The Guardian (26 page)

“Not just tickets,” Gabriel grins, clearly enjoying the moment. “Good tickets.” He pauses to give me a playful wink. “He doesn’t do anything half way.”

Becke frowns. “I’m sorry we missed your birthday. When was it?”

 “I turned sixteen on the first day of the school year.” I almost laugh at his private joke, covering my chuckle at the last second with a cough.

Not quite convinced, Becke clarifies, “And this is a
belated
birthday present? School started eight months ago.”

He just shrugs. “In that case, it’s a
very
belated present.” Before Becke can further pick apart his story, he inquires, “So five tickets?”

“Four.” Derry runs a hand over his shorn head. His face is so wistful I think my heart will break. “You know I can’t go, Gabe.” 

Wanting to do something for him, however small, I slide my grapes toward him. It’s a lame gesture, but I don’t know what else to do. “Here.”

Glaring miserably at the fruit, he swallows loudly before pushing the bag back at me. “Not hungry. I don’t want your charity, Lexi. Or your pity.” He jumps from the table and nearly runs from the room. Giving Gabriel and our friends a somber glance, I start to follow hoping they understand my need to go after him, alone.

The long hall is empty when I get there—confirming Derry’s holed up in the bathroom. It’s the same place I would hide. When he finally emerges, I corner him. “What’s the matter with you? Is this about the concert?”

“No. I’m just a little cranky today. That’s all.” Then his stomach growls so loudly it can probably be heard in the next state. His face flushes crimson as he mumbles, “Sorry.”

“You said you weren’t hungry.”

“I’m fine.”

“All you ever bring is one peanut butter sandwich. What did you eat for breakfast?”

“A bowl of cereal.”

“What about dinner last night.” He’s thinking about lying to me, I can see it in his eyes. Glaring, as if I can wrench the truth from him with my mind, I wait. He turns away looking down at the scuffed vinyl floor, but tells me the truth. “I had a sandwich for dinner—and before you ask, it was peanut butter.”

“When’s the last time they fed you anything other than cereal or a peanut butter sandwich?”

Still staring at the ground he just shrugs. “At least they feed me, Lexi.”

His words cut through my heart like a knife because I know what it has been like for him. “Can you have more than one sandwich if you ask for more?”

Derry shakes his head. “Money’s tight. They’ve got all these extra mouths to feed, and taking care of us costs more than the State pays them.”

His words sound hollow, and I know he’s repeating what he’s been told on more than one occasion. I can also tell from his face he believes it. He doesn’t think he’s worth more. The knowledge wrenches my heart.

“That’s such crap Derry! Do you have any idea how well the State pays them to take care of you? Plus with the free babysitting, hand-me-down-clothes, and limited meals of peanut butter sandwiches, they’re probably turning a nice little profit. But you don’t have to stay. You can talk to—”

“Just stop, Lexi!” He folds his arms across his scrawny chest. “I’m not talking to anyone, okay? It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not! Your clothes don’t fit. They shave your head nearly bald and they’re not feeding you. You need to get—”

“I need to be where you are, Lexi. Do you know how many foster homes I got myself kicked out of to get here? Seven. Please, don’t do anything to make them send me away. I’m begging you.”

And I realize while my life has expanded to include a small circle of friends and family, Derry has only me.

The plea in his eyes mirrors the one in his voice, as he implores, “Let me stay where you are. Please?”

“Okay,” I nod, thinking furiously. “But you have to tell me if things get worse.”

“Okay.”

“Pinky promise?”

Lifting his little finger to mine, he declares, “I pinky promise.”

“And you have to let me share my lunch with you.”

As if in response to my condition, Derry stomach growls again. With a self-conscious grin he says, “I guess I could do that… As long as your offer includes Gabe’s Oreos.”

*

Just a few short days later, we’re officially on spring vacation, and while I should be excited, I’m too worried about Derry to focus on anything else. “Here,” I order when Gabriel and I meet up with him after school, “slip this into your bag.”

