Winging It (6 page)

Reuben shook his head, grinning. “I see your little game, Beeby. Ten out of ten for the distraction technique. Now, no more questions! Not until after the class, anyway.”

To my surprise, Reuben turned out to be a wicked martial arts teacher. He didn’t mind how often he demonstrated a move. And he never once made me feel stupid. In fact he praised every tiny little improvement, until I almost started to believe I could do this stuff.

Suddenly, to my astonishment, I was flying through the air like a Ninja angel.
Wow
, I thought,
this is so cool
. Then I landed smack on my bum.

Reuben helped me up. “Isn’t this great!” he said beaming. “You’re learning to trust those angel vibes.”

“I am?” I said doubtfully. It seemed like a complete accident to me.

“Sure you are,” he said confidently. “You stopped being scared, and you just flew, right?”

I mentally replayed what had just happened. “Hey!” I said, giggling. “You’re right!”

And for five whole seconds, I was really thrilled with myself.

Then Reuben launched himself into a sequence of gravity-defying moves. Gradually, other kids joined in, including Flora and Ferdy. Soon there was this amazing martial arts dance going on. They did some moves in such dreamy slow motion, it really did look as if they’d actually stopped Time.

So that’s what Reuben meant
, I thought.

It was pure magic. Amber and Lola clapped and whooped with excitement.

Then all at once I felt unbelievably depressed. “I’ll never be that good,” I said gloomily.

Reuben flipped himself the right way up. “Give yourself a chance! Besides, think of all that stuff you do without even thinking. Stuff which is like -
impossible
for me.”

“Yeah, right,” I said bitterly. “Just think.”

But Reuben was serious. He was genuinely desperate for help, only he was too embarrassed to ask.

We found out quite by accident a few days later.

Reuben, Lola and me were relaxing near our favourite fountain, when a bunch of nursery-school kids skipped past looking totally angelic.

It suddenly hit me. They were
angels
. Tiny little angels.

“That’s awful!” I gasped. “They must have died when they were little dots!”

“Not necessarily,” said Reuben. “Some angels never incarnate. Like me for instance.” He flushed and looked away.

“Um, is that a bad thing?” I asked cautiously.

“Incarnating is when you put on a human body,” Lola explained. “It’s what you have to do to live on Earth. But little Sweetpea here never got to make the trip.”

I was amazed. “You never left Heaven?”

Reuben sighed. “Don’t rub it in. It’s been like, my big dream ever since I can remember.”

“I can’t believe it,” I said. “You never even had a
peek
at Earth?”

Reuben looked wistful. “Not close-up. I’ve done Angel Watch in practicals.”

“So how come you never went?” I persisted.

“The Agency won’t let me,” said Reuben. “Not until I pass my Earth Skills paper. Unfortunately I just failed retakes. Again.”

I can be really slow on the uptake but quite suddenly I got it. Reuben must be a totally different kind of angel to me and Lola!

“Lollie, you never told me there were two kinds of angels!” I grumbled.

“There are about a gazillion kinds actually,” said Reuben. “But yeah, basically they divide into human-angels and pure angel-angels.”

And in that moment I absolutely
knew
that Orlando was an angel-angel. Plus I had suspicions about Flora and Ferdy.

“That explains your eyes!” I said without thinking.

Reuben looked offended. “Are you saying I’ve got weird eyes?”

“Not
weird
,” I said hastily. “They’re kind of…”

“Pure,” suggested Lola wickedly.

Reuben scowled. “Isn’t that just another way of saying weird?”

“My sunrise angels weren’t weird,” I said. “Stars aren’t weird. Nor is a snowflake, or - a tiny new born baby.”

“Exactly,” said Lola. “They’re pure!” She grinned at Reuben. “Like you, my little Sweetpea!”

“So how does it work, being an angel-angel?” I asked Reuben with interest. “I mean, did you start out as a tiny cherub and grow up? Or is it that you just look like a typical thirteen year old, but you’re actually totally ancient inside?”

“Poor Melanie, that old T-word has you all confused,” Reuben teased.

“Don’t tell me, I know,” I sighed. “Time doesn’t really exist in Heaven, wah wah wah.”

