by Shel Delisle
I’m about to enlighten her on my views. “Actually, I think—”
“Well, we really need to get going.” Michael puts his wing on my shoulder and shoves me out of the doorway. Truly. A shove with his wing.
“Me, too. Lots to do.” She shuffles a few papers on her desk. “Good luck, sweetie.”
Michael takes off fast-paced, saying, “You need to keep your Mission hush-hush.” He doesn’t speak again until we come to a glass door with an Executive Offices sign. As we bolt by a receptionist on the phone, he says, “I don’t approve of this idea.”
Yeah, well, as far as I know, no one died and made him Boss.
“It is my job, however, to give you the rules,” he concludes as we reach a corner office.
The sign on the door reads: Michael, with his title—Archangel—underneath. A Cherub stands outside, his sword aflame. I salute. He doesn’t budge, crack a smile or anything.
They never do.
Cherubim, in case you’re unfamiliar, are security for all the really important places like The Pearly Gates or the Tree of Life or The Garden of Eden, et cetera. Apparently, Michael’s office is a big deal. This guy, like every other Cherub, is utterly humorless. He could be a Secret Service agent or one of the guards at Buckingham Palace.
Confession: I never wanted to be one of them. One of Heaven’s bouncers.
Michael nods at the Cherub, then scans his right palm on some kind of electronic key pad. There’s a muffled click and the door swings open. Inside, he gestures to where I should sit.
Inside I’m practically panicked. Am I making a huge mistake? Should I have just stayed in school? But the thing is I’ve never done well there and even though I can’t know if this is right I resign myself to fake it ’til I make it.
Michael clears his throat and settles into an enormous chair behind his desk, wings spread wide. He slides a hard, black briefcase across to me. “This is indestructible.”
“That’s too bad,” I joke, “because it’s hideously ugly.”
No smile.
Obviously he’s too serious, which I suppose is a good quality to have when you battle evil. Still, it’d be nice if he could lighten up.
He doesn’t budge and the case isn’t going anywhere either, so I take it. Upon looking inside, I find:
One book. My Life as a Guardian by Wilhelm
Another book. Understanding Humans by Sophia
And yet another. This one silver, sparkly and a little lame. The Guardian Reference Book
Two folders… a silver one that matches the book and reads, “Quick Guardian Rules and Tips” and a blue one marked simply, “Identity”
A Gateway laptop
And last, but not least… a cell phone
Does he think I’ll have a lot of time for reading? Or that I’ll want to? Ignoring the books, I hold up the phone. “What’s this for?”
“Emergencies,” he replies. “You’ll find all the numbers you need under Contacts.”
Emergencies? Like anything bad is gonna happen. But I wonder if I can call Mercy. “Okay. What else?”
Michael smirks a little when I say this and his wings slowly wrap around behind him, standing at attention. He holds out a single sheet of paper. Maybe he has a sense of humor after all? I snatch the sheet and read.
THE RULES:
NO HUMAN CAN KNOW YOU ARE AN ANGEL. (OR, IN YOUR CASE, AN ANGEL-IN-TRAINING)
YOU MUST NOT TAMPER WITH FREE WILL.
DO NOTHING TO UPSET THE BALANCE OF EARTH.
WATCH FOR SIGNS.
That’s it? Four rules? And the last one isn’t even a rule. More like a tip.
And, what’s with all the caps? It’s like he’s yelling.
Come to think of it, I should have expected yelling, but I also expected him to give me pages and pages and then make me sign something.
“This seems, well, I hate to say it… but, easy,” I tell him. “Isn’t there something else?’
Michael folds his hands on his desk, and his wings make what looks like an annoyed flap. His very blue eyes never leave mine. “Read your Identity File and study those books. You have a lot of catching up to do.” He straightens his shoulders. “Any questions?”
I have a ton. Like, Do those wings ever give you a backache? But somehow I didn’t think he’d answer this, so instead I ask, “Will I have super powers?”
He smirks again. “You’ll have to decide how super they are. Go pack for departure and report at oh-three hundred hours.”
