by Shel Delisle
Victor takes it from me, opens the Contact list and taps the keys. “There. You have my number in case you need my help again.”
Confession: I’ve always prided myself on my independence. But I can create a 911 situation. Help me, Victor. Oh yes, help me, please!
Aisha narrows her eyes and her look snaps me back to reality. “Enough. You know where to find us.” She points at the floor again. “That spot. Exactly. Don’t move from there. Because if you’re somewhere else, it will throw them.” She hitches her thumb at a group of nearby humans then grabs Victor by the arm. As she leads him away, I overhear her say, “I can’t believe you both have phones. I have the most experience, and they’ve never given me a cell!”
Once they position themselves against the wall, they become as still as department store mannequins. I haven’t budged an inch and suddenly everything shifts into motion. The kid’s drink spills, the red-faced kid finishes his laugh and Lacey’s hair falls into place, flip completed.
With everything moving, I look for Victor, but they’ve both disappeared.
I line up behind a couple guys and imitate all their actions: take a tray, silverware, napkins. Point to the food that looks the least offensive. One of them stares at me. Did I do something wrong?
He elbows the guy next to him. “Hey, check out her eyes.”
His friend looks at me and says, “Cool contacts.”
Okay. I get it. My eyes are different.
“Thanks,” I say, trying not to be distracted from what Victor and Aisha told me. Focus on my Mission. I make a beeline for an open seat next to Tara.
As I hover over her shoulder, she leans toward Lacey.
“Hi, Grace. We were just leaving. You can have our seats,” the blonde says and without another word, they ditch me.
Fine. If they want to act like Seraphim, I’m used to it.
Sliding into the empty chair, I force an angelic-kindness expression onto my face and smile at a girl with braces by herself two spots down. Then I stare down at the tray and replay my progress so far.
1. Crappy classes. I tried to avoid school, and that’s where I ended up anyway.
2. There’s not one but two other angels in this school. So, how special am I? And even though Victor seems all right, Aisha’s almost as bad as Michael.
3. The human I’m supposed to guard wants nothing to do with me.
4. I haven’t got a clue about what kind of protection she needs.
5. After I eat this gunk, I’ve gotta go sing.
Is there a way to go back?
Maybe I could call Michael on the phone and say, “You win. I’ll do your stupid training.”
Either way, I could still get my wings. Probably.
It’s just that I hate the idea of going back and having everyone, especially Mercy, know things didn’t work out. I’ve always felt like I’d never catch up to my AIT classmates and getting this chance seemed like a way to maybe even zoom by them. Plus, I really only feel insignificant around other Angels. On Earth, with humans, I have loads of confidence.
If I think about this, I’ve only been here a couple of days. I should probably cut myself some slack. Rome wasn’t built in a day. Besides, I did teach Tara something with the clover. Y’know, on second thought, I’m doing just fine.
Chapter 7
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: hi!
Dear Grace, the Blessed and the Meek,
I miss you so much and hope everything is great where you are. Sorry, I don’t have any advice for you on your Assignment. Wish I did. But I’ve never been able to figure out humans.
I did start Virtue training and absolutely love the classes about space. Like the other day, we watched Angels holding back a black hole in the Andromeda Galaxy. It was so exciting to think about doing that for real. And Raphael said because The Universe is expanding, they always need more Virtues. He made a joke about job security. Isn’t that funny?
I really wish you’d chosen this as your vocation.
I know you decided Guardian would be best for you, and there’s no shame in it or anything, but think of how cool it would be keeping The Universe and The Heavenly Bodies aligned together. We’d have loads of fun! Plus it’s so worthwhile, you know. So, just think about it, okay?
Oh, by the way, I have a new roommate named Faith. She’s studying to be a Dominion. She seems really nice and she liked the pastel room, so we decided to keep it that way for a while. She’s been helping me with my angel walk a lot and she said I’m getting better. You’d be so proud of me.
Anyway, I have to fly. (No I didn’t get my wings yet. It’s only an expression, silly.☺) Faith and I have choir practice. Write when you get the chance. I know you must be busy.