“Oh, it
exists!
It just behaves totally differently.” Reuben gave me a sheepish grin. “I’ve never quite got my head around the Earth kind, to be honest. But isn’t it something like - there’s never ever enough of it to do the things you want to do? And once you make a mistake, that’s it. You’re stuck with it for ever?”

Lola nodded.

“I suppose,” I agreed.

“Well, Cosmic Time is different. It isn’t this irresistible force you’re constantly wrestling with. It’s more like this - this never-ending playground, where you can have all the Time you need. You can grow up fast or slow, backtrack a bit, make a few corrections. Whatever!”

“Actually, Cosmic Time
is
quite cool,” Lola admitted.

I clutched my head. “Sorry, this is all way too weird for me.”

“Now you know how I feel about Earth Skills,” said Reuben gloomily.

Out of the blue I had a brilliant idea. “Reubs!” I squeaked. “You helped me with martial arts. Why don’t I help you with your Earth Skills? You’ll help too, won’t you, Lollie?”

I truly thought Reuben was going to burst into tears. “I can’t believe you mean it!” he kept saying. “I’ve been feeling like such a loser!”

But by the end of Reuben’s first lesson, Lola and I were practically tearing our hair out. It wasn’t that Reuben was dim. Actually I think he was some kind of angel genius. He just could not get the hang of the most elementary Earth concepts. Things like bank accounts or bombing foreign countries to make them toe the line totally mystified him. “But what is war
for
?” he kept wailing.

“It’s not
for
anything, Sweetpea,” Lola sighed. “It just
is
.”

“Let’s leave war out of it for now,” I suggested. “I just got some music from home. Let’s have a little bop instead.”

Reuben had never heard Earth music before. “They really play this stuff on Earth?” he said amazed.

“In my time, yeah,” I said. “In Mum’s time—”

“Don’t get back on to Time,” Reuben shuddered. “I’m still recovering from war.”

What with one thing and another, the days were whizzing by. Mostly I was really happy. Other days I’d find myself missing things from my old life. Bizarre, silly things, like hitting the late-night garage for emergency M&Ms!

But no matter how good or bad things were, I could NOT figure out what I was meant to be doing on Private Study afternoons.

To begin with, I used it to catch up on those girly chores. Hair, nails, that kind of thing. But I noticed that the others came back, kind of
glowing
.

The whole thing started to drive me nuts. I felt like the only person in the school who wasn’t in on some big secret. Clearly Private Study was not for doing regular school work. It was also not the same as free time. So what WAS it?

Without actually mentioning the mysterious glow-factor, I cunningly quizzed the others about what they did on their Wednesday afternoons.

Reuben practised martial arts. No surprises there. Amber said she played her musical instrument (the harp, presumably). Flora and Ferdy said they did angel mathematics. Yeah, right!

This sounds really pathetic, but I totally started dreading Wednesdays.

“Is everything OK, Melanie?” Mr Allbright asked, finding me brushing tiny grains of sand off the hammocks, as I put off going back to my room for as long as possible.

“Oh, I’m fine, Mr Allbright,” I said brightly. “I’m really settling in.”

I couldn’t bring myself to tell a high being like Mr Allbright that I was so totally shallow, that I couldn’t stand my own company for one measly afternoon a week.

When I got back to the dorm, I decided to wash my hair. It didn’t need it. I just wanted to kill some time. But as I flipped the little doodad on the shampoo bottle, Miss Rowntree’s voice started up inside my head. “There’s more to life than makeovers, Melanie,” she sneered.

I’m not sure there is
, I thought miserably.
Not for me
.

I was in trouble and I didn’t know what to do.

“Help,” I whispered. “I need help.” I didn’t really think anyone was listening. But they must have been. Because a few minutes later, help came.

For no apparent reason, I suddenly got this violent urge to go to the beach. It was totally weird. One minute I’m fretting about Private Study, the next my head is full of waves and sea-sounds. It was like this irresistible call.

Yet again I found myself splitting into several Melanies. One is saying, “What are you ON, Mel?” Another is whispering, “Come to the seashore, NOW!”

I grabbed my jacket and rushed out. I stormed along, telling myself I wasn’t in jail. I was perfectly free to walk down to the beach if I wanted to.

Sure, if it was actually your idea, bird-brain
, the regular Mel pointed out.

