by Nissa Leder
“Boss needs her captured.” Ruben shrugs and picks up his beer again.
What was the point in even setting it down if he was going to guzzle it so quickly?
“Sorry, man. I’ll do the little stuff but I have no desire to find myself that far on the Order’s bad side.”
Ruben sighed. “Boss won’t like being told no.”
“And I won’t like having my head chopped off by angel steel.” I stand and head toward the door.
I only take jobs from Ruben to keep me up-to-date with the demon community so I can find people and free Nyla sooner. While I’d love nothing more than to see that smug expression wiped off of Seraphiel’s face and let him feel what it’s like to have someone lock up his relative, I’m not an idiot. Claire is half-angel, and though my demon abilities are strong, trying to make her do anything she doesn’t want to do might not end well for me.
“Thanks for stopping by,” I say as I open the door.
Ruben catches the hint and chugs the rest of his beer, setting the empty bottle back on the table. “Let me know if you reconsider. I bet I can get Boss to double the reward.”
“You’ll be the first to know if I get a suicidal urge.” I gesture to the hallway.
He mumbles something about being a coward as he passes me. After I shut and lock the door, I plop back on the couch and pull my phone out again to reply to Ava.
I check my phone one more time before setting it in my gym locker. Mr. Larsen has a no-tolerance policy for phones, and anyone caught with one gets an immediate ticket to detention.
Still no reply from Finn.
I sigh. It’s not like I picture some romantic ending where we walk into the sunset together, but right now anything that distracts me from Darien is a good thing.
Dressed in navy shorts and a blue shirt with our school’s mascot printed in gold, I head to P.E. As I leave the locker room, I use the hair tie around my wrist to pull my hair into a ponytail.
Claire’s waiting outside in the gym. “I thought you were right behind me?”
“Sorry, had to retie my shoes,” I fib and feel a little guilty about it.
Claire and I don’t lie to each other. We’re the kind of friends who can tell each other anything, and here I am too chicken to tell her I was checking for a text. What am I so afraid of?
When Darien and I first crossed the line between friends and something more, she was the first person I told.
It was the night he threw his first touchdown on the varsity team. Right before the half, the senior QB ran the ball and rolled his ankle as he was tackled. The score was tied and it was the game that decided if the team would be the season champions. No more scores for either team in the third quarter, but with five minutes left on the clock, he sent a long pass down the field that his teammate caught in the end zone.
The crowd went wild as the team swarmed Darien. Before he disappeared in the mob of football players, he looked right at me with the biggest grin I’d ever seen him wear. I ignored the flutter I felt right then, brushing it off as excitement for a friend’s success. But later that night at the first Brown House party we attended, something changed.
We’d both had a couple of drinks, a first for us both. Tuck, one of the few sober people at the party, offered to take a couple of our classmates who’d drunk too much home, so Darien and I squished into an empty spot on the couch to wait for him to return. When we’d first arrived, everyone had come up to Darien to tell him how amazing he’d done, but now, everyone was too drunk or too busy trying to hook up to notice him anymore.
“You’re quite the school hero,” I joked as my side pressed into his.
His cheeks were red and I wasn’t sure if it was a blush or just the alcohol taking effect. I’d been surprised he’d had anything to drink. Darien always had laser focus when it came to his goals. Play football, go to med school. He’d known his life aspirations longer than anyone else I knew. Getting suspended from the team was not part of the plan. But the high he felt from the game had him brave, and the alcohol had loosened him up.
“Is that a blush I see?” I opened my mouth in fake shock. “What have you done with the cool, calm, collected Darien I used to know?”
He poked my stomach playfully. “I can relax and have fun now and again.”
I squinted an eye is disbelief. “When do you ever do something without thinking it through at least ten times?”
Then without any warning, he leaned in and kissed me.
My eyes closed and I felt the warmth from his lips on mine. It was quick but not any less life-changing for its brevity. When he pulled away and I opened my eyes to meet his, I knew he’d felt the same thing I did. We gazed at each other, silent for at least a minute before Tuck’s voice pulled us away.
“There you guys are,” Tuck yelled from across the room.
Darien stood so quickly it was like the couch was on fire. “We better get going. Gran and Pops won’t be happy if I’m out too late.”
Tuck glanced at me. “You coming too?”
“I should find Claire,” I mumbled. “Gotta make sure she’s behaving herself.”
Tuck raised an eyebrow. “As if that’s even possible.”
After they left, I searched the house until I found Claire kissing some senior guy in the hallway. When she saw me, she knew I needed her.
If telling her about Darien had been my first instinct, why is telling her about Finn the last thing I want to do?
Since the clouds rolled in, thunder and lightning are close to the school and we’re stuck inside the gym today. Mr. Larsen brings out some basketballs and says to just shoot around for the period. Nothing like sharing a gym with a bunch of sweaty guys right after lunch.
After I grab a basketball to share with Claire and turn, I almost run into the new girl dressed in a black t-shirt and black shorts. I’m surprised she doesn’t wear black lipstick. She looks right at me without a smile then passes me to grab a basketball for herself.
