Budding Star (2 page)

Lola came rushing after me. “What’s wrong,
carita
? Are you ill?”

“Maybe,” I whimpered. “I don’t know.”

“Are you having one of your big bad premonitions?”

“I don’t know.” And I burst out crying.

My friend tried to calm me down, saying all trainees had wobbles sometimes, and would it help if she sang our special theme tune, but that just made me completely hysterical.

Lola didn’t know what to do with me. “Why isn’t Reubs here?” she muttered. “He sure picked his moment to go on a tiger-watching trip.”

Our teacher, Mr Allbright came over looking concerned. “Is there a problem?”

“I can’t do it,” I choked. “I can’t go in that portal.”

He gave me a searching look. “Been having bad dreams? Cold sweats? Upset stomach?”

I nodded dumbly.

“You’re obviously in no condition to go time-travelling,” he said. “I’m sure Fern won’t mind taking you back to school.”

Lola wanted to stay behind to make sure I was OK, but Mr Allbright said I probably just needed a rest. So they all went off without me.

Fern drove me back to school in an Agency car. I was sure she was secretly disgusted with me. She was just too professional to let it show.

At last we pulled up outside my dorm. Before I could get out, she did this nervous cough. “I’m not a medic,” she said in her cool grown-up voice, “but I’m fairly sure what you had just then was a cosmic panic attack.”

It sounded horrendous, but I had to admit “cosmic panic attack” pretty much described the experience.

“You’ve really got two choices,” Fern said in the same cool, businesslike voice. “You can face your fears or you might just want to reconsider your future career. Some people simply aren’t cut out for this kind of work.”

That morning Fern was wearing her silky hair pinned in a French pleat. It made her look like a perfect little Agency doll. I just knew Fern had never had a cosmic panic attack in her life.

I spent the next hour in my room, face down on my bed.

Fern’s voice kept replaying in my head.
Some people
just aren’t cut out for this kind of work.
Some people
just aren’t…
Some people
…

I HAD to be an agent. If I wasn’t an agent, what would I be?

I buried my face in the woolly blue bear Reuben won for me at the fair, and cried. I was crying so hard, I didn’t hear the small click, as my stereo switched itself on.

Soon after I arrived in Heaven, Reuben burned me a copy of a song he’d written, and which eventually became our private theme tune. I must have heard it a zillion times and I still find it uplifting. Reuben doesn’t have a bad voice and Lola literally sings like an angel. At one point she and Reuben sing this spine tingling harmony. It doesn’t matter how down I feel, the instant I hear those feel-good opening chords I absolutely know I can make it.

“You’re not alone, you’re not alone!”

I hadn’t so much as
breathed
on my stereo, yet my friends’ voices were suddenly filling the room.

I sat up, totally confused, in time to see a ball of buttercup-yellow light float in through my window.

Chapter Two

I
‘m going to let you in on some crucial cosmic info.

Any time you call for help, the Universe sends an answer.

This is not just wishful-thinking, this is like a LAW, OK? The Universe can’t NOT answer. Sometimes you don’t even technically need to call, the Universe answers you anyway - like now.

The glowing light ball was the colour of pure sunshine. As I watched, it morphed into a 3-D image of my buddy Reuben.

I sat open-mouthed, tears and snot mingling unattractively on my face, as my buddy began to mime, rather awkwardly, to his own tune.

Reuben’s dancing style is generally more laid-back, but then he’d probably never sent an angelgram before. Even baby angels are taught to beam vibes to someone who needs help. But it takes YEARS of training to transmit your own personal energy, the way Reuben was doing now; and we’d had exactly one half-hour lesson with Mr Allbright. So it wasn’t surprising Reubs was still having a few problems mastering the technique.

Periodically, I could see right through him to the tropical foliage and flowers in the background. Plus I was getting all these atmospheric rain forest sound FX. Reuben himself was kind of staticky, like a TV channel that isn’t properly tuned in. But I could make out his baby dreadlocks and cut-offs. I could actually read the cheesy message on that washed-out old T-shirt he wears, which says,
Love is the Answer.