Obediently, he does so. “What is it?”

“Protein bars, nuts, jerky, and dried fruit. It should be enough to get you through the week.” Worried that raiding the Fosters’ panty will cause them to ask questions, most of the food has come from Gabriel. But I don’t tell Derry this for obvious reasons.

“Thanks.” He gives me a total body bear hug that crushes my heart. “Have fun at the concert. Take pictures.” With a last wistful look he walks away, a familiar and terrible pattern I’m helpless to break. Before I can give in to my despair, Gabriel takes me into his arms, uttering words meant to reassure me. A week suddenly feels like an eternity.

Despite the slow, dragging break and my worrisome separation from Derry, I do manage to fill the time. Mostly with Gabriel. There’s a lot of kissing, a little television watching, more kissing, lots of listening to music, and—well—kissing.

There’s also the concert. And I can hardly contain my excitement because I’ve never been to a concert before. Music’s a passion of mine. I mean I really love it, and this is my first live music experience unless you count the choirs which sang at the Center during the holidays. But they were haphazard and off key, as if charitable intentions excuse poor performance.

It doesn’t come up, but somehow Gabriel knows how momentous this is for me. Is it a coincidence his “mother” wanted to get us tickets to one of my favorite bands? Probably not. This is Gabriel’s way of doing something special in the indeterminate time we have together. My first live band—together with him.

The concert arena—a stadium, really—is huge! Bypassing the floor seats, we follow a yellow-shirted staff member to the VIP pit. Trading our tickets for little silver wristbands, we step right up to front and center, less than a foot from the stage.

Looking at us, Gabriel grins, the kind of open-mouthed smile that broadens his full lips and teases his dimples. His halo is breathtaking in its brilliance. “I hope you don’t mind standing,” he says with a modest shrug.

“Are you insane?” Jonah’s expression is part shock and part sarcasm, but underneath his sheer excitement’s obvious. His hair is freshly washed and he’s wearing a vintage Ramones t-shirt that looks great with his jeans and combat boots.

“This is fantastic!” Becke practically bounces on her toes as Jonah takes her in his arms and kisses the top of her auburn head. In one of her trademark multicolored peasant skirts and a bright green top, she has a natural style that enhances the vibrancy of her hair and the emerald of her eyes. As Jonah holds her, her lemon halo seems to engulf both of them in a shimmery glow. Raising my camera, I capture them in this moment.

Taking his cue from Jonah, Gabriel wraps his arms around me from behind. I feel his lips brush the top of my head as he asks, “Excited?”

Nestling against him, I angle my head to whisper in his ear. “You know I am. Thank you.” His unspoken reply is a soft, gentle kiss that goes on and on.

The lights cut out. As I turn back toward the stage, Gabriel’s whisper fills the darkness. He murmurs, “I love you.”

The opening acts are pretty good, but they can’t compare to the headliner. When the band I’ve been waiting for walks on stage, I’m thankful for all the cameras and flashing stage lights because I have to shield my eyes against their blazing bright halos. “Wow! They’re really bright!”

“Aren’t they?” The roar of the crowd drowns our conversation and we press our lips against one another’s ears to be heard. I’ve explained to Gabriel what I see, but it occurs to me I have no concept of how things appear to him. Being a Greater Seraph, I have no doubts he sees something amazing, miraculous even—but what?

“Do you see what I see? Halos?”

“It’s not exactly the same, more like an extra sense, more intuition or a strong conviction than sight. While you see colors and movement and have to put the pieces together, I instantly know whether people are good or evil, and to what degree. The more extreme, the more profoundly I am affected.”

“Affected how?”

“Righteous anger, rage, even ire—an immediate gut reaction to protect the weak and shut the evil down. But with goodness, I feel awe, joy, even exultation that can be equally as powerful.”

“What about me?” In order to be heard, I’m pressed up against his warm cheek, without the luxury of gazing into his expressive eyes.