Yours in the Glory,
Mercy, the Humble
Angel-in-Training
P.S. I don’t know what He meant about against His better judgment. How strange!
It’s times like this when I have an uncontrollable urge to shake Mercy by the shoulders. Me—A Virtue? Honestly. I’d say her halo’s on too tight, but we don’t have them yet.
She probably doubts my decision to become a Guardian, because even though she says, there’s no shame in it, there kinda is. While Seraphim are at the top of the Celestial Hierarchy and Virtues in the middle, plain ‘ole Vanilla Angels—like Guardians—are at the bottom of the totem pole. We’re the dregs of Heavenly society, because our interaction with humans cheapens the job. So while Mercy loves me, she’s knows my future vocation won’t really be in the same class with her future vocation. Awkward, huh?
You might think this would bother me, and I guess it does make me feel like a lesser Angel, but if I get my wings faster than the rest of my class, who cares? I hope she and Faith, the future Dominion, are very happy in their lilac room practicing the angel walk.
But here’s the thing I don’t get. When I complete my Mission, where will I live? Can I move back in with Mercy? Does Faith have to move out? Or… or what?
Chapter 8
During dinner, Finn jabbers about his first day of school, which I’m really happy about because no questions for me means less awkwardness. Plus, I remember to eat slower. I inconspicuously try to keep an eye on Tara. Besides sulking, she doesn’t do much.
When everyone is done, Mrs. Murphy asks Tara and me to help with the dishes.
As we clear the table, Mrs. Murphy packs leftovers while giggling. “Finn’s so excited, he didn’t let anyone else talk. How was your first day back?”
Tara shrugs. “Lacey says sophomore year is the worst. We just have to get through this year and then when we’re juniors, everything will be better.”
Mrs. Murphy burps the plastic container and carries it to the fridge. “Sounds like the Sophomore Slump. Mine started slow but got exciting near the end. I met your dad.”
“News flash, Mom. Dad’s not that exciting. Especially when he wears the floppy hat,” Tara teases.
“He didn’t wear the floppy hat back then, and besides, he’s exciting to me,” Mrs. Murphy says with another giggle. “But all I’m trying to say, Tara, is give this year a chance because you never know. It might be better than your junior year.”
“That won’t work. I have no intention of going away then. You should have sent me this year.”
Mrs. Murphy shakes her head and carries the leftovers to the fridge. “How about you, Grace? Was today a lot different from school in Paradise?”
You could say that! But there’s no way I can. I rinse and stack the dishes in the sink while I think about something safe to say. “Classes are all right. I met a couple of nice kids.”
Tara, on her way to the table for the last of the dishes, whips her head around, interested in me for the first time today. Maybe the first time ever. “Who’d you meet?”
“Some kids named Aisha and Victor.”
Dishes in the dining room clatter as Tara sets them down. “How did you mee
t them?” She couldn’t sound anymore amazed if I sprouted wings and flew around the kitchen.
“She’s friendly,” Mrs. Murphy says. “You and Lacey should try it sometime.”
“Very funny, Mom. Lacey is already friends with Aisha, and she’s going to introduce us to Victor. I’m just surprised Grace met them her first day.” Tara watches me from the corner of her eye, then speaks to her feet. “Especially Victor. It’s not that easy to do.”
“I’m glad you met someone your first day.” Mrs. Murphy runs hot water through a sponge. She gives me a small smile. “Do you like Angel Stories?”
Huh?
“Don’t tell me you’ve never watched it! It’s our favorite TV show.”
“It’s not my favorite.” Tara sneers. Scrape. An overdone French fry is sacrificed to the garbage disposal.
How cool. They have TV on Earth. I wonder if I can watch Unreal!.
Mrs. Murphy wipes the counters, oven and microwave. “Tara used to love it, but she feels she’s outgrown it.”
“I have outgrown it. It’s ridiculously childish.” She thrusts the plate at me to rinse.
“You might like it, Grace.” Mrs. Murphy wrings the sponge, laying it on the ledge of the sink.
