“What was up in swim practice today? You almost pushed that guy right into the pool.” She laughed. It was too high and too loud. So fake.
“Yeah, well, he deserved it.” The scene replayed in my head. “He was a tool who was going to undo Miranda’s swimsuit.”
Shit. Why did I just tell her that?
“Really? How’d ya know?” She sounded skeptical, and I knew I’d said too much.
“I heard one of the other guys dare him.” I doodled on my notebook and tried to sound bored.
“How? You weren’t close enough to hear him. Besides, if you heard them, Miranda would’ve heard it too.”
“Miranda was busy putting her swim cap on. She wasn’t paying attention,” I said with an exasperated sigh. “And what’s with all the questions and watching everything I do?” I pushed too hard on my paper and broke my pencil lead.
“Nothing.” The word hung between us like a brick. Something was happening to me. Something very strange. Even more strange was that my family seemed to know what it was, but they didn’t want to tell me.
I’m a freak.
“I think we should go see Grandma tomorrow after school,” Muriel said.
“Grandma? Okay. Why?”
“We haven’t gone to see her in a few weeks. We should go. I’ll call and ask her to make some butterscotch brownies.”
“Okay.” I shrugged. “I’m down for some brownies.”
***
The next day at school, it happened again. I started to worry that it was going to be an everyday thing.
I walked through the crowded cafeteria. Long, rectangular tables lined the aisle. The room roared with the noise of people laughing and joking, and a person had to yell to be heard over the chaos. But I heard giggles and whispers in my ears—no, in my head. I sucked in a breath and braced myself.
The same feeling washed over me each time it happened. I could feel it building in the pit of my stomach, filling it. It was as if someone were blowing up a balloon inside of me. It rose from my stomach to my throat, making it hard to breathe. My head started to pound, and I could hear the blood rushing behind my ears. I had only one thought screaming through my head.
Stop them.
The scene fast-forwarded through my mind. They were going to trip a poor freshman as she walked by. She was scrawny, shy, wore braces and glasses, and had a bad acne problem. She had enough on her plate without some idiot tripping her in the lunchroom and embarrassing her in front of half the school.
It’s just like the little girl… I don’t even know her, but I’m drawn to her. But it isn’t my problem. I shouldn’t have to step in. I should have a choice!
I did know the other kids, though. They were notorious bullies. I knew if they were joking about tripping her, they were gonna do it.
I don’t remember walking toward their table. I didn’t choose to—I just did. Like a puppeteer moves a puppet, the feeling moved me. I had no control, even though I fought against it. The more I fought, the stronger the feeling became.
Stop them.
The girl walked toward me. I could see the bullies watching her. I approached from the opposite direction, gripping my lunch tray tightly in my hands. One of us would have to move to let the other pass, and I knew it would be her. In my mind, I could see the scene play out.
With a quick glance up, she stepped to the side so I could pass. I slowed just in front of the bullies’ table, putting myself between her and the group of overgrown two-year-olds.
A foot shot out. A wave of viciousness swept over me, and I stepped down on it with all my weight, bending his foot at a painful angle. The boy howled. I tried not to smile. It was really, really hard.
I gave him a small shrug. “Gee, I’m sorry. You really should be more careful,” I said before walking away with a smile and an unexplainable feeling of peace. I sat across from Muriel. She looked at me with a slight frown, but thankfully, she didn’t say anything.
I took in two deep breaths, letting the air hiss through my teeth. Slowly, my mind righted itself. Their voices faded—but not before I heard him call me a bitch—and the feeling disappeared. The freak show was over.
***
Muriel and I drove to Grams’ after school. I knocked on the black apartment door, which according to Grams was ‘hideous,’ and listened as Muriel told me the latest gossip from her sixth-period class. She hadn’t brought up what had happened at lunch. Maybe she didn’t notice. Yeah, right.
I jumped when the door flung open and my grams looked up at us. “Hey, Grams.” I gave my grandma a hug and kissed her baby-soft skin. It was smooth and smelled faintly of gardenia. She laid her hand, her fingers crooked from arthritis, against the side of my face.
