Everyday Angel #2: Second Chances

by Victoria Schwab

  To Court, for the kindness.

  Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Teaser

  About the Author

  Also by Victoria Schwab

  Copyright

  The lunchroom at Westgate School for Girls was like a solar system.

  Except instead of being full of planets and moons, it was full of uniformed girls and tables and noise. The school went from sixth grade to eighth grade, and each grade had their own separate lunchtime. Right now, it was the seventh grade’s turn, and all sixty-three girls were orbiting the twelve cafeteria tables.

  Caroline Mason stood clutching her tray and watching the other girls head toward their tables, drawn by the gravitational pull of friends and laughter and routine. She felt like she was drifting in space.

  Everyone had a table. Caroline used to have a table.

  She reached absently for the pendant that used to hang around her neck — a small half circle — before she remembered it wasn’t there. She’d shoved it into the bottom drawer of the jewelry box on her bathroom counter.

  Caroline knew she couldn’t just stand there, so she took a deep breath and made her way to Table 12. Nobody sat at Table 12. Correction: nobody except for Caroline. She tried to keep her eyes on her tray, tried not to let anyone see how alone she felt as she walked.

  But halfway there, her eyes floated up, drawn automatically to Table 7. To Lily Pierce.

  If Westgate were a solar system, then Lily Pierce would be its sun.

  With her perfect black curls and her perfect smile that seemed to make the whole lunch room lean toward her. And away from Caroline. Because everybody listened to Lily Pierce. Everybody did what she said. Whether or not they wanted to be her friend, they definitely didn’t want to be her enemy. And Lily Pierce had told the entire seventh grade to stay away from Caroline Mason.

  Lily and Caroline were at war. Only, Caroline didn’t want to fight. She just wanted to go back to the way things were before. Back to before they were enemies.

  Back to when they were best friends.

  “Pick a hand,” said Lily.

  It was two years ago — summertime, and they were ten. They sat cross-legged on Caroline’s trampoline. Lily had moved to their town of Beachwood, California, the year before — into the house right next door — but it felt like they’d been friends forever. Like they’d always be friends. They were starting sixth grade at Westgate together in the fall. They hadn’t met Erica yet. Right now, it was just the two of them.

  Caroline squinted at Lily’s outstretched hands, skeptical. Lily liked to play tricks on people.

  “Come on,” Lily urged, nodding at her closed fists. “Pick one.”

  Caroline chewed her lip, and chose left. Lily smiled and turned up her hand. In her palm was a necklace with a silver half circle pendant on the end. Lily then turned over her other hand to reveal a matching necklace with a matching half circle.

  “See, they fit together like this,” said Lily, linking the pieces so they became a whole circle, like a moon. She looked proud of herself. “We have to wear them,” she said. “And we can’t ever take them off.”

  “Not ever?”

  Lily shook her head, curls bobbing. “We can’t take them off as long as we’re friends, which will be forever, so no, not ever. If we take them off, the spell will break.”

  Caroline crinkled her nose. “What spell?”

  “This one.” Lily held out the necklace, palm up. “Put your hand over it.” And Caroline did. “I solemnly swear,” started Lily, giving Caroline a look that told her to repeat the words.

  “I solemnly swear,” Caroline echoed.

  “That as long as I wear this.”

  “That as long as I wear this.”

  “I am half of a whole.”

  “I am half of a whole.”

  Lily beamed. She handed Caroline her silver pendant. “You look out for me,” she said, “and I’ll look out for you. And we’ll stick together no matter what.”

  Caroline smiled, and slipped the necklace over her head. “No matter what.”

  Lily laughed, and the sound traveled through the lunchroom, jarring Caroline out of the memory.

  Lily was sitting with Erica Kline and Whitney Abel. Every time Lily laughed, Erica echoed. She smiled when Lily smiled, pouted when Lily pouted, and tossed her straight brown hair when Lily tossed her black curls. She was like a clone, but meaner.

  When Lily put her arms around Whitney and Erica’s shoulders, it drove a spike through Caroline’s stomach. In a way, all of this was Whitney’s fault. And she didn’t even know it. On the first day of school, Whitney had been nothing. Nobody. A girl with two dull brown braids who barely spoke. Now she was sitting at Table 7, Lily’s newest pet.

  Whitney said something, and Lily threw back her head and laughed again (a moment later, Erica laughed, too). Then they both leaned in. They were hunched forward over their table, working on something Caroline couldn’t see.

  Caroline tried to focus on her food, but she wasn’t very hungry. She could feel the eyes of Table 7 flicking her way. She didn’t want them to see how miserable she was, so she pretended to read through a notebook while the clock on the wall ticked off the minutes until she could go to class. Finally, when the first of the seventh graders started to leave, she pushed to her feet and went to return her tray to the carts by the door.

  And that’s when it happened.

  As Caroline walked by Table 7, Lily pushed back her chair, blocking Caroline’s path and forcing her to stop so fast she nearly spilled her tray. She caught it in time, and backed up, straight into Erica.

  Or rather, Erica’s tray.