I might. Or then again, maybe not. I was never into shows like A Day in the Life of a Principality. Too much like being in the classroom. On the other hand, I loved Astounding Aid, which was described as “surprising acts of love and charity from both Guardians and humans.”
I’m torn. Truly. Should I try to stay with my Mission? Or should I watch something called Angel Stories? Best case: it’s like Astounding Aid. Plus, there’s a possibility that the show will have clues about how to get my wings. Worst case: it’s like the classroom. “Sure. Sounds good,” I say to Mrs. Murphy.
In the den, Mrs. Murphy surfs through channels while Finn lugs a double-wide bean bag to the center of the room. He plops it right in front of the TV and wriggles down into it.
“Sit by me,” he says, patting the open spot next to him.
I plunk down next to him, and he hugs me around the neck, practically strangling me.
The show begins. Earth’s version of HVEN TV. We watch them and they watch us—incredible. But right away, something about this show seems really off. Everything looks too planned and the humans are talking strangely.
Five minutes into it, I’m in shock.
There’s a woman pretending to be an Angel. I know she’s a phony because she’s just told a human she’s there to help. If she were a real Angel, Michael would be all over her.
“This, this,” I stammer, “is a lie!” I point at the screen. “She’s not an Angel!”
Mrs. Murphy laughs like I’ve just told the funniest joke ever. When I turn back to the screen, the Bogus-Angel is walking through a wall. Crazy. I want to scream, You’re an Angel, not a ghost, but somehow manage to hold that tidbit inside. Next, the image on the screen switches to a human washing dishes. She holds up a bottle of soap, smiles at it and pats the soap on the head like it’s a family pet.
It makes no sense.
Finn loses interest during the bit with the Soap-lady, rolls out of the bean bag and wanders away. Now the TV shows humans in blue and red blankets named Snuggie. They work on laptops, read books and cheer in the bleachers. Too strange. And this is even weirder. Now some people worry about when something absolutely, positively has to be there overnight. What does this have to do with fake Angels? Suddenly, the Bogus-Angel reappears.
“Why is that—” I catch myself. I almost said human. “Why is that woman pretending to be an Angel?”
Mrs. Murphy looks confused. “It’s just a show. It’s not reality.”
Huh?
“Are you sure?” I tilt my head then confess, “I’ve only ever watched reality TV.”
Mr. Murphy looks up from the book he’s reading. He and Mrs. Murphy share a stare, passing a message between them with only their eyes.
Did I slip again? How will I ever remember all their oh-so-foreign customs?
At least once I know this show’s make-believe, I can enjoy it. It’s corny and totally off-base. At one point, I can’t help myself and snort. “That’s not the way it works.”
Mrs. Murphy casts another strange look in my direction. But it’s completely engrossing to watch the fantasy unfold and the ending is sweet.
My eyes tear up.
Mrs. Murphy is brushing one from her cheek, too. “That show always gets to me.” She hesitates and looks around. “Where’s Finn?”
I start to tell her he left during Soap-lady, but she’s already off the couch, “Finn? Finny?”
We call and search until I open my bedroom door. Finn is sprawled out on my floor, surrounded by a load of action figures.
“He’s in here,” I yell.
Finn holds a robot, which is about to battle with a ninja. There’s every type of warrior spread out before him and also three Barbies: a red head, a blonde and one with light brown hair. Pilot Snoopy sits alone by the desk.
Mrs. Murphy rests against the doorway, hands to hips but she’s smiling. “So this is where you ran off to? I’m not sure Grace wants company.”
“He can stay,” I say.
A wide grin blooms on Finn’s face.
“Does Tara know you have her dolls?” Mrs. Murphy asks.
Finn thrusts his chin out. “She gave them to me. She said they’re for babies.”
See, now I know I skipped training and everything, but I swear it seems like Finn needs me as a Guardian waaaaay more than Tara. Truly. I don’t get it.
I sit next to him on the floor, pulling my knees to my chest. “I’ll play with you if it’s okay with your mom.”
“Can I stay? Pleeeease?” He looks up from under long, thick lashes.