Wow. That’s soon. And, what the heck does his super comment mean?
}{
Mercy is sprawled on her bed, nose stuck into a book on shooting stars, when I walk in the door.
“He said yes!” I squeal at the top of my lungs.
She leaps off the bed, throws her arms around me, and we bounce up and down, shrieking. It’s what you do with your best friend. Or your sister. In a way, Mercy is both rolled into one.
It’s because of the way Celestial Beings come to, well, Be. Which isn’t as puzzling as humans think. First of all, the Universe is expanding and the population of Earth keeps growing. Some think Creation was this one-time event, but really it’s ongoing. So the Big Guy keeps creating new Angels-in-Training. He could, in fact, be creating one right now.
Upon Arrival—capital A Arrival because that’s what it’s called when a new Celestial Being is created—we’re plopped into Celestial Heaven, Quadrant Two. Then we’re assigned a roommate and then led by a Dominion to registration at the L’académie de Divinité.
It’s very different from the way Humans grow. No parents. No waiting to start school. We’re ageless. Timeless. At least, that’s what we learned in the History of Beings.
Contrary to what Michael thinks, I occasionally pay attention.
One common misconception on Earth is that we’re spirit only. That’s a myth created by some guy because he thought an invisible being was controlling things. But it was actually his Guardian, who was like his best friend. That I learned on HVEN TV.
Anyway.
We have a form because El Capitán likes form. His artistic sensibilities won’t allow us to be invisible wisps. Amen to that, ‘cause it wouldn’t be any fun to talk or hang out with Mercy if she was nothingness. What would I do all day, forever and ever?
Mercy has always been my roommate. My best friend, really—my only family. That’s why she’s so excited about the way my Declaration went.
Finally, after prolonged celebration, she collapses onto her bed, out of breath. “When do you leave?”
I mimic Michael. “Oh-three hundred hours.”
“That’s soon!”
“I know!” I squeal again, then pull some luggage from under my bed and flop it open.
“Tell me what happened.” Mercy tucks a strand of her waist-length, straight blond hair behind an ear.
So I do, while hauling an armload of clothes from my closet. As I eye tops and toss them into take or stay piles, I give her the low-down. With only a few embellishments.
“You did not say that part about Michelangelo! Tell me you didn’t!”
“I did,” I confess. “Truly.” And the thing is, this is one of the one-hundred-percent genuine parts of my story.
“Grace!” She laughs. “Are you off your cloud? Someday that’s going to get you in serious trouble.”
My clothes are all packed when I spy a pair of filmy white wings on the top shelf. They’re from a project Mercy and I worked on years ago. I slip my arms through the straps and have Mercy adjust them in back.
They’re only a cheap fabric imitation of real ones, but Mercy and I used to play dress-up and secretly wear them around. I glide across the room from her, practicing my angel walk. “How’s it look? Am I Guardian material?”
Mercy laughs at my dorkiness. “Chin up. And more gliding.” It’s the same advice she always gives me.
I take them off and toss them into the suitcase.
“You’re taking those?” Mercy’s
flabbergasted.
“Um, yes. Why?”
“You do know that you’re wing-obsessed?”
I’ve never understood how Mercy can be so serene and tranquil about when we’ll receive our wings. I’ve always felt incomplete without them.
Pretending not to hear Mercy’s question, I zip the bag shut. “There, that’s everything. What time is it?”
“You have about half an hour before you go.”
“Perfect. That gives me just enough time to run by The Hall of Records and thank Michelangelo for the idea.”
Mercy frowns at me. “Don’t you think you ought to read that stuff?” She waves her hand in the direction of my briefcase.
“Nah. I already know the rules,” I say. “The rest is probably all common-sense stuff. I’ll figure it out as I go.”
Confession: Common sense is not my middle name.
Chapter 3
The sun blazes down on me; the atmosphere steamy. It’s hot, unbelievably hot. Where the heck am I?
There’s a shadow at my feet. Cool. I’ve never seen a shadow in real life before, only on HVEN TV—this is definitely Earth. I gracefully float my arms up and down to see if the silhouette looks like it has wings.