But once I was sniffing that warm salty breeze, all the Mels magically calmed down.

This was so not like me, you can’t imagine! The old Mel never did stuff by herself. Yet here I was, walking by the edge of the water, squidging damp sand between my toes.

I’ve always loved the sea, ever since Mum took me on a day-trip when I was three years old. The instant we got out of the bus, something inside me went, “YES!”

I loved
everything
. The glitter of light on the waves, the salty breeze, the screams of huge sea-birds. And all that SPACE!

Suddenly, the memory that had almost surfaced that morning in Guru came floating into my head.

Mum was holding a shell to my ear, so I could hear the sound of the waves. But I was convinced it whispered my name. “The shell called you Melanie?” said Mum, half-laughing. “Not
that
name,” I kept saying. “My real name.” But I couldn’t explain what I meant.

I smiled to myself, remembering, just as some little nursery-school angels came racing across the sand.

“We found you!” they shrieked. They danced me round, giggling. None of them looked older than four (in Earth years), and they were totally full of beans.

I was bewildered. “You
found
me? You don’t even know me.”

“Yes we do. You’re Melanie,” they giggled.

A little boy tugged at my hand. “Come and play,” he insisted. He had the calmest face I ever saw and absolutely no hair. He looked exactly like a tiny buddha.

“I can’t,” I said wistfully. “I’m supposed to be doing Private Study.”

“Oh, pooh,” said a little girl with a sparkly hairband. “They just want you to use the Angel Link.”

My heart sank.
Kindergarten angels know more than you
, Mel, I thought.

“The what?” I said miserably.

“It isn’t the Link that matters,” my little Buddha explained in a gentle voice. “It’s what happens after that.”

“Yeah, like what?” I said, still depressed at being the slowest learner in Heaven.

His eyes shone. “You plug into the angel power supply and find your very best self!” he said.

“And you feel all safe and smiley,” said the hairband girl.

“Smiley,” echoed the littlest angel hoarsely.

“It actually makes you glow!” said another little boy.

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. In two seconds flat, these tots had solved my problem! “And that’s all?” I gasped.

“Not exactly ALL,” he admitted. “Miss says we’ll understand the rest when we’re ready.”

“But how do you, you know, plug in?” I asked.

“Oh, that’s lemon squeezy,” boasted the sparkly hairband girl. “Here’s what you do, OK? First you get really quiet inside.”

The littlest angel waved her hand. “Let me, let me!”

“Go on then, Maudie,” everyone sighed.

Maudie took a big breath. “You let yourself feel all safe and smiley,” she recited in a hoarse little voice. “Then you picture being the best self you know! And then guess what!” she beamed. “You ARE it.

“Miss says when we use the Link, we’re connected to every angel that ever was or ever will be,” my little Buddha explained.

“Come on,” said the hairband girl impatiently. “Miss Dove says to bring Melanie back with us.”

The children started tugging me along the beach.

“Miss said we’d find you here,” the little Buddha beamed.

I stopped in my tracks. “But how did she know?”

“You asked for help, silly!” whispered the littlest angel.

She clearly saw nothing weird about pre-schoolers picking up someone’s personal distress signals. But I was in a total spin.

Melanie Beeby
, I scolded myself.
Four-year-olds know more than you. You should be ashamed. Go home and read your Handbook from cover to cover
.

I didn’t, though. Want to know what I did? I spent the afternoon in nursery school!

First we did cutting and sticking, involving more glitter than you could possibly imagine. Small angels
adore
anything sparkly, apparently.

Then Miss Dove said we were going to grow tiny orange trees in pots. I thought this sounded almost as boring as normal school. But all the little angels immediately went “Yay!” like this was some big treat!

“You too, Melanie,” Miss Dove beamed.

“Oh, that’s OK, I’ll just watch,” I said hastily.

It turns out that no-one EVER just watches in Miss Dove’s class. She wouldn’t take no for an answer, just briskly handed me my personal tree-growing kit: a little pip and a pot of dirt. And we all solemnly planted and watered them.

At this point, things got a little different to my usual school seed-planting experiments. Miss Dove made us hold our pots in both hands. “Now I want everyone to go quiet inside and plug into the angel power supply,” she said in her special nursery-teacher voice.