  Erica snickered, and Caroline felt something thick and wet run down the back of her uniform. Caroline turned to see Erica holding her tray not in front of her like a normal person, but up on its side so the whole flat surface was turned toward Caroline. It was covered in a horrible ugly swirl of ketchup and mustard and mayonnaise.

  And now, so was Caroline.

  The room went quiet as sixty-two pairs of eyes turned toward Caroline and her ruined uniform. Lily smiled. Erica mimicked her. Whitney watched, wide-eyed and silent.

  “Ewwwww,” said Erica, dropping her tray back on the table. “I got ketchup on my hands.”

  Lily held out a napkin. “Here you go.”

  “Thanks,” said Erica, wiping her fingers and looking into Caroline’s eyes. “Nobody wants to smell like a dirty lunch tray all day.”

  A glob of ketchup dripped onto Caroline’s leg. Her eyes began to burn.

  Don’t cry, she thought desperately. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

  Lily watched her intently, waiting to see what she would do. Caroline wanted to sob. She wanted to scream. She wanted to punch Erica in the face. Instead she turned, dropped her tray off on the cart, and stormed through the doors, wishing she never had to c
ome back.

  The shadow took shape on the steps of the school, between two manicured hedges. At first the shadow was just a blot on the stairs, but soon it spread, growing until it resembled the outline of a twelve-year-old girl.

  A twelve-year-old guardian angel, to be exact.

  A breeze blew past, rustling the bushes on either side. The shadow’s outfit fluttered, too, and an instant later the whole shape filled with light, and a form rose up out of it. A girl stood there, wavy red hair falling down her back, her shoes resting on top of the pool of light.

  Aria blinked and looked around. She had no idea where she was, but she knew who she was — still herself — and for that she was thankful.

  “Good shadow,” she said, and the light under her feet went out.

  She nested her heels in the shadow’s shoes, and realized as she looked down that she wasn’t wearing the clothes she’d had on before. No blue leggings. No green sweater. No pink laces.

  Instead, she was wearing a school uniform. White polo, plaid skirt, white knee socks, and black Oxford shoes. The polo had a crest over the pocket with a W embroidered on it.

  Aria looked up at the stone mantel above the school’s massive doors. It read:

  WESTGATE PREPARATORY

  … and in smaller print beneath it:

  SCHOOL FOR GIRLS.

  Aria’s blue charm bracelet still dangled from her wrist, a single silver feather hanging from the first loop. That charm represented Gabby, the first girl Aria had helped. Two rings still hung empty, and as Aria gazed up at the front doors, she felt a little thrill of excitement. Someone here, at this school, was waiting for her, even though she didn’t know it. Whoever it was, she would be marked for Aria, wreathed in smoke the same color as Aria’s bracelet. And all Aria had to do was find her, and help her, and once she did, she’d be one step closer to earning her wings. When she squinted down at her shadow, she could almost see them. Just the beginnings, of course — a curve here, a feather there — but everyone had to start somewhere.

  And today, Aria was starting here. At Westgate.

  As Aria climbed the stairs, she considered her shoelaces. They were black, like the Oxfords they were threaded through. Aria chewed her lip. A little color couldn’t hurt. As soon as she thought it, the laces turned a pretty purple. She smiled and pushed open the doors, and went in search of a girl with blue smoke.

  “Excuse me? Young lady?”

  The voice came out of an official-looking office on Aria’s right.

  Aria turned. “Me?”

  “Yes, you,” said a woman at a desk. A little nameplate on the desk said she was Ms. Grover, Head of Student Services. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  Aria looked around. The woman’s tone made it clear she was doing something wrong, but she had no idea what.

  “You can’t just come waltzing in late,” explained Ms. Grover. “That’s an infraction.”

  “What’s an infraction?” asked Aria.

  “Being late.”

  “No, I mean, what is an infraction?”

  Ms. Grover straightened her glasses and cleared her throat. “An infraction means a broken rule.” She pointed to a poster on the wall. It was covered in sentences that began with NO. NO chewing gum. NO cell phones. NO tardiness … “Three infractions equals a detention.”

  Aria didn’t know what a detention meant, either, but decided not to ask. “Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t know.”

  Ms. Grover squinted. “What grade are you in?”

  “Seventh,” said Aria, because she’d been in seventh grade back at Gabby’s school. This school seemed very different, but hopefully the numbers stayed the same.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Aria,” said Aria.

  The woman’s gaze narrowed even more. “You don’t go here.”

  Aria frowned. “Yes I do.”

  “Young lady, there are one hundred and ninety-three girls at Westgate Prep, and I know them all. I don’t know you, so you don’t go here.”

  “I’m new,” explained Aria, glancing at the laptop on the desk. “You can check,” she added. She’d been able to imagine herself onto a class roster at Gabby’s school. Surely she could imagine herself into a computer. At least, she hoped she could.

  Ms. Grover began typing away on the keyboard. “Last name?”

  “Blue,” said Aria, proud of herself for knowing now that a last name was a second name, not a name you had before the one you have now.

  The woman’s fingers tapped furiously on the keyboard, and then stopped. “Huh,” she said. “There you are.”

