Hightailed it through the student parking lot, ducking behind cars. (Including the poor Merc that I had to deal with at some point—I had found the spare key on Casey’s dresser, not that it was doing me much good.) Within seconds, we were beyond the field house, at the abandoned railroad tracks that ran on the far side of the school.