by Cecelia Earl
"No. Absolutely... no." I look at her. "How did they raise all that money in such a short time?"
Molly shrugs. "Where there's a will, there's a way." She glances at me. "You're very loved. Remember that. Love is a powerful thing. More powerful, even, than money."
I nod, looking out the window again. I hope it's powerful enough to bring my mom and Noah back from wherever they're at.
"That money takes a lot of burden off my shoulders. It will help with the renovations. A ton."
"Is it worth going to the dance for?"
I sigh. "Small price to pay."
She smiles. Then she says what's really on her mind, "Julia, stop worrying about graduating early. Or dropping out. Neither of those is going to help anyone. Your family needs you. You. Not the money, not a yard, not even a diner or a home. They need you by their bedsides. Your classmates need you. You will be giving them more by allowing them to give to you. Just say thank you. Stop trying to be an adult. Your mom wants you to have fun. She wants you to enjoy your childhood. You're eighteen, not forty-five. You want your brother to swing and run in the grass of his own yard. Well, your mom wants you to get ice cream with your friends, go on dates, and dance at your homecoming dance.
"Mitch and Rach didn't want to tell you, but you should know. They've been hanging out a lot these last few months. They both missed you. Missed having a friend. You're never available to them. They've begun dating, and they're really happy."
My best friend didn't even think he could tell me about this?
"How long?"
"A while."
I close my eyes, vaguely remembering him trying to tell me something. I never listened. Never made time for him.
"You're letting your dad win by letting him take your childhood away. He didn't just take the money. He took your happiness."
My breath catches in my throat. She's right.
"Go. Laugh. Be young while you are young."
"I never meant to dismiss them, to be such an absent friend."
"I know."
"How will they ever forgive me?"
"Did you hear them in there? See them? There's nothing to forgive. They love you."
I nod. "I'll make it up to them."
"There's nothing to make up, darlin'. Just be their friend. That's all they've ever wanted."
-34-
With no change in Mom and Noah by noon the next day, I send a group text to Marla, Cole, and Rach: On my way!
We're very nontraditional. I'm taking Marla, her best friend, and my two friends to the salon to prep for the homecoming dance.
And I'm paying. Rach, Marla, and her friend are getting their nails done, while Mitch and I look through fashion magazines and joke around.
"I've missed this, missed you," I tell him.
"M-me too."
"Sorry."
He grins and holds up a magazine of a picture of a girl with bright red hair and a hideous, shapeless dress. "At least they d-didn't get you this t-to wear tonight."
"True, because I still would've worn it."
"That w-would've b-been very kind. But I w-wouldn't have been seen w-with you."
"Whatever. I'll still go trick-or-treating with you and Noah next month when I know you'll be in green velour."
"And so w-will you."
"What?" I consider. "Fine. Me, too."
"Julia White for a one o'clock up-do appointment," the girl behind the counter calls.
"Have fun, Jules." Rach takes my place by Mitch until it's time for her appointment. She flashes navy blue nails at me. "Nice," I tell her, and walk to the chair the receptionist points to. I close my eyes and let the stylist have her way with my hair.
An hour later, she twirls my chair around so I'm facing the mirror.
"Well, what do you think?" Her voice is flat. She smacks her gum. Her own black hair is up in two skinny buns, like horns on top of her head. Tattoos snake up her arm and neck, and her eyes are ringed so heavily in black she resembles a raccoon. I hope she at least glanced at the picture Mitch and I picked out from the magazine.
I dare a peek at myself in the mirror. "Oh my!" I say, turning my head slightly to the left then to the right. My sandy-blonde hair is pulled back away from my face in soft swoops, my natural highlights standing out, looking elegant. The length of my hair is piled in neat, loose curls at the back of my head. I never knew I had so much hair. When it hangs down, it looks much thinner. She's like a miracle worker. I tell her as much. "You're amazing!"
"Thanks," her emotionless voice tells me. "Is that it?"
"Makeup too, please?" I hold my breath, hoping I don't regret asking. "Something natural and light."