Not so much.
Palm trees are clumped together in front of a stucco building, with a sign planted in the ground reading:
River of Grass Recreation Center
A large charter bus is parked in the paved circular drive, with trunks and luggage heaped on the sidewalk next to it.
My stomach flutters, a little sweat dripping down my back. I take off the navy cardigan and stuff it in my briefcase. Did I mention it’s hot? And the humidity is really messing with my curls.
I pop on my new sunglasses—courtesy of you know who—to cut the glare and read a banner stretched between two pillars, over a registration table.
X-Changing the World
One Student at a Time
Three humans sit behind the table: a man with a baseball cap, a boy with longish, shaggy hair and a pleasant-faced plump lady.
She motions me over. “What’s your name, sweetie?”
Something about her reminds me of Destiny, the boss of prayers. Her question makes me think I should have read over my instructions because I’m not even sure my name is the same. Oh, well. I attempt my angel walk, confident and poised, but slip and bump into the table. “Um… Grace Lightbourne?” I say, not quite a statement.
“What a lovely name. I bet people tell you all the time how pretty you are.” She extends her hand and I stare at her long, thick, bright red fingernails. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Milly.”
“Are those plastic?” I ask in fascination.
She laughs and waggles her fingers. “They’re acrylics. Pretty, huh?”
Her fingernails make me think of Unreal!, a show on HVEN TV that Mercy and I watch religiously. It’s all about the natural world and some of the bizarre artificial substitutes humans come up with. For instance, a lot of them are part plastic. Faces. Lips. Boobs.
I can’t wait to tell Mercy about her nails.
Then, the older male human holds out his all-natural hand. “Hi. I’m Coach Vaughn and this is my son, Cody.”
Cody edges away from his dad, makes a half-circle wave and says, “Hey.” He seems semi-asleep, like the heat is getting to him.
The man who calls himself Coach says, “Cody will be new to RGHS this year, too. Maybe you’ll have some classes together.”
Has there been some kind of mistake? The sign and the coach both make it sound like I’m not skipping school after all.
Milly pulls a stack of papers in front of her. “Lightbourne. Lightbourne.” As her fingernails flip through the pile, her smile slides away. The expression on her face grows more and more confused. “That’s so strange.” Flip, flip. “I don’t have anything. Did you say ‘Lightbourne’?”
“It’s spelled b-o-u-r-n-e.”
“Yes, well, even under that spelling, there’s nothing.” She thumps the stack with a finality that makes me think I might be headed home before my Mission has even begun.
Coach Vaughn smiles. “I’m sure everything will be fine. Do you have your confirmation paperwork?”
Okay. Here’s the thing. Maybe Mercy was right when she said stopping by to visit Michelangelo wasn’t my best idea. Maybe I should have read the instructions. Maybe I shouldn’t be so impulsive. Maybe, maybe, maybe. But it’s too late now. If I ask questions, I could give myself away, and clueing humans into the fact that I’m an Angel is the number one no-no on Michael’s list of rules. I’ll have to make the best of it.
Milly and Coach Vaughn wait patiently as I open the ugly black case, while Cody stares off into space. The case is filled with the junk Michael gave me—the books, laptop, phone and folders. I grab the blue one marked “Identity,” thumb through the pages and hand Milly a sheet that resembles the banner over her desk. The same slogan about exchanging students is printed along the top.
“Oh, thank God,” she says.
My thoughts exactly.
While she reviews my paperwork, I can’t help but pinch myself. I’m actually here. On Earth! Sure, sure, I don’t know exactly what I’ll be doing, but still—Earth!
There are a few kids standing by the luggage. Which one is my mission? Whose life will I change forever?
“Well, I’ll be!” Milly grips my paperwork with both hands and shakes it as a smile spreads across her face. “The Murphys didn’t think they were going to get a student.”
Duh. It’s a miracle.
