A Shimmer of Angels (2 page)

I was sold.

Daphne tilted her head, propping it up with her hand. A dull sheen coated her hooded eyes, mirroring the luggage and yellow-tinted concealer beneath them. “We pay minimum wage, offer flexible hours for students, and we’re desperate.” She leaned in closer, dropping her arm. I waited, wondering if her head would fall without the support. “What’s your name, darlin’?”

“Rayna, but I go by Ray.”

“You know, Ray, you have to be at least sixteen to—”

A siren cut through the air. I jerked my gaze to the window in time to watch an ambulance squeal around the corner and out of sight. Daphne was still talking. I knew that, but I couldn’t make myself hear the words. Couldn’t tear my gaze from the corner of the building, where the ambulance had disappeared. Couldn’t quite make myself believe it wasn’t coming back for me.

Daphne’s cigarette-etched voice rose above the fading wail, a note of suspicion lacing her next words. “You’re not one of those runaways, are you? ‘Cause I’ll need a parent or guardian’s signature for the work permit.”

I dragged my attention back to the interview.
It’s just an ambulance
, I told myself, willing my shaky hands still. At least they were under the table, out of sight. I dug my nails into my palms to keep myself in the moment.

“I’m sixteen and definitely not a runaway. Just new to San Francisco.” A dish crashed to the floor. I flinched, immediately hating myself for it. The time away from the SS Crazy hadn’t made me any less jumpy. But there was little difference between the sound of that dish breaking into a million white pieces and that of a fellow schizophrenic throwing the contents of her dinner tray at my head.

A waitress with way too much cleavage stooped beside the counter to pick up the pieces. The bell above the cook’s station chimed, and a man at the table behind Lee bellowed for service. Daphne and I turned toward the yelling customer, totally busting Lee, who was watching Cleavage Waitress a little too closely.

Daphne squirmed to the edge of the booth. “Glamour calls. Jot down the hours you’re available and any previous references you have.” She slid her ordering pad and pen toward me and climbed the rest of the way out of the booth, her joints popping as she stood. “I’ll be right back.”

She shuffled toward the pick-up window. I watched her balance five omelet specials across her arm, dropping them off at the table behind Lee. She returned to the counter and shoved a broom into the clumsy waitress’s hands. I looked down at the blank ordering pad in front of me.

Previous references
. I cradled the pen in my hand, waiting for it to write something—anything that would make me appear experienced, confident, and sane. Somehow, I didn’t think library apprentice or gardening instructor at a mental health clinic would accomplish that.

Daphne returned much quicker than I had anticipated. Her hands popped up to her hips, and she quirked her lips, waiting.

“So,” I began, determined not to let my anxiety get the best of me. “I don’t have any previous references and I can be here by three thirty, but I have a standing appointment on the second Wednesday of every month.” My monthly check-in with Dr. Fritz, the local psychiatrist who monitored my meds—not to be confused with the school therapist I met with once a week—could not be missed. Ms. Morehouse, my school therapist, was the only reason Dad was letting me attend public school.

Daphne drummed the table with her fingers, her droopy eyes peeling back the layers of my psyche. “Hmm. You’ve got a sweet face.”

I bored the toe of my Converse into the linoleum. I didn’t like her examining me like that. She had no idea what lay beneath the “sweet face.”

“It’s a good face,” she continued. “The kind that could bring in more business. So do you want the job or not?”

My first big decision on the outside. I had to do it, if only to show Dad and Dr. G that I wasn’t some fragile girl afraid of her own shadow. Determination welled in my chest. I straightened up and pulled back my shoulders. “You’ve got yourself a new waitress.”

She tugged a thin stack of papers from her apron pocket. “Fill these out and bring them back in a day or two.” She shook a finger at me. “Don’t forget a parent’s signature.”

Yes, yes, yes!
“Great, no problem.”

Daphne’s shoulders relaxed, and she smiled—she seemed almost as relieved as I was. She shuffled off to a table closer to the counter, stockings sagging around her left ankle. My lip curled as I took one last critical look at the uniform. I’d been dressed in worse.

I rolled the papers between my hands as I walked back to Lee.

“Did you get the job?” Lee asked between clicks of his phone.