Not five minutes later, I am transformed. A light dusting of gray on my eyelids, a thin black line outlining the top lid, and mascara making my lashes stand out, long and dark. Soft pink highlights my cheekbones that never looked quite so high before. She paints on a matching pink lipstick and pronounces her work done.
"Pay up front." She's already straightening up her supplies, so I hop down and walk over to Rach. Half her hair hangs down covering her face, while the other half is up in pins. The stylist is curling her hair, strand-by-strand. I hope it's done before the dance starts.
"That's a good look on you," I tell her.
"Jules?" She tries to blindly swat at me. "You brat."
"Wow, friendly one minute, brat the next. I see how it is."
"Shoo. Go see Marla. She's gorgeous," she tells me from behind her hair.
I tap the hair hanging in front of her eyes. "We should get Mitch an appointment."
"No need. He's hot the way he is." The stylist unclips a section of hair and begins curling it. "If I died tonight, I'd die a happy, happy girl."
I squeeze her knee. "He's better than Prince Charming."
I drop Rach and Mitch at her house for pictures and then swing by Molly's to drop Marla and her friend off.
I check my phone. Cole’s been texting and calling, leaving voicemail after voicemail. I don't want him to pick me up at Molly's, don't want the corsage he bought me, don't want to have dinner with him, don't want to save him a dance. I don't tell him these things, just let him figure them out on his own via my lack of response.
I don't need to be fuzzyheaded, head-over-four-inch-heels, or have anything to do with love during high school. Especially over a lying, girl-playing, rich boy.
My family needs me. That's all that matters.
"Are you sure you don't want me to drive you?" Molly asks, for the hundredth time.
"I'm sure. Enjoy your time with Marla. She's beautiful." We look across the sunroom at her, where she and her friend are watching TV. The open windows allow a breeze to ruffle the skirt of her dress. Marla's hair looks elegant, straightened and sleek. I was surprised Molly let her get her makeup done, but it's subtle, a little mascara and peach lip gloss. She's wearing a peach, knee-length dress with spaghetti straps and sparkly gold flats. She lathered her brown skin with glittery lotion. She's a star. The rest of her friends will be over for pictures and dinner in a few minutes, and I want to be out of the way by then. "Thanks for everything, always, Mol."
She hugs me. "Go, you sweet girl. Try to enjoy yourself."
"Best time of my life, I'm sure." I don't hide my flat, sarcastic voice. I'm going, I'm going, and that's the best I can do.
With time to kill, I drive past the diner-no-more. The demolition has begun. Little excited butterflies dance in my stomach. Next, I head to church. Without hesitation, I slam the car door and walk up the ramp. Mass is in session, so I take a spot in the pew farthest away from the altar, kneel, close my eyes, and fold my hands.
"God, thanks for all the wonderful people you've put into my life. Without them, I'm not sure how I'd get through this whole mess. Sorry I blamed you. Please, please let my mom and Noah wake up and have a long, happy life. Even with the money and the kindness, I'm not sure I can do this much longer. I'm so tired, so sad. Please give them back to me. I'll do more, help at school
, help my community, help the world be better. I will. Just, give me my family… Amen."
When I open my eyes, I'm not alone in the pew anymore. A man is kneeling less than half a pew away. His head is bowed, and his hands are folded. I scoot onto my seat, leaving the kneeler while he prays.
A lector reads from Philippians, chapter two, verse one, "Brothers and sisters: If there is any encouragement in Christ, any solace in love, any participation in the Spirit, any compassion and mercy, complete my joy by being of the same mind, with the same love, united in heart, thinking one thing. Do nothing out of selfishness or out of vainglory; rather, humbly regard others as more important than yourselves, each looking out not for his own interests, but also for those of others..."
The man stands and moves toward me, hand outstretched. "Peace be with you," he says, low so no one else hears.
I look up, meeting his hand with mine. "Peace," I reply.
He smiles, and I realize he's the same man from the diner that morning I also met Mr. Star. This was the one with windswept brown hair and a white shirt. He's dressed the same now, the royal purple shirt beneath the white, his eyes green and bright. With my hand in his, I believe in the peace he's blessing me with, as if he's filling me with it as we touch. When I pull my hand from his, it remains, this feeling of love and tranquility. I move my knees to the side so he can pass. He leaves the church, and I'm left staring after him, wondering why he didn't stay.