When he answers, he pours all of his emotion into his voice, making it husky yet reverent. “The first time I laid eyes on you, Alexia, I thought—I mean, I felt—” He pulls back to stare at me for a moment, his bluer than blue eyes darkening as his pupils expand, his gaze so filled with heat that I’m certain I’ll melt. Then he presses his lips back against my ear, hard and close. “You were so beautiful I wanted to weep.”

Exquisite chills tremble across my body. And I want to respond, overwhelmed as I am, but before I can form coherent thought, Gabriel continues, “And each new morning you’re more beautiful than the day before.” Gently repositioning me, he teases, “You’re missing the concert.”

Grateful for the time to process, I turn back to the blinding brilliance of the stage. The lead singer stands right in front of me, close enough to touch. I let my thoughts tumble as he pulls me into his voice, and sings one of my favorite songs. A slow tugging ballad about the agony of happiness.

*

We’re standing on the sidewalk in front of the Fosters’—basking in the afterglow of the concert, and each other—when a tiny question wiggles its way up from my subconscious until I have to ask, “That day—when I was going to leave—why did I have to tell you my secret first?”

“Guardians aren’t supposed to reveal their true identity.”

“Like Superman?”

He laughs. “Sort of. Only in the most extreme circumstances can we reveal our divine nature.”

“I was an extreme circumstance?”

He rests his chin on my head until he’s speaking into my hair. “You were a necessity. I wanted to tell you that first day. When I look into your beautiful eyes, I want to tell you everything.”

Suddenly, I get why he’s talking to the top of my head—rather than my face—and pull back to force him to look at me. “Then why don’t you?”

Sighing, he gives his head a small shake. “It doesn’t work that way. Part of the power of your gift lies in self-discovery, and if I tell you your destiny, it undermines your ability to choose your path. It would be like a princess accepting the monarchy because she’s always been told it’s her fate, not because she’s ready to rule and wants to do so.” I open my mouth to argue, but he cuts me off with another shake of his head. “Telling you about your destiny takes away your free choice.”

The curtains behind the living room window ruffle as someone—Kate or Steven—checks on us. Not wanting our conversation to be cut short, I talk fast. “But how can I make a choice without all the information?”

“When the time comes, you’ll have everything you need.”

Great!
Gabriel sounds like a Magic 8 Ball! Frustrated by his cryptic response, I demand, “And what if I choose not to believe in the Gifts of the Saints? What if I don’t embrace my destiny? Ever?”

“Some don’t,” he replies, his face is deliberately neutral but I sense the disapproval underneath. “That’s always an option open to you. You should talk with Kate and Nana Kransky again.”

Sometimes, I catch Kate staring at me. It’s as if she’s waiting for me to suddenly be okay that I have supernatural abilities. Gabriel’s waiting too—holding all the answers and never saying a thing.

“How many times do I have to tell you I’m not ready to talk about this stuff? I just want to be a normal teenager. Can’t I have that please?”

 “Alexia—” He reaches for me and I feel like a child being placated.

“Just stop. It’s fine—really.”

“No, it’s not. You’re upset.”

Despite my words, I can’t seem to let it go. “It’s just—”

“What?”

“How are you supposed to prepare me for my destiny by withholding all the pertinent information?”

“I’m not withholding everything.”

“Of course not, you’re my guardian angel and you’re assigned to protect me. That about cover it? Let me ask you, does my knowing who you are change anything? Will it change this terrible event that hangs over our future?”

“No.”

The doorknob rattles as whichever Foster is on the other side gets tired of waiting for me. I lean into Gabriel, urgently hissing, “Will it make it any easier to go on after you leave?”

The door begins to open, and I step back, barely catching his quiet answer. “Probably not.”

I get in one final question before Steven steps onto the porch, ushering me inside. It hangs over us, unanswered, as we say our goodnights under my foster father’s watchful eyes. Carrying it with me as I brush my teeth and slip into bed, the question reverberates on a loop until it becomes insurmountable in my mind. And I can’t help but wonder if it’s the same for Gabriel, or if he knows the answer to this too.