I pulled my backpack up from the floor by its purple handle and tucked Daphne’s papers into my English binder.

“I think I did.”

He looked up from his tiny screen long enough to offer me a smile. “That’s great, Ray!”

Yeah, it’s great now, but wait until Dad and Dr. G find out. Then, the opposite of great. Potentially disastrous.

And what if Dr. G and Dad were right? What if I really was too fragile to hold down a job, to interact with a demanding public, to pour coffee for low-caffeinated patrons? I tucked my hands behind my elbows. What if I wasn’t really better at all?

Movement in the window caught my eye. I checked my breath and dragged my gaze up from the table, forcing myself to look out the window. Throngs of people passed through Union Square daily for the shopping and world-famous cable cars. Today was no different. The corner of Powell and Sutter bustled with business men and women and tourists toting cameras over their shoulders. But not a wing in sight.

My heart slowed to a normal pace, and a relaxed smile crept across my face. I could do this. I was stronger than the madness. I grabbed my backpack, hoisting it over my shoulder. “You know, Lee, I think today might just be a good day.”

Chapter Two

“A good day, huh?” Lee meticulously wrapped up his ear buds, wiped down his phone’s screen, and tucked them into a cloth-lined case. “I did just beat my high score in
Die, Zombie, Die!
So you could be on to something.”

Dr. G always told me to celebrate the small victories, and Mom had taught me to dance like no one’s watching. My happy dance—a wiggle to the right, then two bounces left—caught him off guard. He snorted a laugh.

I let Lee’s smile infect me and grinned back at him. It felt good, until I caught my warped reflection in the metal napkin holder. What a sorry excuse for a smile. My eyes showed a bit too much white, my lips a fraction too wide to pass as normal.

Tightness crawled up my throat, and my smile died a quick death. I looked over my shoulder, surprised that no one was staring at the crazy girl. Just to be sure, I checked over the other. I took a deep breath, smoothing the end of my ponytail down, the way my mother had when I was little.

Normal. Be normal and everything will be fine. Today
will
be a great day.

Lee checked his watch. It was his father’s watch and hung so loose on his wrist I was constantly worried he’d lose it. His smile faded. “Oh, Tardis!” Despite the morning I’d had so far, my lips twitched into a smile—a genuine one, this time, and a side-effect of having a best friend whose curses consisted of
Dr. Who
references. “We’re gonna be late for school!”

“Not today. Today is going to be a good day.” The zippers on my backpack clinked together as I yanked the heavy bag out of the booth and shrugged it over my shoulder. Dad would never agree to let me work if just the interview made me late for school. Then again, if Dad had his way, I’d be homeschooled and never allowed outside.

Lee and I bolted from our booth and out the door, the diner doorbell chiming as we left. A fall wind whipped around me, lashing the ends of my hair across my cheeks. I pulled my jacket’s faux-fur hood over my rumpled tresses and glared enviously at Lee’s spiky, over-styled hair. It never so much as quivered as we dashed across the street in defiance of the yellow traffic light—a dangerous feat in this city thanks to the crazy drivers and bicyclists.

We passed one of those Halloween superstores halfway down Powell Street, and I knew what Lee meant to say before he opened his mouth.

“I almost forgot; the Halloween Dance posters went up yesterday. We’re still going, right?” He popped a piece of peppermint candy he’d swiped from the diner into his mouth.

When Lee and I first met, I was so excited to have a friend—one I could make future plans with beyond stringing bead bracelets in Arts and Crafts hour before the meds wore off—that I had jumped at the idea of a school dance. Now that the dance was a few short weeks away, I was having second thoughts. And third and fourth ones.

One look at how excited Lee was, and I knew I’d try. For him.

“Are you sure you can keep up with
this
?” We stopped at a streetlight and I busted out another happy dance, just to hear him snort again.

“I don’t know if I’ve ever told you this, but when you
dance
,” he threw up air quotes, “you disgrace dancers everywhere.” The light changed, and we maneuvered through the dense traffic still crowding the crosswalk.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said. “Do my awesome dance moves embarrass you? Or maybe they secretly make you feel inadequate?”