I think about what Mom would want me to do with my life, think about what Molly has told me, what Mitch and Rach mean to me.
I pull out my phone and text Mr. Star: Thanks so much for the application and the opportunity, but I can't leave school to start work at this time.
Following behind the man in royal purple, I leave with nothing but a prayer to get me through the night.
-35-
I didn't notice it earlier, but there's a jewelry box on the passenger seat. Molly. I open it and find a beautiful green stone, set in a black leather band. The stone looks like the one my dad gave me, and the band looks familiar. I wonder where Molly got it. After slipping it onto my wrist, I step out of the car and open the back door to grab the wings and tiara. I can't believe I'm going to wear them. I slip them on over my back that aches with pressure.
A pressure that makes me think something—or someone—unsettling is about to present itself. I haven’t forgotten that Cole will be inside, so I attribute all unease to knowing I’ll be seeing him in a matter of minutes.
"Humbly regard others as more important than yourselves," I mumble. "In I go." Or, rather, around, it seems. I hear music coming from behind the high school, and as I follow it, I'm led to a huge white tent, under which are a DJ, a dance floor, tables, chairs, and a table with snacks and punch bowls. Golden sticks poke from the ground. White tulle clouds drape from one to another, creating a fence around the grassy area. Halo-topped candles adorn the tables as centerpieces and angel wings hang from the tent, lining it so anyone taller than five foot eight will have to duck to get inside.
I teeter in, the wings grazing my tiara, still getting used to the ridiculous height of the red heels on my feet. Already, the pads of my feet ache. I can't imagine the foot massage I'll need tomorrow. Hopefully I'll be able to bribe Mitch to do it. Maybe offer him unlimited bowling or promise to do his service hours for him, now that we’re both aware that’s a requirement for graduation in May. I should do that anyway to make up for the hours he's been working for me.
"There she is!" The Kari's greet me, squealing and shrieking as they tell me how beautiful I am and usher me to one of two thrones. "Want to sit in your throne?"
"Not really," I say.
"Yes! You're the homecoming queen!"
I smile at them. How can I not? They're so happy and excited. "Throne it is then," I tell them, glancing around, waiting for the King, who's bound to take his place next to me. It's hard to get situated with the wings on my back, so I lean forward, looking awkward and uncomfortable, I'm sure, but smile through it. "Thanks."
They flit away, grinning. I watch as they separate to greet others as they move into the tent. Outside the tent, groups gather, too, laughing, complimenting each other on gowns and hair. Few munch on a chip or a cracker, fill a glass with punch. Mostly, these are the singles, the girls who came with one friend. Eating gives them something to do with their hands. Faculty is dispersed, some outside, others at the tables, a few manning the border between tent and outer spaces, eyes roving. Mrs. Wiltrow is gesturing with her hands, speaking to a few parent chaperones. I open my gold-sequined purse—another gift from Molly—and pull out my phone to find where Mitch is. A feathery touch on my shoulder and warm breath in my ear distracts me from waiting for a response.
"Is that seat taken?"
"Cole," I say. I look at my lap, tucking my phone back into my purse. "It's all yours, I suppose." He's wearing a white shirt, blue tie the color of his eyes, black pants, and black shoes. His crown is on his head, but no halo, no wings, no dimple.
He moves over to it, sits, and leans toward me. "You came," he states.
"Looks like it." I narrow my eyes and glance at his back. "What? No wings?"
There's that sly smile and dimple. "I'm more the demon type."
I snort, looking away. That, at least, is honest. Even though I can't stand him, when he's near, there's this need I can't explain. This attraction I almost can't fight. It's horrendous.
"What is it with you two?" Between him and Nicholas, both have ways to make me feel and see things that aren't normal. "What, really, can you control?" It dawns on me, looking at him, looking around. "Did you really make me homecoming queen? Did you control the student vote?"
His smile widens. "I've missed you," he says.