“It’s about time you two showed up! I was beginning to think I’d have to drag you here by the nape of your necks.”
I laughed. “Sorry, Grams.”
Muriel leaned down to give Grams a hug before we went inside. “So.” Grams wheeled her wheelchair into the large, bright yellow living area and swung it around. “What brings you by?”
“Just visiting,” I said, plopping down on a vintage, purple couch. I loved that couch. It was a place I felt safe and loved. Not to mention it was wicked cool, with its back shaped like the Nike swoosh and its velvety feel. I leaned back into the couch cushions and flipped off my shoes.
“Actually,” Muriel started, sitting on the edge of a red, purple, and yellow paisley chair.
Oh, crap.
“We need to have the talk, Grams.”
“Ah. It is that time, I suppose.” Grams nodded, her snow-white curls bouncing in all directions.
“What talk?” I looked between them.
Grams took a big breath and glanced quickly at Muriel, who looked like she had a mouthful of Warhead candy. “Well, Milayna, since you’re almost eighteen, there are some things you should know—”
I shot up like I was on a springboard. “Eww, Grams. Mom already had that talk with me.”
“Good gracious, if you’d just let me finish. Cripes, that isn’t the talk I want to have with you.” She held both hands up and waved them down at me.
“Then what?” I shook my arms out at my sides.
“Get comfortable, child. This is going to turn your life sideways.”
“You’re special, Milayna.” Grams rested her elbow on the arm of her wheelchair and put her chin in her upturned hand.
“Isn’t everyone?”
“No, I mean, you’re really special. You’re a demi-angel,” she told me as if it should’ve been obvious.
“Demi what?” I’d decided Grams was more senile than I thought.
“Angel, dear, keep up.” She patted my knee. “See, your mother is a mortal…”
This is gonna be priceless.
“…and your dad is an angel. So there you go.”
“Huh? What are you talking about?” Shaking my head, I knew if I looked in the mirror just then I’d look like a fish, with my mouth opening and closing and my eyes bulging. I don’t think I blinked for a whole minute as I stared at my grandmother, waiting for her to laugh and say ‘Gotcha.’ I was always too gullible and fell for her practical jokes too easily.
“You’ve completely lost me, Grams. I think you need a brownie fix as much as I do. The sugar will clear your head.” I wiped my hands down my thighs. “You did make brownies, right? You feel okay?”
She sighed. “Yes, I made you some, but first, we need to discuss this. See, your mother is a mortal, and your father is an—”
“Yeah, I heard it the first time you said it. Funny. You had me going there for a minute. I thought you’d bought two one-way bus tickets, senile-ville for you and gullible-city for me.” I laughed and stood up to rummage through her small, galley-style kitchen in search of something to ease my brownie fix. “But you know I hate those jokes you pull on me, so can we just have some brownies like normal people?”
“Milayna! Sit down, child. This is important.”
“No—”
“Good. Let’s have brownies, huh? I’ve been waiting all day for some.” I pulled the plates out of the low cupboard made to accommodate her wheelchair.
“We’re a family of angels and half angels.”
Blinking at her persistence, I turned slightly and studied her. Her expression didn’t hold a trace of humor.
Okay, their joke was cute at first. Now, they’re starting to piss me off.
“Okay, whatever.” I set the plates down a little too hard on the counter, and they rattled against each other. I rolled my eyes. “The joke isn’t funny anymore.” I paused. My eyes narrowed, and the muscles in my neck tensed. I didn’t like practical jokes, especially ones that made my family sound like they had a padded cell reserved in their name. “Oh, I get it. Ha-freakin’-ha. You’re both hilarious.”
“Milayna, I know this is hard to believe, so I’m going to start over from the beginning. Now, like I said, you’re a demi-angel, a child of an angel parent and a human parent.”
“Wait.” I gave a half-laugh. “You really believe what you’re saying?” Grams nodded. I looked at Muriel, who’d been quiet. “And you?” She nodded once and turned her face away.