“They’re not here, but let me give them a call. They’ll be so excited, don’tcha know.” She picks up her phone, talks for a minute and then says, “Yes, she’s standing right in front of me. Yes, Grace Lightbourne. A pretty little thing. Sure, sure. I’ll let her know.” She turns to me “They’re on their way.” She huffs. “Every year, I have to sort out one of these mix-ups. Let’s get you checked in.”
Cody gives Millie a sideways glance and rolls his eyes conspiratorially at me.
Milly rests her chin on her hand, red fingernails everywhere. “Oh, my! I think they made a mistake on your paperwork.” She chuckles, turns the page toward me and taps her fingernail near my address:
777 Tranquil Lane
Paradise, ET 4141∞
I tense, because I’m not sure what the problem is.
Milly scribbles through the E and changes it to an M. “We drove right by there when we were out west last year. Montana is so beautiful. It’s God’s country.”
Really, isn’t everything?
Then she chortles. “Oh, look! They messed up your zip code too.” She changes the ‘∞’ to an ‘8.’
Is she done? Because no one caught my mistake, and I’d like to get the heck out of here.
When she hands everything back to me, I go to put it into the briefcase and manage to drop my Identity File, scattering papers everywhere. Cody eases out of his chair to come help.
The girl who was standing behind me practically yells, “I’ve got it.” She kneels next to me and quickly shuffles all the papers into a tidy stack—almost like watching cards dealt in reverse—before Cody can make it around to the front of the desk. Holding the pile to me, she stares with feline golden-green eyes. “I’m Aisha,” she says.
“That’s an exotic name.”
She smiles, tight-lipped. “It means ‘life’.” Her flawless complexion is the same shade as the pale, smooth bark on the Tree of Life. Long, beaded braids sway with a tilt of her head. “You’re an exchange student? Where are you from?”
I can’t remember what Milly wrote on my form, but I’m sure if I just summon up a little angelic composure, I can pull this off. I straighten my shoulders and lift my chin. “Out west. It’s God’s country,” I say with authority.
Aisha knits her brows and gives me the universal are you for real? look. It’s easy to recognize, because I get it all the time in Heaven. “Well, nice to meet you.�
� She brushes invisible dirt from her knees. “I’ll see you around.”
Cramming papers into the hideous case, I say, “Yeah. Later,” and turn back to Milly.
“You’re all set.” She hands me an “X-Changing the World” kit and points to another table off to the side. “Help yourself to a snack and get to know some of the kids. The Murphys should be here in no time.”
I mosey over to the table. There are paper cups filled with a clear, bubbly liquid. I peer at them, not quite sure about the contents. Cody comes over to the table and says, “Just take one. They’re for everyone.”
“What is it?”
He looks at me like I’m from outer space, which, I guess in a way, I am.
“It’s Sprite. Or maybe 7-Up. They have that in Montana, don’t they?”
“I’m not sure, but thanks.” I take a sip—it’s fizzy. My nose tingles the way it does when incense is burned in Heaven. Fascinating. Taking another sip, I peer over the top of my cup at Cody.
He’s staring at me. “Your eyes are incredible. They don’t even look real. Are you wearing contacts?”
Contacts? I’m not sure what those are. All these questions they ask are like little traps meant to cage me. Time to change the subject. “Your dad said you’re new this year.”
Cody balls his hands at his sides. “Yeah. I went to a different school, but my mom moved out of state and I wanted to stay in Florida. So, I moved in with my dad.” His voice sounds sad and angry at the same time. I want to ask why his parents live in different places, but he grabs a cup and says, “Well. See ya around.”
Human teens cluster by the luggage, talking and laughing. Aisha is over there, but she’s all aloof with her friends. Instead of giggling with them, she’s glaring at me. What a weirdo.
Wait! Just one minute. Maybe she’s my Mission. It seems like she could use some help. Or is it that guy, Cody? He needs something. I don’t know, but come to think of it, I don’t believe it’s either of them. They haven’t seemed drawn to me as their protector. This is what I do know: when I find the human I’m here for, that person will welcome me and I’ll wrap him or her in my blanket of angelic serenity. It’ll be bliss.