Chapter Eight

 

The memory is so painful all I want to do is find Warren and figure out how to make the memories stop. I’m vaguely aware of following Vera out of class and through the hallway. She is back at her locker, and I scan the crowd, half hoping, half fearing, that Cecille will appear.

I can’t believe how much she’s changed. I know people say girls change a lot between middle school and high school, but it’s amazing to see it all happen in what feels like a blink of an eye. How did she cope with seeing my death? What have the last two years been like for her?

Cecille doesn’t visit her locker again, and Vera heads down the hall with a few new books and a reusable blue lunch bag.

The cafeteria is exactly as I remember it—too many overheated teenage bodies crammed around rectangular tables that can fold up and make way for a school dance at any moment. The room stinks of teenage sweat and overcooked beef stroganoff.

Vera takes her blue lunch bag to a corner table not far from the entrance. Another girl, tall and emaciated, sits in the middle of the table, munching on a pile of soggy cafeteria nachos. I’ve seen girls that look like this before. When I was a student here, a girl named Kallie routinely ate the worst crap in the cafeteria and then upchucked it all in the girls’ bathroom later. Everyone knew she was bulimic, but no one cared about her enough to tell the counselors.

Vera sits at the far end and unpacks her lunch. She takes out neatly wrapped packages of food—a ham sandwich, two chocolate chip cookies that look homemade, an apple, and a sandwich bag full of pretzels. The last thing she pulls out is a water bottle.

At the opposite end, a boy and a girl dressed entirely in black, both with dark eyeliner and lipstick sit down. They don’t have lunches. The boy pulls out a tablet and a stylus. The girl fiddles with a game on her phone. Periodically, the two talk to each other, but they are the only ones at this table who do.

I remember this table from high school. This was the loner table. People wanted nothing to do with it. It had the unfortunate position of being located right next to the garbage cans where everyone dumped their leftovers on the way out. If you wanted to be left alone by the rest of humanity, you need only sit at this table.

How did I end up being Vera’s Guardian? I was by no means head cheerleader, but at least I skated by unbullied and I had a few friends. Okay, really only one good friend and a few so-so friends, but at least I had something. Vera has nothing. And even if I hadn’t had Ally, I would have forced myself to find a friend, to sit somewhere, anywhere, other than at this table.

Warren said I’m supposed to be her Guardian, but I have no idea how to help her. I look around the cafeteria and wonder if there are other Guardians present. Vera seems safe for the moment, so I decide to stroll through the cafeteria. Maybe I can find that rocker chick angel I saw earlier. I want answers to my questions, and I probably won’t see Warren again until English class tomorrow.

As I move around the cafeteria, I recognize a few of the upperclassmen who were freshmen and sophomores when I was here. Not surprisingly, Cathy Ringles still holds court with her fellow dance team members in the center of the room. I never quite got what made her so popular. She wasn’t terribly pretty, but she had a knack for making people do what she said. There was some sad story about her older sister dying in a car accident, but I didn’t think that gave anyone the right to be so pushy.

Off to the side is my old table, the theater geeks. I smile as I recognize some of the kids I knew from the drama club. Gregory Hicks has grown a beard, and Shana Peters has her hair pulled up in a ponytail, the bottom quarter of her head shaved. I wonder what skits they’re working on now. Gregory always had a knack for incorporating pop culture into our acts.

The memories of what I’ve given up in life cause me to turn away and head down the aisle. A few tables down sit the group I liked to call the “wannabes.” They thought they were popular, but didn’t realize they weren’t.

Across the room from them, a group of scowling kids slump around the stoner table. That was another table I avoided while I was alive. If any table in this cafeteria needs a Guardian angel or two or three, it’s this one, but I don’t see any wings or shimmering lights around.

I move along and pass by the jocks, the musicians, and the brainiacs. No sign of a Guardian anywhere. I begin to worry that I’ll have to wait until tomorrow to get my questions answered.

At the loner table, Vera finishes up her ham sandwich and folds the aluminum foil neatly before putting it back in her bag. Undoubtedly, she will reuse the same piece of foil for tomorrow’s sandwich.

“Finding any useful information?”

I whip around.

“Warren?”

“The sooner you get to know your Charge the better.”

“My Charge?”

“Vera,” Warren nods toward her before looking over the rest of the cafeteria.

“Warren, I don’t think I can do this.”

He studies my face for a moment before returning his gaze to the students. “Oh, don’t say that.”

“But what I did...it’s unforgivable. My sister—”

A new voice interrupts me. “Has it happened yet?”