I paced the small kitchen, mulling over what Grams was telling me. One hand massaged the tension growing like a tumor in my neck muscles, and the other rubbed at the migraine knocking its way out of my forehead.
We’re either a bunch of angels, which makes me a freak like I thought and makes everyone else in my family a freak, too. Or Muriel and Grams have lost it completely—or are really trying to activate my bitch-mode with this joke.
I turned and pointed at Grams. “Angels are immortal.”
“Not necessarily. Your father is just as mortal as anyone else, but he is definitely an angel.”
“Not always, according to my mother,” I grumbled under my breath. Grams cackled at that, and I jumped before squeezing my arms around my stomach.
“No, probably not,” she agreed. “Anyway, when an angel leaves Heaven, or in some cases, is asked to leave, they become mortal. Unless they go south of the border.”
I was so confused. “Mexico?” I squeezed my eyes shut. Maybe if I kept my eyes closed long enough and pretended they weren’t there, they’d go away, and I wouldn’t have to deal with this. Whatever this was.
“No, Hell. Keep up, would you, child? If they choose to serve in Hell, they retain their immortal status, becoming a demon angel instead.”
I put my hands on either side of my head and bent over. It felt like it was spinning so fast that it was going to pop off and fly across the room like a balloon.
This is a great fairytale, but there’s no frikkin’ way it’s real. My dad is just Dad. Not a flippin’ angel. I’ve had enough of this crap. I just want a damn brownie without all the stupid practical jokes, is that too much to ask?
Slowly, I opened my eyes in time to see Grams pick a piece of lint off her shirt. When she noticed my gaze, she continued. “In the case of your father, he fell madly in love with the woman he was assigned to protect—”
I sighed. “He was her guardian angel.” I made a blah, blah, blah motion with my hand. Muriel glared at me, but she stayed quiet.
“Yep, and he left Heaven for her. He gave up his immortality and chose a life with her here on earth, which is about as close to Hell as you can get without burnin’ your toes.” She laughed at her own joke.
I stared at her and tried to figure out exactly when it was that everyone in my family went nutso. Surely, she didn’t believe what she was telling me. “Lemme guess,” I said in a sarcastic tone, walking around the kitchen counter and sitting on the couch—in the corner furthest from my grams in case whatever she had that made her go batty was contagious. “That woman was my mother?”
“Yes indeedy, speedy. Your dad lost his wings, gained a wife, and a few years later, you were born. Then they got a big surprise when little Ben made his appearance ten years later. Anyway, the two of you were born from a human and an angel, making you demi-angels. You know, like demi-gods?” Grams waved her hand in the air like she was batting them away. “They don’t exist, by the way. That whole Zeus and human thing? Who’d believe that?” She looked at me with a smile.
“Yeah. Who’d believe it?” I whispered, staring back at her. A chill ran up my spine, and I watched my grams’ steady gaze.
“But demi-angels do exist, Milayna, and I’m staring one square in the face. Actually, two. Muriel’s also a demi-angel. That’s how she knows you’re having the visions.”
I swung around in Muriel’s direction, feeling my heart speed up. “What do you know about my visions?” My hands clenched. I had the oddest fight-or-flight sensation come over me.
“I know that you see things before they happen. Bad things. I know that you can’t help yourself. If it is in your power to stop whatever is going to happen, you have to,” Muriel answered quietly. She wouldn’t meet my gaze. Instead, her eyes stayed on her lap, where she twisted her fingers together.
“Why didn’t you tell me? You knew what was happening to me, and you didn’t tell me? How could you do that to me, Muriel?” I had a heavy feeling in my chest and a lump lodged in my throat. The thought that Muriel, the one person I shared everything with and thought she did the same with me, kept something so big a secret from me? It physically hurt.
She raised her head, her eyes wide. “You would have thought I was insane. I thought I was insane.”
“You’ve let me think I’m a freak! You could have tried, Muriel. You could have tried to tell me, so I wouldn’t have been so scared that something was really wrong with me—that I wasn’t going insane.” Tears pushed at the back of my eyes, but I fought to keep them from falling. I was too angry to cry in front of Muriel. As far as I was concerned, she’d betrayed our trust.