  Aria smiled. The lights in the office brightened slightly. Ms. Grover did not seem to notice.

  “You’re still late,” she said, pushing a stack of pamphlets and papers across the desk toward Aria. “Surely you’ve already received all of this in the mail, and had time to read through our policies. Normally, we’d have a student ambassador ready to welcome you, but I’m afraid I didn’t know you were coming.”

  “Last minute,” said Aria. “I didn’t know, either.”

  “Yes, well, here’s your schedule,” said Ms. Grover, tapping the paper on top of the stack. “The seventh-grade girls are still at lunch, but it’s almost over. Let me see if I can rustle up someone to show you where to go —”

  “That’s okay,” said Aria brightly. “I bet I can find my way.”

  Ms. Grover hesitated. “Are you sure?”

  Aria nodded. She had a student to find, and she wanted to get going. A faint tug in her chest told her the girl was nearby.

  “Very well,” said Ms. Grover, already turning away. Aria hoisted the papers into her arms and was nearly to the door when the woman said, “And, Miss Blue?”

  “Yes, ma’am?”

  The woman offered a small, begrudging smile. “Welcome to Westgate.”

  Aria could barely see over the stack of handouts as she stepped into the hall. The walls of Westgate, she noticed, were cream-colored but pleasant, and sunlight streamed in through the large windows. A potted plant turned ever so slightly greener as Aria walked past.

  What a pretty place, thought Aria, readjusting the papers in her arms. She was about to summon a backpack when a voice behind her said, “Hey, you.”

  Aria turned around to find a student towering over her. The girl was dressed in the same uniform Aria had on, but she wore a silver badge on her shirt pocket that read MONITOR. She was an eighth grader, Aria could tell, not by her height so much as the way she stood, as if she were very important.

  “Your shoelaces are purple,” said the girl, as if Aria hadn’t noticed.

  “I know,” said Aria. “I almost went with blue but then I —”

  “That’s a dress code infraction,” the girl cut in, crossing her arms. “I’m going to have to write you up.”

  Aria frowned. “But I already have an infraction for being late.”

  “Well, now you have two,” said the girl. Aria chewed her lip. She had only been at Westgate for ten minutes, and she was one infraction away from a detention, whatever that was, and no closer to finding a girl with blue smoke. She wasn’t off to a great start.

  The monitor wrote down Aria’s name on a purple — how ironic — slip of paper. Aria sighed as the monitor set the paper on top of the already-towering stack in Aria’s arms, and then frolicked off, probably to find someone else to punish. As soon as the monitor was gone, Aria willed her purple laces back to black, and started off again down the hall.

  She was so focused on not dropping the stack of papers in her arms that she didn’t see the girl coming toward her, head down. They collided, and the pamphlets and brochures came down in a shower around them.

  “Sorry,” muttered the girl as she tried to gather up a few of the papers.

  “It’s all right,” started Aria. “I’m —” But the girl was already on her feet again and hurrying away down the hall. Aria stared after her, eyes wide.

  The girl’s head was bowed, blond hair fall
ing into her face, and the back of her uniform was covered in what looked like ketchup (Aria had discovered what ketchup was only a few days ago). But it wasn’t the ketchup that caught her eye, or even the fact that the girl looked like she’d been crying.

  It was the blue smoke.

  Tendrils of bright blue coiled around the girl’s shoulders as she vanished around the corner.

  Then Aria realized she wasn’t alone in the hall. A girl with straight brown hair had been standing there, watching everything with a small, cruel smile.

  “You’re new,” she said, surveying Aria. It wasn’t a question.

  Aria nodded. “First day.”

  “I’m Erica,” the girl said, her smile spreading.

  “Hi. I’m Aria,” Aria answered as nicely as possible, even though something about Erica made her nervous. Maybe it was the way she hadn’t helped pick up the papers, only watched. Maybe it was the way she seemed happy about the other girl being upset. “Who was that girl?” Aria asked.

  “That,” answered Erica, “is Caroline Mason. And my advice,” she added, as the bell rang overhead, “is to stay as far away from her as possible.”

  Aria didn’t ask why. She didn’t have a chance, since Erica was already walking away. But she knew one thing for sure: She had no intention of staying away from Caroline Mason.

  Because Caroline Mason was exactly who she was looking for.

  “It’s going to be the best year ever.”

  That’s what Lily had told Caroline as they rode to Westgate on the first day of seventh grade. That was only three weeks ago, but it felt like years.

  Now, Caroline stood in the doorway of the counselor’s office, breathless and upset.

  She’d kept her tear-filled eyes on the floor all the way to Ms. Opeline’s office. Bumping into that redheaded girl in the hallway had made Caroline feel even worse.

  “Miss Mason,” said Ms. Opeline, looking up from her work. “How can I help you?”

  Overhead, the first bell rang.

  “I need to borrow a uniform,” said Caroline, her face hot.

  Ms. Opeline’s eyebrows went up. “What’s wrong with the one you’re wearing?”

  Caroline turned around so the counselor could see the disgusting swirl of condiments that ran from the collar of her once-white polo to the hem of her plaid skirt.