On the other side of Warren stands the rocker chick angel who’d winked at me earlier. I wonder how long she’s been there. Like Warren, she stands with her arms folded, surveying the crowd.

“Not yet,” Warren replies. “Betsy, have you met Nanette?”

Betsy leans around Warren. “We met in the hall earlier.”

I nod back at her. “What’s going on? What are you both waiting for?”

“You asked earlier what would happen if a Guardian chooses not to try for sainthood. I’m afraid you’re about to find out.”

I look around the cafeteria. I had searched it carefully for anyone who might be a Guardian. If Warren’s right, then someone in this room has to be an angel who has given up, but who?

The roar of a strong wind sounds from the hallway behind us. A dark shadow rushes toward the cafeteria. Its shape is like that of the shadow girl—a cloaked figure with a hood up. But this face is even more hideous. Unlike the shadow girl’s slate gray skeletal face, this shadow has a crimson face of fire. Its eyes glow electric blue. As it approaches, it sucks air in and then expels it like it’s breathing fire.

It turns its bright blue eyes toward us as it passes. Never before have I received such a look of pure hatred. It lets out a long rattling breath in our direction. A wave of heat passes over me.

Warren and Betsy stand firm, but I involuntarily glide behind Warren’s shoulder.

As it glides through the cafeteria, I wonder where it will stop. Where is the Guardian I didn’t notice?

The stoner table. I want to glide closer to see, but there is no need.

A boy stands up from the table. “What?” he cries, his arms flung out wide, his eyes fixed on the fire-faced shadow before him. His angelic body is more translucent than my own. “What do you want?”

His voice is so loud that if he were still a living being, he would surely have had the attention of the entire cafeteria. As an angel, no one notices him. The others at the table remain talking or staring off into space.

“What’s going on?” I whisper to Warren.

“He’s a new angel, but not as new as you.”

“Is that why he couldn’t see me when I passed him?”

“He hasn’t seen any of us,” replies Betsy. “I don’t think he’s even seen our light.” She shakes her head. “Never a good sign.”

“But why? Why hasn’t he seen any of us? I was able to see you eventually.”

“Because you chose to see us,” says Warren. “You were looking for help. You had some glimmer of hope in you. This guy won’t even see the second chance he’s been given.”

Across the cafeteria, the former stoner screams, “Enough! I’ve had enough. Take me out of here.”

Even from several tables away, I hear the shadow’s hideous breathing. As it exhales, the air before it wavers like desert heat.

“Can’t we do anything?” I ask.

“No,” Warren says. “A Guardian can protect the living, but not another Guardian. The Guardian has to choose hope and love. He has to choose God.”

“But the other day, in English class, you stood between me and the shadow.”

Warren shakes his head, but his eyes remain focused on the shadow across the room, which grows in size. “I wasn’t protecting you. I was protecting Vera. A Guardian can help another Guardian protect her Charge if the Guardian asks for help, like you did. But a Guardian can’t save another Guardian.”

I look from Warren back to the shadow. It is now several feet taller than the former stoner-turned-Guardian who is still screaming.

“To hell with this life! To hell with this world!”

The fiery face inhales for what seems like an eternity. Then it hisses as it exhales, “This is your choice? You choose to reject what God has offered?”

“There is no God!” screams the stoner.

“So be it.”

The shadow’s jaw drops all the way to the floor. The elongated mouth is now a gaping hole of flame.

“Enter.” The word comes from deep within the shadow.

The stoner steps forward and peers through the flames. The anger melts on his face as his mouth falls open. I can’t see what he sees, but utter fear has replaced his bravado.

“No.” He tries to back away, but a dozen tongues of fire leap from the shadow’s open mouth and wrap themselves around him. For a moment, he writhes to break free, but his entire body catches fire, and his skin burns to a crisp, sizzling and crackling over the din of the cafeteria, before the tongues of flame pull him down into the shadow’s mouth. The shadow collapses into itself, and the dark cloud disappears in a whirl that roars like a tornado and then ends abruptly.

There is nothing left of the boy who was a stoner.

The three of us Guardians watch silently. The students in the cafeteria chatter and eat, unaware of the horror we’ve just witnessed. My feet feel glued to the floor, my angelic body strangely numb, like a foot that has fallen asleep and is beginning to tingle. When I can finally move again, I turn to look at Betsy and Warren. Their faces are long and Betsy has her hand over her mouth, but it’s a look more of sadness than of shock.

“Who was he supposed to be guarding?”

“Jason Arollo, who didn’t start experimenting with drugs until a year ago when his parents divorced,” Warren’s eyes are on the stoner table as he speaks.

“What will happen to Jason now? Will the...will the…?”