"Fine, don't answer. I know it's the truth." I shrug, glancing around the room, totally not caring about him, totally caring about him lying, totally not wanting to fight in public.
"You haven't let me explain."
Grr. I snap my eyes back to his face. "Explain what... where I really was with Nicholas? How there's something else entirely going on? How you know everything and you're refusing to tell me?"
"Yes, I controlled the vote."
I'm shocked he's confessing. I can't even ask another question before he goes on.
"I'm your guardian angel, and I've watched you lose your fun side since your dad left. I let whether or not you were having fun become my main concern. I suppose Nicholas was right; your safety has always been more important."
"He said he's my guardian angel."
"You're so special that you need two."
"Plus..."
He stops, shakes his head, and clenches his jaw, his fists.
"Are you all right?"
There's that look again, the one he had on the bleachers in the gym.
He's staring at me.
"What's going on?" I pound a fist on the arm of the chair and lean toward him. He doesn't answer, just stares, pale and open-mouthed, at my chest. "Filthy pig," I blurt, until I realize it's not me he's staring at. It's my pendant, and it's started to glow.
As has the one on my wrist.
"What's going on?" he echoes. "What is that?" He's pointing to my wrist.
"You," I look down, "tell me."
"Who gave it to you?"
I glare at him. "Why? Jealous?" Although I'm also now wondering where it came from. I don't know why I assumed it was from Molly. Wouldn't she have handed it to me when she gave me the purse?
"Was it him? Nicholas?" The look in his eyes is definitely something like jealousy—or fear, or anger. Hearing the name Nicholas brings a fresh bout of flashbacks. Halos and wings, shadows and fire, metal rods and swords. The hut with sunshine glinting off a green stone.
I whisper, "Maybe, or Michael."
He stares, still open-mouthed. "Why would the Archangel, Michael, give you that?" He stands, fists clenched, looking around like a madman. "What did you agree to?"
I stand, too, eyes darting ar
ound the room, handing over the pendant. "Nothing." I spit the word at him. "I agreed to nothing." What does the bracelet have to do with an agreement? I said I wouldn't fight, wouldn't be a warrior, or a Double, or whatever they wanted me to do.
Before I can march across the inches between us to strangle him, the warmth of the stones remind me of the man in church, the man from the diner. I feel peaceful. I close my eyes. When I open them, the room is transformed. Shadows lurk and lights like twinkling stars hover. Slowly, my vision changes, clears, and the shadows come into focus. Not shadows, but monsters. Demons. The stars brighten and grow... angels. Everywhere.
Cole stands there like a statue with silvery gray wings. Wings.
"Cole." He doesn't seem to hear me. "Cole!"
He turns, slowly, until his brilliant blue eyes snag mine. "What," the t at the end of the word is accentuated, like a drumbeat, "do you see?"
Trembling, I whisper, "Everything. I see everything."
It was all real.
It is all real.
Somehow I knew—should have known—all along.
My shoulder blades twinge, and with that, I tear off the fake wings as my own unfold behind me, brighter—yet much smaller—than Cole's. I step away from the throne, grasping at my gown to pull it up so I don't step on it as I make my way out into the crowd. Since arriving and sitting at the head of the room, the tent has filled. Gowns of all colors and lengths fill the space. Floral perfumes and musky colognes waft through the air, clouding my mind with romance and sweetness. I shake my head.
With my newfound sight, it's hard to distinguish homecoming angels with the real thing, but only for a confusing moment. Fake angel wings are dull in comparison, no matter how glittery or sparkly the girls made them; few boys played the part. Most didn't even wear a tie, or comb their hair, for that matter. Real wings are brilliant and pure white, golden, and blazing with liquid fire. Real angels stand—ready with swords, spears, and arrows—almost translucent in-between unknowing dancers. On the shoulders of high schoolers, faculties, and parents, sit demons, whispering and taunting. Some demons grow larger and snake around bare legs and wrists, hissing and caressing. To the human side of me, their whispers sound like sweet music, like a good idea, like want. To the angel side of me, they sound like death, like a bottomless pit lined with black tar, like a battle waiting to happen.