A Shimmer of Angels (8 page)

I almost laughed, but I couldn’t afford to let him take me off track. I was determined to keep him away from the new kid. “You’re not even giving it any thought. There’s something … off about him.”

“Have you even tried talking to him?”

I pushed my sandwich away for the second day in a row, worrying my lower lip between my teeth. I’d never tried to get to know one of the winged hallucinations before. I’d spent most of my time trying to avoid them. Maybe that was the problem. I’d never seen wings on someone I knew personally. If Lee was going to make friends with the new kid—with Cam—I had two choices: quit being Lee’s friend, or find a way past the wings.

Dr. G had told me the key to my sanity was knowledge. He was right. It was time for me to get to know the boy with the wings and face this thing head on. I was done running.

Chapter Twelve

After lunch and Music class, I sat across from Cam in History. He focused on note-taking. His wings dipped up and down with every breath he took.

“Is there something I can help you with?” His gaze locked onto mine before I could pretend to be studying anything but him. His tone was inquisitive and curious, while his eyes invited the truth.

My fingers tensed beneath the table. When I spoke, there was far too much inflection in my voice. “Uh, no.”

I flung my gaze down to my notebook. Several tortured minutes later, when I finally managed to convince myself he was refocused on class, I glanced up.

He was focused all right. On me.

The hypnotic flow of those remarkable wings drew me in again. His eyes narrowed, a question tightening his forehead. “What are you looking at?” He whispered.

“What do you mean?” I kept my voice low, covering almost flawlessly this time.

He frowned at me, then turned his attention back to class. Mr. Barnes scribbled several dates on the chalkboard, linking them with names of famous Civil War … generals, I think.

This was stuff I should probably know. I copied everything down, noticing I was two pages behind in the textbook. I flipped the pages and looked away. I’d always hated history. So boring. Mr. Barnes droned on and on.

A shaft of sunlight drew my eyes toward the window. Actual freaking sun! I sat back in my seat so I wouldn’t rush off toward the window and get detention or something. Shimmering gold, like light off a sparkler, pulled me back to Cam’s wings. The sun made them glow.

His wings jerked, their immeasurable wingspan opening so quickly I didn’t have time to look away. The breeze they created shifted my hair into my eyes. I looked up at him from beneath its cover. With trembling fingers, I reached up and pushed my dark hair aside.

Surprise jolted him. His eyes grew wide and round, spoiling his angelic face with absolute awareness. His jaw slackened and his fist clamped down onto his pen, snapping it in half. Black ink splashed over his hand, white t-shirt, and well-fitted, green plaid over-shirt.

Oh, God.

I scrambled for my books, sweeping them into my bag. My chair skittered into the kid sitting at the table behind me. I didn’t even get out a “sorry” before fleeing the classroom.

“Rayna,” Mr. Barnes yelled after me, followed by something else I couldn’t quite hear before the bell rang, ending sixth period.

I didn’t look back as people piled into the halls, simply dodged them, ran up a flight of stairs to the third floor, and took solace in the girls’ bathroom.

What the hell just happened? They couldn’t be real.

They were real, I
felt
the air rushing pass me. But, no. No, no, no, no, no, no. How else do I explain that? God, could he be a real angel? Could they all have been real?!

A hysterical bubble of laughter burbled up my throat. I swallowed it down.

Angels—real ones—don’t exist. Maybe. Or not.

My back pressed up against the same tile wall I’d used for comfort yesterday when he’d first arrived, and I slid to the ground.

I couldn’t crumble now. There was too much to do, too much still to figure out.

The toilet in the second stall flushed, startling me to my feet. I pulled it together enough to splash water on my face and run into the hallway. The last thing I needed was another episode of “tweaker girl’s hiding in the bathroom.”

Twenty-six quick, but measured, steps brought me to the Art room for my last class of the day.

Just make it through the day; hold it together.

A streak of gold skimmed the thinning group of students in the hallway, catching my eye. I stopped just outside the classroom. Turned very slowly toward the odd light.

Cam watched me, half in the hallway, half in the stairwell. The very stairway where Allison had taken her last steps. Confusion and anger marred his face. His lips parted, as if to speak.