Part way through the track, Reuben started trying to tell me something. I kept saying, “What? Talk louder! You’re breaking up!”

Finally, his voice reached me through a whoosh of static. “Hang on in there, Beeby! I’ll see you tonight.”

Next minute he’d gone, taking the flutey rain-forest bird calls with him. But I felt SO much better, I can’t tell you. Not only had my angel buddy heard my silent call for help, he’d made the most massive effort to let me know he cared.

I couldn’t imagine how he’d got permission to come back to school halfway through his tiger-watching trip, and I didn’t care. Now I just had to find some way of getting through the day.

If I stayed up in my room brooding, I’d just get morbid, so I splashed some water on my face, whacked on some lip gloss, grabbed my jacket and headed down to the local nursery school.

When I arrived they were all excitedly raiding the dressing-up box for bear suits and fairy costumes and whatever.

My normal day for helping is Wednesday, but Miss Dove seemed genuinely delighted to see me. “I could do with an extra hand,” she beamed. “They’re a little overexcited today, as you can see!”

At lunch time, the preschoolers took their trays over to small brightly painted tables, and sat munching happily with their friends.

Miss Dove and I had our lunch at an adult-sized table, with a tablecloth and real glasses instead of beakers. We could hear the little angels giggling naughtily over the unfunny jokes preschoolers find so hilarious. We chatted about this and that, and then she almost made me choke on my salad.

“I’ve told you this before, Melanie, but I make no apology for telling you again. You’re a natural with this age group. You’d make the most wonderful nursery teacher. I know you’ve set your heart on being an agent, but if you ever change your mind—” Miss Dove’s voice changed tone abruptly. “Bluebell, Lulu, I’d like you to come back now. You’re
not
supposed to dematerialise without permission.”

Can you believe Miss Dove wasn’t even looking? Her excellent teacher’s radar had instantly alerted her that her lively little pupils were misbehaving. “I’m going to count to five and I want to see you both sitting nicely at the table,” she said firmly. “One, two—”

Two embarrassed little girls reappeared, very red in the face. I was secretly grateful to Bluebell and Lulu for providing a distraction. I’d had the most disturbing thought. Suppose the Universe didn’t want me to be a trouble-shooter, constantly putting myself in danger? Suppose it would actually
prefer
me to be a nursery teacher?

I’d been really upset when Fern suggested I might not be cut out to work in the field. Now suddenly, I felt a rush of pure longing. Life would be blissfully simple if I took Miss Dove’s advice; simple, but still really fulfilling. I’d spend my days surrounded by innocent paintings of smiley suns and lollipop trees, teaching the mysteries of the Universe through sand and water play. I’d never even have to leave Heaven, if I didn’t want to.

After lunch, we took the class outside into the garden. I handed out tubs of bubble mixture while Miss Dove explained in terms her pupils could understand, that everything in the Universe was pure energy.

“Energy loves to play just like you,” she told them in her careful nursery teacher voice. “It likes to dress up and play at being stars and trees and birds.”

“And bears,” said Maudie solemnly. “It likes to dress up as bears, doesn’t it?” She was still wearing her fluffy bear suit from this morning.

“That’s right, Maudie! Clever girl!” said Miss Dove. “Now I want you all to take the lids off your bubbles very carefully. See if you can do it with no spilling. That’s wonderful! Well done everyone. Let’s see if you can blow some really beautiful bubbles.”

In seconds, the air was crowded with gorgeous rainbow bubbles. All the preschoolers were squealing, jumping up and down, trying to capture them. Then Lulu let out a little anguished cry.

“Now what just happened to your beautiful bubble, Lulu?” Miss Dove asked as if she didn’t know.

“It poptid,” she explained sadly. “It poptid right in my eye.”

Maudie’s beautiful bubble was next to pop. “Where did it go?” she wept. “That’s what I don’t know.”

“Don’t cry, Maudie.” Obi tenderly patted his little classmate’s back.