“Okay, but only for a few minutes. It’s almost bedtime, and you’ve got school tomorrow.”
“Because I’m not a baby, right?”
“Right. You’re a big Kindergartner now.” Mrs. Murphy leaves the door slightly ajar.
Finn smiles at me and then lays down the warrior. He picks up the Barbies, hopping the blonde one over to the redhead. “I don’t like my brother. You shouldn’t like your brother.” He pretends the red-haired Barbie replies, “All right, I won’t like him.” Then, he moves the red-haired doll to a stuffed Snoopy sitting alone by the desk. “You are such a baby. Don’t come in my room anymore,” the doll says while the Snoopy cries boo-hoo.
I hug Pilot Snoopy and hold him out to Finn. “Are you this guy?”
Finn’s lips tighten; he grabs the Barbie with light brown hair and flies her through the air, swooping this doll down over the head of the red-haired one. “You should be nice to your brother,” the flying doll says. Finn turns to me and holds up flying Barbie. “She’s an angel,” he tells me.
My throat constricts. “That’s nice.”
Finn lays the Angel-Barbie gently on the floor and pushes all the other dolls aside. He pops up from the floor, walks to my desk, and points to the A-mail from Mercy. “You’re an angel,” he says, blue eyes wide.
OhGodOhGodOhGodOhGodOhGodOhGod!
“I can’t read all of this,” Finn scrunches his face, “but I can read this.” He brightens, pointing to the word Angel and puffing his chest. “I learned to read last year.” His eyes gleam. “I knew you were magic.”
“I’m not magic.” I close the top of the laptop and scramble across the floor to shut the door. I hope the Murphys didn’t hear any of that.
“I already read it!” Finn shouts. He has an impish smile made even cuter by his tousled red curls.
“Shh. Quiet, Finn!”
I am so dead. Okay, maybe not dead, but I am in big trouble. This wipes out Michael’s #1 rule—no human can know you’re an Angel. I haven’t even been here for three days and I’ve already blown my cover. With a five-year-old, no less.
And the #2 rule—Free Will—stands in the way of me fixing it.
“I’m right! Th
at’s how you did the four-leaf clovers, and that’s why you say weird things.”
I sit up stiffly and lift my chin to try to channel some angelic composure. “Finn, I’m going to trust you with something very important.” I stare directly into his wide eyes. “Yes, I’m an Angel, but I’m not supposed to tell anyone. Understand?” Confession: Technically, I’m only an Angel-in-Training, but I figure I should keep it simple.
“I’m not anyone. You know me. I’m Finn.”
Ordinarily this would be funny, but the hysteria I’m feeling is not the amusing kind. “All the same, we probably shouldn’t talk about it. Why don’t you tell me a little about the red-haired doll?”
I guess he’s smarter than I thought, because he shakes his head at me. “Are you here to help someone? Like, on that show?”
Reluctantly, I nod.
“Is it me?”
I think of the fortune cookie. “No. I wish it were you.”
“Is it Tara?”
He’s good for a five-year old. If Finn were an Angel, what would his job be? Something to do with Inquisitions? I nod in answer to his question.
“I wished for someone to come and make her be nice to me again. That’s why you had to come.” Finn lays his droopy-eyed head in my lap and sticks a thumb into his mouth.
“I thought you weren’t supposed to do that,” I say.
He pulls it out. “Don’t tell, Gracie.” Pop. It’s back in.
I look Finn directly in the eye and speak slowly. “ I’ll keep it a secret, but you need to keep it secret that I’m an Angel, understand? ‘Cause we both could get in big trouble.”
Finn grins broadly behind his thumb and nods over and over. “See-cwet,” he says through a full mouth. His long, red lashes settle on his cheeks as he dozes off.
Geez. I was worried about this when the Murphys eyed each other. Do they suspect? And, if a five-year-old knows I say weird things, how will I ever blend in at school?
}{
After moving Finn to his room, I try not to panic.
Think. Think. Think.
Victor flashes into my mind. He gave me his number. Scrambling under the bed, I haul out the black case and pull out the mobile. What? Two voicemails?