No
.

I turned and ran into the classroom, my heart throbbing in the back of my throat. But he didn’t show up in the doorway.

Good. That was good.

I pulled my knees up to my chest—difficult to do on a tall stool—hoping no one would notice how much I was shaking. Real. Those wings were as real as the sweat coating my forehead, neck, and palms.

Chapter Thirteen

An eternity later, the bell rang, signaling the start of Art class. My odd posture attracted a few stares. But I couldn’t look crazy. If I got sent to answer Ms. Morehouse’s probing questions, I didn’t think I’d be able to think straight enough to lie my way around them. Slowly, I lowered my legs to the floor and reached for my backpack. Sun glinted off something. I tensed, dropping my bag. Nothing. It was nothing. Just sun.

How can those wings be real? For so many years they told me they weren’t! I’ve been fooled. Or lied to.

Real. They were real. But they couldn’t be.

Someone was speaking, distracting me from thoughts I shouldn’t be thinking. At the front of the classroom, a woman in a long floral dress unveiled an abstract painting. A sub. Mrs. Pheffer probably couldn’t handle what had happened to Allison, either.

The sub wrote several words on the chalkboard. Colors. Blocking. Surrealism. Like I needed anyone to explain
surreal
to me. Her words faded, lost again to my own internal shouts.

I saw Cam. He saw me. Maybe we saw each other for what we really were.

I swallowed, hearing the swish of saliva slide down my throat.

Slow down
, I told myself, reaching for an anchor.

Dr. G’s “knowledge is power” speech soothed me somewhat.
Start with what you know as fact, then discover and uncover the rest. The more you’re sure about, the less confused you’ll be.

So you felt something
, I began, trying to break it down rationally.
You saw the wings. You felt them blow wind into your face, but there was no physical touch.
That meant there were still three other senses that haven’t been tested. Yet. I thought I could pull off a sniff test, but I didn’t much feel like trying to taste his wings. What would I even say?
Oh, don’t mind me, Cam. I’m just going to be back here, licking the air behind you back. No biggie
. I barked out a hysterical laugh.

Every head in the classroom turned in my direction. I slapped a hand over my mouth and forced my eyes down. The rhythm pounding in my pulse belonged at a rave. I was losing it.

I forced my thoughts back on track. Had I really felt anything? That breeze could have come from anywhere—an overzealous air duct, a window some rebellious student had cracked open—and here I was convinced that it had come from Cam’s wings.
Wings
.
It was just wind, Rayna.

So, if taste was out, touch and smell were left. The boy smelled like a damn lawnmower—which I loved—but was that his wings or just him? No way would I get close enough to touch them—not now, and probably not ever, if I wanted people to believe I was still sane.

There had to be another way.

When I looked up again, determined to keep up with the normal kids, I noticed my classmates had gathered their materials and were already hard at work. I fought myself out of my stool and to the supply room. Where it was dark—no sun to glint off anything, no people around. I wedged myself into the corner and sank to the floor. I needed a minute. Just one. I pulled my knees to my chest and hugged them, but wouldn’t let myself rock. The beginning of tears stung my eyes. I couldn’t let myself unravel. Not here. Not now.

I shot up to my feet and bumped into the shelf beside me. Tubes of white, green, and blue paint smashed to the ground. I wiped my eyes and scurried to pick them up before someone came in. Scrambling, I picked up a palette and squirted a few colors on it, grabbed my set of brushes from my cubby hole, and raced back to my stool.

The sub was safely making rounds. Everyone was engulfed in their work like nothing had happened yesterday. Like Allison hadn’t been in pain and run out of here, never to be seen alive again.

I gripped the largest brush in my hand and let my eyes drift closed. The image of Allison’s painting kept springing to mind. Even though the glance I got yesterday was brief, I was sure there were wings. Allison had drawn … an angel.

The image faded in my mind. I opened my eyes. The sub loomed over me.

She knelt. “Is everything all right here?” Her hair was wild and, up this close, her stout features were prominent. In her dress, the short woman resembled a tree stump.

