Winging It!: Confessions of an Angel in Training (Confessions of an Angel-In-Training Book 1)

by Shel Delisle

  And there I am‌—‌Grace Lightbourne‌—‌Oz. This sign, more than any others since I got here, is clear proof that I’m supposed to partake in Spirit Week.

  Lacey says loudly, “Oz is totally lame! But at least we ended up on the same team.”

  Tara nods her agreement.

  “What is it anyhow?” I ask.

  “What is what?” Lacey asks, annoyance clearly in her voice.

  “Oz?” I ask. I’m a little concerned that it has something to do with the whole devil-sign thing.

  Tara and Lacey’s mouths drop open even more than after my clueless football remark. Not another slip! I strike my serene pose to cover.

  Lacey laughs. “You are‌—‌without a doubt‌—‌the weirdest chick I’ve ever met.”

  “Yeah,” Tara agrees. “But we love ya anyway.”

  }{

  Lacey clutches the fat folder she had in the car this morning as Tara and I follow her up the metal ramp to the bleachers, which clatters with the sounds of our feet as we file into the football stadium for today’s pep rally. Behind us, I overhear humans saying, Did you see it? And, Hysterical! And, Who do you think did that?

  Lacey and Tara both giggle and I’m sure that I know the who, even if I don’t know the what yet.

  The air hangs heavy over the stadium, nothing like the cool breeze I felt on my flight with Victor. But even with the heat and humidity, the atmosphere is energized.

  “Let’s go up. We’ll see it better from there,” Lacey hugs the folder to her chest.

  The band is on the field, backs to us, and the song they’re playing is muffled until the trumpets spin, then the tubas, then the drums and then suddenly the entire band is facing our side of the field and the music is much louder.

  Unfortunately, louder doesn’t mean better. Gabriel might haul out his flaming sword if he heard that brass section.

  We take our seats in the top row that Victor and I flew over last night. The band marches into a huge ‘V’ and the Devils, led by Coach Vaughn, run through it and over to the benches. Most of them have on some type of strange, demonic headgear, but Tara explained the mascot thing to me and it’s just a name. They all look enormously strong with huge shoulders. It’s so bizarre. I haven’t seen any big guys like this around the school before.

  “Where’s Victor?” I ask. He must use angelic growth powers if he’s one of the better players like Lacey said, because these guys look like they could smite him.

  “Number seven.” Tara points at a player with huge shoulders standing near the bench. “There. See?”

  Sure enough, number 7 with the name Angelo turns to us, almost like he heard our comment. Through the weird mask, I can clearly see Victor’s eyes with black smudges underneath them.

  “That’s Cody right next to him.” Tara unwraps a piece of gum and pops it in her mouth. Gum, I’ve learned, is a human food you chew and never swallow. Tara explained it to me on my third piece the other day. She nudges me. “Look. I think Victor’s waving at you.”

  Sure enough, his enlarged-shouldered self is greeting me. How big would his wings need to be to lift off with all that extra weight, especially if he was cradling me? Like last night. I flew here. And he took me up… there! I gaze at the sky, but the gentle starlight is replaced by the nearly midday sun beating down. It’s blinding and hot.

  “Want some?” Tara interrupts my déjà vu moment, holding out the box of gum.

  “Sorry. Yeah.” I rub the glory bumps that have popped out on my bare arms despite the heat and take a piece.

  My Mission is soaring along. It’s a good Friday, indeed. Better than the first two, anyway. Here I sit with Tara, like I’m part of her parish. One week ago, I was changing a tire for my Mission. Two weeks ago, my Assignment shunned me by leaving me at home to watch TV with her parents. Three weeks ago, I didn’t even have a Mission. It’s definitely getting better. Even Lacey is here and we’re not shoplifting or joyriding.

  Thanks, Big Daddy!

  Except I still don’t know what they were doing when Victor and I almost crashed and burned on their heads.

  As the band marches off, parts of the field don’t look right. Some spots are lighter green; others look yellow and sick. There are even spots of dry, dead brown grass. Lacey is excited, shaking Tara’s arm so hard she could rip it off. I’m not in on this escapade.