Truth is, that really was my only dance move. Spending time in a psychiatric hospital isn’t the best way to learn anything useful. Not when all music, TV, movies, books, magazines, and anything else remotely entertaining had to be pre-approved by the SS Crazy. I hadn’t been out long, but already I hated to think of what life would be like again if I had to give up the new music, horror flicks, and swoony summer beach reads. Even more so, I hated to think about what had landed me there in the first place. I couldn’t go back.

I turned to Lee and found him staring at a girl in a miniskirt. I shook my head. “That’s two.”

“What? Nuh-uh. That was only one.” The peppermint candy crackled as he chewed.

“Nope. Cleavage Waitress at the diner was one. Miniskirt makes two. And it’s only … what time is it?”

“8:03.”

Crap. Two minutes until first bell, and we were still three blocks away. Without another word, we ran through Union Square’s busiest streets, dodging cars, dog walkers, and packed sidewalks. We skirted around the corner of Ellis Street just in time to hear the bell ring. We exchanged “Oh, shit!” looks, raced halfway down the block, flung open the fingerprint-smudged glass door, and trampled up the steps of Stratford Independence High School.

“See you at lunch,” I said, half out of breath. Lee saluted me at the second floor, and we parted ways. Maybe I’d make it to class on time. Maybe if I didn’t, Dad wouldn’t find out.

Stillness settled over the third floor. I pressed forward, fear of getting caught mounting with each step. The buzz from inside my classroom slashed through the hallway the moment I opened the back door. All eyes turned in my direction. I stopped breathing. In an instant, being late to class became the least of my concerns.

It was like stepping into quicksand. I felt myself sinking slowly down into something I knew would not be easy to climb out of. I dug the nails of my right hand into the palm of my left to steady me.

Because there, standing in front of my Honors English classroom, was a boy with brilliantly shimmering wings.

Chapter Three

It’s happening. Again.

“Rayna.” I barely heard Ms. Cleeson’s voice over the panic bubbling up inside me. “Can you please take your seat?” I pulled the door shut. It slammed, making me jump. Ms. Cleeson barely glanced in my direction. As if signaled by the door slam, she and the class collectively turned their attention back to the boy, all of them acting like
I
was the morning’s unwelcome interruption.

“Cam … Cam-el, is it?” She leaned over her desk, rifling through the paperwork beneath her baby bump.

“Cam is fine,” the winged boy corrected her politely.

I couldn’t move my feet, which was a problem because I wanted to run as far away as I could. Sweat started at my temples, trickling down the sides of my face. If anyone had noticed his wings or my panic, I guessed they would have said something by now. I turned away, but I couldn’t escape the light emanating from those enormous wings.

Ms. Cleeson thanked him. “Rayna, our new student was just introducing himself.”

That was pretty obvious. What was not so obvious was what a boy with wings was doing in my classroom. I closed my eyes, squeezing them tight until the colored spots dancing in the darkness faded. When I reopened them, I saw the residual imprint of wings. The wings shone, their feathery tips moving in a slow rhythm as they floated up and down.

Unable to move, I muttered through clenched teeth, “I, uh, I … forgot my book.”
Nice save
. I spun around, envisioning a seamless escape, and slammed into the door instead. With sweaty fingers I fumbled for the doorknob, unable to perform the simple act of grasp and twist.

Oh, God.

My breath came short and sharp. I pressed my body into the door, willing it to open. The inevitable chuckles from my classmates rang in my ears.

Just then, a hand swooped in and swallowed the doorknob—and my hand—whole. A high-pitched scream from deep within me drowned out the snickers in the room.

I glanced over my shoulder to confirm what I already knew: the fingers belonged to the new kid. He twisted the knob, and the door groaned open. His hand released me. I bolted down the hall, into the one place I hoped he wouldn’t follow: the girls’ bathroom.

The sharp sting of lemon cleaner and bleach invaded my nose. I flung my backpack against the wall. It hit with a satisfying
thwack
and crumpled to the floor. Frosted glass windows above the stalls suppressed the clamor of cars and pedestrians on the busy street below. I paced the short length of the bathroom, but it didn’t seem to help the constriction that tightened my chest until it hurt to breathe. My lungs burned.
Breathe.
I forced in a sharp intake of air.