I swallowed, pretending my mind hadn’t just been on the verge of breaking completely.

Get a grip, Rayna.
Allison’s painting couldn’t have had wings. Everything these past two days had to be stress manifesting in unexpected—or, for me at least, very much expected—ways. It had to be. My craziness had taken over, devoured every rational thought.

Even if they weren’t real, I’d been seeing wings again for almost thirty-six hours. The relapse had already begun. This was the worst, feeling real life slip through my fingers while everyone watched. My schizophrenia was intensifying, getting worse. Nothing could be worse than that. Nothing.

The sub simply stood there, looking up at me. I made my shaking lips move. “Fine, just … imagining what to paint.”

Get a hold of yourself!

The wide-eyed sub nodded, but didn’t move along to the next sorry soul. What did she want from me? My pulse hammered. Maybe subs got the same general warning about me the regular teachers did:
keep an eye on that one
. If I didn’t do something soon, she’d call Ms. Morehouse.

I smeared my brush in the green paint. Before I could think, I streaked a thick, diagonal line across the canvas.
Good one
. Now I’d have to struggle with how to finish this assignment.

The sub tapped the tips of her fingers on her lips. “Bold choice,” she said, then moved to my left.

My head whirled like a centrifuge, spinning out of control. I needed an anchor, a way to put these thoughts away before they exploded out of me. With shaking fingers, I dropped the paintbrush and smoothed my hair back, then dug into my backpack for my secret notebook. I roughly sketched the image I remembered from Allison’s canvas with the edge of a dull pencil.

Around me, each brush stroke, footstep, and whisper set me on edge. Every few seconds I peered over my shoulders. No one could know how much I was slipping. No one could see the thoughts in this notebook.

My original idea of throwing out the notebook before I got home, erasing any trace of these thoughts, was beginning to unravel. It had already become a part of me, as important to my sanity as any of the lessons I’d learned from Dr. G. Detaching from it now would be like using Miracle-Gro to get rid of weeds; stupid and so not logical.

The final bell rang while I was still in deep thought with my notebook. I washed my brush, packed up my notebook, and ran to the main stairway, hoping to disappear in the faceless crowd.

Through the glass front doors, I spotted Lee in our usual meeting spot, right out in front, leaning against the black handrail. The gray afternoon seemed brighter than usual. I blinked and looked again. The unmistakable sparkle of wings cast a sort of halo around Lee.

The slow gulp of cool air I took lodged in my throat. Two minutes ago I’d wanted nothing more than to disappear into the crowd. Now, as the rush of students pressed into me, forcing me toward those wings, I was wishing I’d gone down the deserted back staircase. I pushed past the glass doors with numb fingers.

It was as if Lee was standing with the devil himself—assuming the devil looked like he’d stepped out of an Abercrombie and Fitch billboard.

“Ray!” Lee straightened, waving his hands to get my attention. Cam stared at me from over Lee’s shoulder. I clenched my fists around the straps of my backpack and weaved over to them. “This is Cam.” Excitement never left his voice. “He’s gonna walk with us.”

The blood from my face drained.
Not in this lifetime
.

Cam didn’t look at all surprised to see me. His smile was meant to look casual, but muscles ticked in his jaw, warning me there was something barely contained lurking beneath that cool exterior. His gray eyes studied me just as deeply as I studied him.

I inched closer to Lee and swallowed. “Actually, I forgot. I’m supposed to pick my sister up from school.” The lie tumbled out before I realized I’d be leaving my best friend with Cam … and those wings.

I slid my gaze to them. Almost every spectrum of light shimmered from his feathers. Outside they were prismatic, even now that the fog had returned. His face gleamed slightly, like his skin had been infused with gold powder. He squinted at me, obviously mistrusting.

Ditto, buddy.

“Oh, that’s kinda great, ‘cause I’m meeting my mom at her work today.” Lee’s tone dripped sweetness, like his tongue was made of taffy. With all the candy he ate, it was a serious possibility. “Should we go?” He angled around us and started walking.

Out of excuses, Cam and I followed, keeping the same pace alongside Lee. Him to one side, me on the other.