  Slowly, as the band marches, the first word peeks out‌—‌COACH. It’s in ten-foot-tall letters of sick and dying grass. The band continues to file off and the second word comes into view‌—‌TACKLES. This one is almost entirely brown and very easy to read from our top row seats. The players seem clueless. They can’t read this at the bottom.

  Other humans sitting high in the stands chatter and twitter. A few have gone down to drag others up to read the message. Now the band turns and marches along the edge of the field toward the big metal “U” on a post, and the last line is revealed‌—‌MS. SANDS.

  Coach tackles Ms. Sands.

  Oh, no. Their semi-secret romance isn’t secret anymore.

  Ms. Sands’ name echoes through the stands like some freaky bird call while I try to find her. Finally, I spot her sitting below us in the second row. Another teacher I don’t recognize motions for her to come up and is pointing at the message. Now students are sprinting up the steps.

  One of them jostles Ms. Sands because she’s going too slow, laughing and waving at faces she knows. But when she gets to the top a few feet from us and sees the field, she claps a hand over her mouth. I watch her weave her way down the bleachers, hand still over her mouth, head down.

  “That was awesome,” Lacey says, but Tara is quiet. She’s watching Ms. Sands too.

  I want to follow and comfort her but know I shouldn’t leave my Assignment. I glance over the backside of the bleachers and when I see Ms. Sands scoot into the women’s room, I decide to try to help. In the blink of an eye, I bi-locate.

  }{

  In the bathroom, Ms. Sands props herself in front of the sink and splashes water on her face. She pulls a scratchy brown towel from the dispenser then wipes her face and the back of her neck under her shoulder-length hair.

  “Are you okay, Ms. Sands?” I ask.

  Her eyes, puffy and red, stare in my direction. It’s like she doesn’t see me. Then recognition creeps into her eyes. “Oh, Grace.” It’s all she says, leaving a huge pause.

  “Are you?” I ask again.

  In my mind, I hear Lacey say, “Take one and pass it down.” Something else is going on in the stands, but I can’t return there… yet.

  Ms. Sands wipes her chin with the towel and tosses it into a trashcan. She glances quickly in the mirror, brushes her cheek lightly then faces me. “I will be. Thanks for asking. You know… I can’t understand how anyone could think that’s funny. I’m so worried about Paul‌—‌I mean, Coach Vaughn.” She smacks her hand against her forehead and rubs it. “And Cody. Oh my God, Cody!”

  Why is she worried about Cody?

  Before I can ask, Ms. Sands mutters to herself, “I hope Paul told him.” Then she looks at me. “This is not the way for him to find out.”

  If Cody doesn’t know about them, what about Coach’s wife? I’m almost afraid to ask, scared of the answer, scared I’m outside the boundary of my mission. I bite my lip and charge ahead. “What about Mrs. Vaughn?” I ask.

  Alarm overwhelms Ms. Sands’ face. “She lives in Atlanta. They’re divorced. I would never…”

  I think even though she knows she would never, Ms. Sands just realized everyone else might not. She turns on the water again and splashes her face as the door of the bathroom slams open.

  It’s Aisha. There’s fire in her eyes. She smiles and says through gritted teeth, “Hello Grace.”

  How inconvenient to have a bossy Angel show up when I’m working some protection magic. Before I can say ‘hello,’ Aisha freezes time.

  “What are you doing? You’re supposed to be with Tara!”

  A triumphant smile swells
. “I am. I’m bi-located.” It’s exalting to say this to Aisha in a mind-your-own-angelic-business way.

  “I know that!” she practically yells, and my smile deflates a little. “You need to get back to your Assignment. And stop swaying‌—‌you’re going to freak out Ms. Sands. Ready?”

  She sets the bathroom back into motion and I think I was a hair out of place because Ms. Sands knits her brows and shrugs to herself when I say, “I’m sure everything will be okay. I’ve got to go. Just keep the faith.” I walk past Aisha and out the bathroom door.

  Scattered on the ground behind the bleachers and around the concession stand are slips of pastel paper. I pick up a pink one that reads Coach Vaughn completes a forward pass. Two steps later, I grab a pale yellow one: Penalty Ms. Sands! Backfield in Motion. The light blue one says: Coach Vaughn uses Offensive Holding. A tall, thin kid with a tuft of hair on his chin is laughing as he reads a green slip. I snatch it from him as I walk by and he says, ‘Hey!’ but I don’t stop. This one reads: Coach Sacks Ms. Sands. I zoom back into my body at the top row.