“I’m so sorry, Milayna, but you wouldn’t talk to me when I asked. And until it happens to you, it’s pretty hard to explain. Or believe.” Muriel held out her hand to me, pleading, but I pushed it away.
Grams tsked behind me. “How long have you known, Muriel?”
“I didn’t know for sure until the day in the cafeteria. I started wondering the day at the mall.” Muriel dropped her hand.
I turned my back on Muriel and met Grams’ gaze. I asked, “So my dad and Muriel’s dad are angel brothers?”
“No. They’re just angels who happened to find each other on earth. They think of each other as family. And they are, if you think about it. They love each other like brothers. I think that makes them just as much of a family as anyone else.” She folded her hands in her lap, the sparkle in her eyes introspective. “See, angels don’t have blood family, dear. We’re created, not born like humans. Other than your mom, your brother, and you, your father is alone in this world.”
“We? You’re an angel too?” My voice went up several octaves. “Geez, all I wanted was a brownie, but what did I get? Family members jumping around, telling me they’re angels.” I rolled my eyes and tossed my hands in the air. “Okay, you have my attention. Prove it. Fly around the room. Show me your angel wings.” Throwing my arms out, I spun around. “Prove you’re an angel, Grams, because I don’t believe a word you’re saying.”
Grams’ mouth pinched down at the corners. “When we leave our home to come to earth, we become mortal. We aren’t quite human, but we lose most of our angelic abilities. I can’t fly around the room. I don’t have wings stuffed in my bra that I can whip out and show you.”
I lowered my arms and huffed. “Yeah, okay, joke’s over, guys.”
All of a sudden, the lamp on the table next to me turned on. I swung around to see who else was in the room and felt a chill trickle down my spine—no one.
“I can turn it o
ff, too.”
The light went out, and I stared at it before turning around again. “So you got one of those clapper things that turn your lights on and off automatically—big freakin’ deal. That isn’t proof of anything,” I said slowly. Trying to be inconspicuous, I looked around for the clapper thing.
But she didn’t clap. She didn’t do anything.
Grams leaned back in her wheelchair and crossed her thin arms over her chest. “Okay, try this, then.”
Every light in the apartment came on. The ceiling fans started to whir above us, and the blender buzzed in the kitchen. I jumped, a small scream slipping past my lips. My breaths came as fast as my racing heart. “What the hell…?” I looked around the room.
“Can I turn them off now? My electric bill will be outrageous this month if I have to keep turning lights on and off,” Grams said with an eye roll. Everything turned off simultaneously, just as they’d turned on.
“How’d you do that?” I stared at the floor where I’d let my shoes fall earlier, but I didn’t really see them. I didn’t see anything. In truth, I wasn’t thinking much of anything either. My mind was a mishmash of information. Angels, demi-angels, visions… My insides quivered like I was sitting on top of the washer during the spin cycle. But this wasn’t a fun kind of quivering, this was the change-your-life kind. “Angels. Angels? So, wait, if you really are an angel—”
“I am.” She folded her hands in her lap, and her gaze locked on mine.
“And angels are created, then you aren’t my real grandma? I mean, if you really were created, then we can’t be related.” It hurt to say those words out loud. My grams was everything to me. Next to Muriel, she was my best friend. I told her everything. The thought of her not really being my grandmother brought bile up my throat.
“Technically, no.”
Oh. Not the answer I wanted. Sometimes, you should keep your big mouth shut, Milayna.
“And Muriel’s not my real cousin,” I said quietly. I already knew the answer, and it was crippling. My body felt weak. If they gave me one more piece of information, I was going to crumble beneath it.
“I’m still me, Milayna! Nothing’s changed.” Muriel moved from the chair to the couch. Before I had time to react, she’d pulled me into a hug. “We are still the same people, still the same family, we were before you learned we’re angels and demi-angels.”
Milayna Page 3