“Will the shadows get him too?” Warren finishes my question. “Hopefully not. He must have prayed for help at some point in order to get a Guardian. Let’s pray he keeps asking.”

“How are things going with Ms. Kitchin?” Betsy asks. Her mournful eyes turn toward Warren. I get the sense she is eager to change the topic.

Warren sighs. “About the same as usual. Skating on the edge but always holding onto a thread of hope. How about yours?” Warren looks down at the tiny Guardian.

Betsy smiles a little. “Really good, actually. I think we’re getting close.”

“Really?” Warren returns the grin. “That’s great. For both you and Luis.”

Before I have a chance to ask what they are talking about, a bell rings and a hundred plastic chairs scrape across the cafeteria floor.

“There’ll be a meeting tonight,” says Betsy. “You going?”

Warren nods. “It would be a good time to bring the newbie too.” He nods in my direction.

“Me? Bring me where? What meeting?”

Betsy glances at me and then looks up at Warren. “You’re right. Will you make sure she gets there?”

Warren nods.

“See you tonight then.” Betsy glides off among the teenagers. Vera has left her table, and I’m being pulled through the throng. Warren stays by my side.

“Warren, what meeting? What was Betsy talking about?”

“I’ll explain later. Meet me outside the school at midnight.”

“But what about Vera? I can’t leave her.” I gesture toward her. “I mean, literally, I can’t leave her.”

“As you grow in grace, you’ll be able to leave your Charge when necessary. Some times are easier to leave than others. Even a new Guardian like you should be able to get away while she’s sleeping. Just believe that it’s possible, and you’ll be able to meet me tonight.”

“But where are we going?”

“I’ll explain tonight.”

Vera turns into a stairwell. I’m forced to follow her, but Warren remains in the hallway.

“You’re an experienced Guardian. Can’t you leave Ms. Kitchin and explain more now?”

Warren shakes his head. “Sixth period is a rough class for Ms. Kitchin. I’ll see you at midnight.”

“Wait!” I yell, but there’s nothing I can do. Vera is spiraling her way up the stairs, and I float right over everyone’s heads as Vera walks out on the second floor.

For the rest of the day, I try to forget both the horror of the cafeteria incident and the memory of my sister’s scream. Instead, I focus on Vera. What can I do to protect her? She spends most of her class periods scrawling in her thorny heart notebook, but when I look over her shoulder, she’s not writing down what the teacher is saying. She’s writing poems. I read over her shoulder:

 

The numbness seeps through my veins.

I cannot deny it its course.

It will reach every corner,

It will pick through my brain.

Oh, this undeniable force!

 

Not bad for a freshman mimicking Emily Dickinson.

All day long, no one talks to Vera, and she says nothing unless called on by a teacher. The good news is I don’t see any more shadows, which is especially good since I have no idea how to fight one off. When Warren protected Vera last Friday, he seemed to just spread his wings and the shadow vanished.

I look behind me, and I don’t see any wings. I put my hands in front of me. My body seems to have grown in visibility a bit since this morning. How long until the wings follow?

When Betsy stood between the drug dealer and—what did Warren call Goatee guy? Oh yeah—Luis, Betsy’s wings knocked a photo off his locker. Was that all it took? There has to be more to it than that.

Watching Vera, I feel completely helpless. How will I know how to protect her when the shadows reappear? And what exactly am I protecting her from? The same fate I witnessed in the cafeteria? That can’t be right. Humans aren’t just swallowed whole in the middle of their lives. I’m going to have a lot of questions for Warren tonight.

In the afternoon, Vera walks home. It takes about a half hour, which makes me think she’d qualify for the bus, but she’s chosen to walk instead.

At home, a few attempts at homework are made, and then she heads to the kitchen. Like one of my previous episodes with her, I watch her make dinner—this time spaghetti—and then her dad comes home and the two of them eat silently.

After dinner, there are more attempts at homework, an unfunny sitcom on TV, and then she heads to her room to read a book. All in all, her life seems pretty boring. Is this why the Guardian who was a stoner wanted out? He was bored with following around a loser all day?

I shake my head. I have to stop thinking about Vera as being pathetic. Sure, she’s made choices to isolate herself that I wouldn’t have made, but she’s a girl who obviously feels deeply. And she’s not too bad with words. Surely, she must have something to offer the world.

As Vera climbs under her pink comforter, I realize I haven’t been pulled into the darkness all day. I’ve managed to stay with Vera for longer than any of my previous episodes.

“Huh,” I say aloud in the darkness of Vera’s room. “Maybe there’s hope for me yet.”