“Oh, right,” Mr. Larsen says as he sees her too. “Everyone, we have a new student. This is Rachel Sharp,” he gestures to the new girl, “here all the way from Tennessee.”
Rachel glares at him. Apparently, being introduced to the entire class is not something she wanted. I can’t help but chuckle at her annoyed expression.
No one really pays much attention.
Against my better judgment, I ask her, “Wanna come to shoot over there with us?” I gesture to Claire, who is waiting at a hoop on the side of the gym.
“Why not,” Rachel says as she walks past me toward Claire. I notice she’s still wearing open-fingered gloves, despite the gym being both hot and humid.
I hadn’t expected any jumping for joy, but a sure, thanks might have been nice. Then again, after her indifferent response when we introduced ourselves at the football game, I’m not sure why I didn’t predict as much.
We shoot for a few minutes before Claire breaks the silence. “So, Tennessee. What brings you all the way across the country?”
Rachel tosses the ball at the basket completely wrong.
Sports have never been much of my thing, but I’ve played basketball my entire life and am surprisingly decent at it. Dad played in college and always wanted to coach his kid’s team, so up until high school, I always played just so he could coach. Then he seemed so excited at the thought of me playing on the school’s team, I couldn’t quit.
“Family,” Rachel says as the ball bounces off of the backboard.
“Are the gloves a family thing?” Claire rests her hand on her hip as she stares at her.
Rachel meets her stare. “Something like that.”
The gloves are a bit odd, but I feel like I’m missing some part of the conversation. Then again, Claire doesn’t always play nice with others, and my guess is Rachel doesn’t either.
Neither talks to the other again, so I chime in.
“I saw you talking to Darien.” I shoot the ball from the free-throw line. It swishes through the net. “Do
you two know each other?”
I try to act indifferent, but even I can hear the jealous tone in my voice.
“Just met,” Rachel says. “You two together or something?”
“We used to date but not anymore.” I shrug as if it’s no big deal.
Claire stares at me, blinking as if I said the wrong thing. “They’re just taking a break. They’ve been together for years.”
“Oh,” is all Rachel says.
A chorus of bouncing balls and squeaking shoes echoes through the gym. In addition to the gym’s two main hoops, two hoops line the walls on each side. A group of guys uses the actual court to scrimmage, and I’m regretting not asking to play with them. This conversation was doomed from the start.
Mr. Larsen blows the whistle and interrupts us, which to be honest, I’m grateful for.
He tells us to put the basketballs away and walk around the gym for the rest of the period. Rachel goes ahead by herself while Claire and I walk side-by-side.
So much for me trying to be the bigger person and welcome Rachel to our school.
“You have a problem with her or something?” I ask after a lap.
“She seems rude and arrogant,” Claire says. “Besides that, she’s lovely.”
“I think she likes Darien or something,” I say. “She doesn’t seem the type to gawk at someone for no reason, and I know I saw her staring.”
“Yeah, but you and Darien have years of history together.”
“You didn’t see the way he looked at her at the Brown House.” I remember the intensity of his stare. Despite the darkness, his attraction to her couldn’t be missed. “You have to admit she’s pretty. Exotic, like you.”
Claire huffs and rolls her dark eyes. “And you’re gorgeous. That porcelain skin and those alluring light eyes.”
“Maybe I’m just reading into things too much.”
“I’m sure you are.” Claire bumps her hip with mine. “Things will work out.”
I’d like to share her optimism, but I don’t. Every time I think of Darien my heart aches and I don’t want to feel the hole of missing him. After P.E. is over, I go straight to my locker and check my phone.
My screen lights up with a new text.
When can I see you again?
I glance behind me to make sure no one is watching. Distracting myself with another guy isn’t the smart thing to do, especially someone I barely know. But that doesn’t stop me from replying, I’m done with school at three.
6
The bell blares inside my brain with all the ease of a jackhammer.
The only thing that sucks worse than this headache and the fact that I’m hallucinating is Advanced French.
At least it’s over.
But while the rest of the class rushes from the room, I’m still staring dumbfounded at the wall clock that reads 3 p.m.
I have mixed feelings.
On the one hand, I have football practice, which means I’ll have to endure the endless throbbing of my brain with every movement, which will probably result in lots of dry heaving.
On the other hand, I have football practice, which means there’s the potential for me to take a hit hard enough to knock my brain back to normal.
“Monsieur Crain? Do you need something?”
Right. I’m the only one in the room. Madame Reynolds is watching me expectantly through large glasses with thick lenses. Fingerprints are smudged in the left corner, their grooves highlighted as they catch the fluorescent light.
“Darien?” she repeats. “I asked if you need anything? Do you have a question about today’s composition?”
“Um, no, Madame. Just waiting a minute for the halls to clear.”
“Oh,” she says. “Well, I have late duty …”
Right. She needs to lock up and I’m sitting here like an idiot.
“Sorry.”
I grab my books and squint against the dimly lit hallway. Bodies rush in every direction, locker doors slam, and people yell back and forth, making after-school plans. Couples press against walls, whisper secrets in alcoves, and make out, half-hidden by metal locker doors. My head feels like some kind of infected abscess about to burst, and all the frantic activity overwhelms my senses. Tuck’s dad once compared the behavior in the halls at Cascade High to a barely contained den of horny lions. I’d laughed when he said it, partly because a Presbyterian minister had just used the word horny, and partly because it made him sound like a stuffy old geezer.