  The rabble in the stands is laughing, and at mid-field the cheerleaders point at the fried grass and talk behind their hands. Principal Sweeney is on the loudspeaker asking for everyone’s attention, please. They haven’t even started the pep rally yet.

  Cody rips his helmet from his head, throws it on the ground and yells something at his Dad. Coach Vaughn puts his hands on Cody’s shoulders, but Cody tears loose and stalks away. Victor stands down field by himself. He takes off his helmet and looks skyward. As far as I know, Ms. Sands is still in the bathroom. Aisha is climbing the bleachers’ steps, headed our way with a grim expression.

  Lacey created pandemonium. Chaos. Tara‌—‌my Assignment‌—‌is her collaborator. It seems like maybe the devil signs meant something after all. And, of course, that’s when my cell phone rings.

  Chapter 15

  My tribulations grow to epic proportions when I check the cell and there’s a message from Michael. “I need to speak with you about your Mission. Immediately.”

  Why couldn’t he just berate me on a voicemail? Then I could listen at my leisure. Now I have to call him.

  From midfield, Principal Sweeney is addressing the student body, trying to quell the pandemonium. I need to get out of here! If only I could bi-locate without Aisha getting all bent out of shape.

  “Excuse me, pardon me, ‘scuse me.” I work my way past knees and feet to the bleacher stairs and rush down them. A spot next to the concession stand looks private enough. As I duck behind a hedge and scroll through my contact list, my stomach tightens. Impending doom. I press send anyway.

  On the wall next to me, two tan chameleons blend into the tan paint. They bob their heads at one another. “Tsk, tsk,” the first says.

  The second lizard’s bright red dewlap protrudes under his chin as he says, “They can be so cruel to each other.”

  You’ve got that right, brother.

  Suddenly, I connect with the Angel-in-Chief. “Finally, we speak.”

  Maybe this isn’t all bad. Keep cool. Chin up. Angelic poise and calm. “Um… hi.”

  “Grace Lightbourne, Angel-in-Training.” Michael’s voice is so angry it could bring on the apocalypse. “You have made one bad decision after another since you’ve been on Earth.”

  This isn’t going to be good.

  “And those decisions have led us to this point. Starting on your second day with the Miracle of the Clover. If you hadn’t done that, you wouldn’t have had to kill it, and that’s how Lacey developed her football field message. ”

  Oh crap. I gave her the idea?

  “This is a perfect example of why He put this rule in place.”

  “I understand.”

  “You were given signs you chose to ignore. You attempted to thwart Free Will at CVS. And, lest you forget, you revealed to the young Human Finn that you’re an Angel.”

  The list of my sins sounds worse when he says them all together like that. Much worse.

  “After that one, I let you know you’d violated the #1 rule. Then what did you do? You decided it would be a good idea to fly around with Victor. At a very low altitude, I’d add. You have no idea how close you came to being caught by the humans Lacey and Tara, who I hope I don’t have to remind you is your Assignment!”

  Oh, God! Can’t I do anything without Michel knowing about it?

  “Which brings me to another bad decision—”

  I guess not.

  “—though it’s not technically a rule violation. You chose to abandon your Mission when invited to accompany your Assignment after the Spirit Week meeting. And you are still not doing your homework! The Good Guy knows if you’d done this, we’d never have ended up here.”

  “So, let’s recap, shall we: in three weeks, you have violated every rule.”

  It wasn’t every rule, was it? Oh, I guess it was.

  Michael’s voice hits a crescendo. “I’ll never understand what He was thinking when He allowed you to train in this manner. Gabriel was right‌—‌you are better suited to an assignment in the choir. I will be meeting with Him and hope to able to convince Him to have you re-ascended for transfer. What do you think about that?”

  “I’d like to stay and… fix things,” I manage.

  “That is doubtful. But if you do stay on your Mission, I’ll be watching you like a hawk.” I can almost hear the flap of his enormous wings in the background. “And for the moment, you are on Probation. If you don’t know the policy on that, read My Life as a Guardian. It’s all outlined there. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

  Sorry doesn’t seem to cover it. I’ll do better? He won’t believe that. So I say, “Um, not right now, but can I call you back if I think of the right thing?”