I
adore
Obi. He has no hair and almost no eyebrows and he looks
exactly
like a three-year-old buddha!

“They didn’t go away, they only changed,” he explained to the tearful little girls. “They changed back to
not
being bubbles.”

Maudie’s face immediately lit up. “I know! They’ve
been
bubbles and now they just want to play something else!”

I’m always telling Lola the things these babies say and she’s like, “I can’t believe four year olds can be so wise!”

OK, so Miss Dove’s job wasn’t what you’d call glamorous. She wasn’t taking scary risks on the cosmic front line, like actual agents. But how I looked at it, she was actually teaching the celestial agents of the future - which to my mind was equally, if not MORE, important.

I suddenly realised that I was genuinely considering Miss Dove’s suggestion.

Why not? I asked myself defensively. It’s not like I’d be letting anyone down. I’d still be working for the Light Agencies. I’d be doing it from home, that’s all.

After school had finished, I walked back to my dorm. I’d just stopped in the hall to check my post, when Fern burst through the door.

“There you are,” she said with relief. “I’ve been looking for you all afternoon. Melanie, I’m having SUCH a stressful day, and I was hoping you’d help me out?”

Fern did look unusually harassed. Her perfect French pleat had actually sprung several untidy little wisps.

“I’ve spent the last month trying to organise a soul-retrieval weekend,” she explained. “Now two trainees have dropped out right at the last minute. Do you think you’d be interested at all?”

“Probably not,” I said cautiously. I had NO idea what soul-retrieval was, but I wasn’t letting Fern know that.

“Are you sure?” she asked in a pleading voice. “It’s going to be a fascinating course. Rose Hall is so beautiful. And Michael has actually persuaded Jessica Lightpath to run the sessions, and as you know, Jessica hardly ever teaches trainees these days.” Fern beamed at me hopefully.

I’d never heard of Jessica Lightpath, but I just knew she wore woolly sweaters with rainbows on, plus she probably meditated with crystals big time.

“I’d really love to help you out,” I said, crossing my fingers behind my back, “but my friend’s been away and he’s coming back tonight.”

Fern consulted her clipboard. “Would that be Reuben Bird?”

I gawped at her. “That’s amazing! How did you know?”

“Because one of my colleagues has just left to drive him to Rose Hall.”

“Reuben’s going on this course!”

“Oh, yes,” said Fern. “Didn’t he tell you?”

I mentally replayed Reuben’s angelgram.
Hang on in there, Beeby! I’ll see you tonight
and I almost laughed. That angel boy is something else! How could he know I was going to be on a soul-retrieval course, when I hadn’t even heard of soul-retrieval until two minutes ago!!

“So will you come?” Fern persisted.

Ever get those days when you can literally feel the Universe ganging up on you from every side? Take my advice. Just give in, you’ll save yourself no end of hassle!

I gave a resigned sigh. “OK. Count me in.” Soul-retrieval, whatever it was,
had
to be more fun than hanging around the dorm by myself.

Fern allowed herself a cool little smile. “I’m sure you won’t regret it.” She sneaked a peek at her watch. “Mel, I hate to pressure you, but you might want to run and pack. The bus is leaving in an hour.”

Our teachers are constantly telling us we have to go with the flow. But I reckon even an archangel would be left dizzy by a day that included a cosmic panic attack, an unscheduled angelgram AND a complete change of career direction, then wound up in a crowded minibus, swooping around bends so sharp, that if you saw them drawn on a map they’d look exactly like someone’s intestines.

The atmosphere in the bus was not particularly friendly, I have to say. My fellow students on the course turned out to be from some celestial college I’d never heard of. Everyone at my school dresses in casuals. But these kids were like,
pure
boho. One girl was wearing an old-fashioned silk petticoat down to her ankles, little beaded slippers and a fringy silk shawl. Even the boys were dressed up in vintage gear. One wore what looked like a World War Two flying jacket. Another extremely good-looking angel boy had draped himself in one of those v. dramatic long coats I associate with vampires on TV. His name was something like “Indigo”.