Now, I’m thinking he wasn’t wrong.
I shoulder through the pack like I’m swimming upstream. All the noise rattles around in my head, making my ears itch.
But when I round the corner to my locker, everything fades to a quiet buzz.
Rachel Sharp is standing at her locker, putting her books in a black messenger bag.
I stand there, watching her for a minute.
I still don’t understand, but I’m completely at her mercy. It’s like some kind of force, like gravity, is drawing me to her. Before I have time to consider what I’m doing, I’m walking in her direction, dodging the pack of freshman girls who linger in the senior hall in the hopes of catching the eye of an upperclassman.
Seeing me, Rachel falters, and a black lace glove floats to the floor. As Pops would say, opportunity rarely knocks twice, so I pick up the pace and grab the glove before she can get to it.
“So is this some sort of fashion statement?” I ask. I don’t get the gloves. I don’t really get the whole “dark” look at all. But I get her. Or at least, I want to.
“No more than your jock jacket,” she says with a smirk. She points to the letter on my coat. “You feelin’ ok, QB? You took quite the tumble in the commons area this morning.”
Oh, God. Kill me now.
“You saw that, huh?” I can feel the color rise to my cheeks.
“Darien, I hate to be the one to break this to you, but I’m pretty sure the entire student body saw that. What happened, anyway? Someone tie your shoelaces together?”
Her tone says she’s joking, but there’s something in her expression. Something worried.
“Uh, here,” I say, holding out the glove.
“Oh, yeah,” she says. “Thanks.”
She reaches for the glove.
My fingers graze the palm of her hand.
The world explodes.
A white light, brighter than the sun, replaces the dim hall. Warmth spreads through me. A thousand colors, familiar ones and ones I can’t even name, flicker and sway like a prism catching the light. I can’t explain it, but I feel like I’m weightless, floating in a lake. For a moment, it’s like I’m part of the light, my whole body warm and alive. I’m heated to my very soul, and flashes of buried memories, happy ones, play like a slideshow in my mind.
Pops and I flying a kite on the beach, the surf splashing over our feet and ankles.
Gran and Pops cooking breakfast in the kitchen.
The smell of maple syrup and bacon.
Pops whistling as he sweeps the front steps.
Gran singing quietly as she weeds the garden.
The roar of the crowd after my first touchdown pass.
Ava and Tuck fighting over the controller during one of our gaming nights.
The images fade. The warmth I feel is replaced by cold air. Cinderblock walls, blue lockers, and buzzing lights come back into focus.
Rachel’s eyes are closed, and her face is only inches from mine. I can feel her warm breath against my cheek. I’m a second away from leaning in and kissing her, but then, she opens her eyes.
Her face twists with horror.
The connection breaks.
I blink back to reality, sober and grounded.
“What the hell was that?” The question bursts from my mouth before I can stop it.
Before I can register what’s happening, Rachel slams her locker and races down the hall, the rubber soles of her boots squeaking against the hard floor.
She flies out the double doors and disappears
into the afternoon light.
I lean back against the lockers and slide down until I’m sitting on the floor. For weeks, I’ve thought I’m crazy. My eyes are screwed up. I’m hearing voices that can’t be real. I’m seeing creatures that shouldn’t exist, and for the second time today, the unlikely girl of my dreams has lit up like a human sparkler.
Ever since Pops’ death, I’ve felt sick, like I’m on the edge of some dark discovery.
A sudden death.
A terminal diagnosis.
A crippling injury.
But for the first time in weeks, the headache that has been plaguing me, the dread that has shrouded every hour, the pain and hurt lingering from Pops’ death, all the torment is gone.
Disappeared like it had never been there at all.
I know it’s crazy. I know it doesn’t make any sense. I know it’s impossible.
But I’m starting to think that with a single touch, Rachel Sharp healed all of my pain.
When the day’s final bell chimes, I grab my phone from my bag. I’ve checked it at least five times since P.E. but still no response from Finn. I’m not really sure what I was expecting. And truthfully, I’m not even sure what I was thinking texting him back so boldly.
As I turn the corner to my locker, my stare finds Darien instantly like it always has. His broad shoulders and messy head of hair are hard to miss, and I’d recognize the strut to his walk anywhere. He’s ahead of me, halfway down the hall, but I consider calling to him. We haven’t spoken in days. It’s barely been two weeks since his Pops passed, and even if he needs some time to process us as a couple, how can I not be there for him as a friend?
Before I can speak his name, he bends down to grab something and I see Rachel glancing down at him. He says something to her and her lips curve into the slightest grin. I wait, thinking maybe he will hand her whatever he picked up and continue on his way, but he doesn’t. Instead, their conversation continues.
My heart crumples, a piece of paper balled in an angry fist.
Books still in my hand, I turn around and storm through the swinging doors outside, hoping the fresh air will remind me how to breathe. He is just talking to her. It shouldn’t be a big deal. So why does it hurt so much?