  There is a pause that stretches on and on and on. Finally Michael says, “Please do.”

  Another long pause. Is he done?

  Then, in a calmer voice, Michael says, “Remember Grace, your Mission is about Tara. Dig into your studying, and don’t interfere with Victor’s and Aisha’s Assignments. We’ll speak again soon.” He hangs up. No goodbye or good luck or take care.

  I’m on autopilot as I join the throng of students filing back into school. Of course, I can’t be a pilot ‘cause no wings, right? But that’s beside the point. Ahead, I recognize a pair of shoulders and weave through the pack to catch-up with Victor. As I fall in step, he looks straight ahead. Lips tight, no eye sparkle, no half smile.

  “Hey!” I say in a faint voice. “I just talked to Michael. I’m on Probation.” Probation? Whatever that means in this case. I’m still getting used to the idea.

  We take at least five more steps before Victor says, “I have to call him too. Right now I need to find Cody. Moral support, you know? You should find Aisha first, then Tara. We’ll talk later.”

  Find Aisha? And why is he looking for Cody? What about me? I need moral support right now.

  “They’re probably all together. If I know Aisha, and believe me, I do, she’ll be with her Assignment.”

  All my thoughts are a swarm, like the students piling through the side doors and making their way to class. “Who’s her Assignment?” I ask.

  Victor gives me a how-clueless-are-you look. “Lacey,” he says and then turns into the main hall, raising his arm. “Hey, Cody! Wait up.”

  Lacey? “Thanks,” I yell to Victor’s back. “I’ll call you later. Or you call me?”

  Victor looks over his shoulder but keeps moving away. “Yeah.” he says, preoccupied. It’s like I could have said “I’ll fly over later” and he still would have said, yeah. Same tone and everything. Is this the same guy who flew me around?

  And Omigod! Aisha is Lacey’s Guardian! Why didn’t I figure it out before? Because I was so sure it was Victor. This news bothers me‌—‌I can’t say exactly why‌—‌but it does.

  }{

  I get a hitch in my voice when I find Aisha in the main hall and tell her Michael might re-assign me to
the choir.

  Surprisingly, she’s nice. “We should pick a spot where we can talk openly. Can you come to The Enclave?”

  Even though it’s only a few minutes from the Murphy’s by car, it’s too far to walk. I don’t have wings, and bi-location seems to be off-limits. I shake my head.

  “How about the River of Grass Rec Center, where we first met? Do you remember it?”

  Of course I do. I’m not totally stupid. Just not a great student. “Yeah. That’ll work,” I say.

  The rest of the day is this out-of-celestial-body blur. Ms. Sands isn’t in English. The sub has asked us to quietly read from Dante’s Inferno, but I can’t concentrate because I keep replaying my conversation with Michael and thinking things like, At least it’ll be nice to see Mercy again, or, Can I fast-forward through the bad parts? The only class I even try to focus in is choir because, well, if I have to do that, I might as well not suck.

  Finally, it’s almost time to meet Aisha. Before heading to the park, I haul My Life as a Guardian by Wilhelm out of the black briefcase. The words swim in front of me. Where’s the part about Probation? It’s not in the Table of Contents or the Index. I flip to the last page—394. If I have to read this whole book, my head might explode.

  It’s hard not to obsess on the walk to the rec center, so I do. Probation. Re-ascension. The horror of a being a Wingless One.

  When I get there, I park on a bench to wait for Aisha. The park is almost deserted, nothing like the first day I was here. Inside the fenced area, a young girl, maybe four, is being pushed on the swing by her mom. Legs tucked under on the backswing and as she soars forward her hair flies behind her. There’s an expression of joy on her face‌—‌one that resembles Angels, even if she isn’t.

  Is that what I’ll look like when I get them?

  After they pack up to leave, I wander to the playground, sinking into a swing and dangle my feet in the sand. I want to feel like her‌—‌head thrown back, hair flying, legs extended to the sky. But I don’t know which motions will create the sensation of flying, and I end up only twisting and rocking. Grounded.