The Party
When I was a kid, I used to like to pretend that I was a mermaid. I would swim in my parents’ pool and let my long blonde hair dance wildly around me. It was as if I could stay under the water for hours. My friend Yasmine would watch me go under and count each second that passed. What only lasted a minute or so would feel like a lifetime. In those precious seconds, those precious moments of weightlessness and serenity, I would create my own magical world where I was one with nature and energy. I know now that those fabricated memories were my angelic-self tapping into something higher, reaching above and beyond the normal capabilities of the human mind, but as these days pass, the human part of me is taking over more and more. Like, it’s controlling me, driving me, and to my human mind, my angelic-self is becoming the fantasy, the sixty seconds under water.
I’m trying to recreate that feeling now—lying in the bath, my hair dancing around my shoulders. The tub is no substitute for a full-size pool; my legs hang over the side, and the water barely covers my face, but it’ll do. The water fills my ears with a whooshing sound. The sound of breathing from my nose blocks out any other sounds from the world around me, and I imagine that this is what a strong and powerful dragon must sound like as it inhales its every breath. A dragon—green and scaly with diamond-encrusted wings. He can float above mountaintops and breathe fire at will. My hands reach over the surface of my naked body to be sure that there aren’t any scales, that there aren’t any wings creeping from behind my shoulder blades. No. No such luck. And I remember there once were wings there—luminescent and awe-inspiring. My wings were a vision of beauty and grace. They will return to me one day soon.
Progress with Jake is coming along, slowly but surely, although I’m starting to look at him as more of a friend and less of a “mission.” He and I have been spending many mornings at the café working on our poetry project. I must say, it’s actually pretty good! We’ve chosen three decades: the 1950’s, 1960’s, and 1970’s, and we’ve outlined the way poetry changed dramatically over that thirty-year time span. At the end of the presentation, we plan on presenting a current-day poem or two and leaving off with a cliffhanger of sorts. Jake thinks it will spark the class’s interest in the genre if they see how the art of poetry is something that is constant but ever-changing. I said I would go along with the concept, but unfortunately, I suspect it will go over the heads of our peers.
He’s working on a slick PowerPoint presentation because apparently he’s not only literature savvy, but he’s technologically advanced as well. It doesn’t surprise me in the least because he’s so completely well-rounded… smart, charming, handsome… but he’s so conflicted, at odds with what he wants to do and what he has to do. He’s told me on several occasions that he does want to go to school in the fall but that the thought of traveling with his friends is very tempting. It seems so trivial to me. Like, why am I even here, an angel on Earth, trying to guide a teenage boy to go to college? Aestra wants to go to Europe too! Wants to climb the Eifel Tower and eat an authentic Italian meal. My human side wants to say, “Go! Explore! Vic is right. College can wait!” But my own conflict is within my heavenly grace that cautions otherwise. “Go to school. There’s something there that can’t wait.” I don’t know what that something quite is, and I know there is some larger force at play here, but mine is not to question why.
I barely get out of the bath when the phone rings downstairs. Aunt Ruth screams up the steps for me to pick up the extension, and by the excited tone of her voice, I have a feeling it’s Jake. I throw on a robe, race to my bedroom, and pick up the old-fashioned rotary.
“Hello?” I say.
“Aestra? It’s Jake.”
Aunt Ruth clicks off on her end, I bet satisfied to hear who it was.
“Hey,” I say. “What’s up?”
“Nothing. What are you doing right now?”
I’m not about to tell him that I’m standing in my room, half naked and dripping wet, so I make something up. “Oh, just going through some old boxes. Unpacking the last of my things. Reading some old poems.” The lie drips from my tongue.
“Stuff you wrote? Read me something. Maybe we could use one for the project.”
“No way! Until you show one of yours, you are never getting your hands on one of mine.”
He snickers, “Oh, really?”
I palm my forehead with my free hand. “Can you get your mind out of the gutter?”
He snickers again and changes the subject. “Vic’s having a party tonight. His parents are out of town for the weekend, so he invited some people over.” I suspect he’s inviting me to go, but I can’t be sure.
“Oh?”
“Yeah, and when I say he invited some people over, I really mean he invited the whole school … literally! And, well… you’re part of the school, so I was passing along the invite.”
Vic irritates me. There’s something about him that rubs me the wrong way. It could be his oversized shoulders (I don’t think any normal eighteen-year-old boy should have shoulders that massive) or his snarky attitude. I think that sometimes I’d rather converse with my sworn enemy, Malek, than endure the meathead’s mindless blather. At least with Malek, I could have a somewhat intelligent (albeit deceptive and lie-filled) conversation! When Jake and I meet up at the cafe in the mornings, Vic and Summer always show up about fifteen minutes before we have to leave for school. And of course, since Summer is Jake’s girlfriend, I always get stuck, crammed in the booth right next to Vic. Summer is a nice girl, bearable. I know for a fact that she isn’t the girl that Jake is going to end up with, so I can tolerate her for the most part. But she irritates me too when she throws her arms around Jake and says things like, “Oh, babe! I can’t wait to see you tonight!” in her high-pitched baby voice, and I… I stop myself. I stop my thoughts. I pull back and realize that there’s a sprout of jealousy blooming in my heart, and I can’t allow it to grow.
“I don’t know,” I hesitate.
“Come on,” he urges. “We won’t talk shop at all. We’ll go, listen to some music, watch our friends make fools of themselves, and hang out.”
I’m not really up for a party tonight, but there’s a part of me that really wants to see Jake—even if Summer and Vic will be around. But I say, “I don’t have a ride,” secretly wanting him to press me into going.
“Not a problem. Summer and I will pick you up. Around seven. You’re coming. End of discussion.”
I smile. “Fine, fine. I’ll see you later.”
“Later.”
My nerves start to get the best of me as I thumb through hanger after hanger in my closet. I told Aunt Ruth, and even she said I should go in order to further my connection with Jake and with others since I haven’t connected much with the kids at school. The black turtleneck and gray fur vest call my name. I pair them with tight blue jeans and a pair of knee-high black leather boots. My hair is still wet, so I pull it back into a tight bun at the center of my head. I can hear my mother screaming at me that “You’ll catch pneumonia for leaving the house with a wet head.” Sorry, Mom. I put on a little bit of makeup and wait in the foyer for Jake and Summer to pick me up.
When the horn beeps letting me know they’re here, I yell upstairs to Aunt Ruth to tell her I’m leaving, and I head out the door. Summer drives a red Range Rover; Jake is in the front passenger seat, and I hop in the back.
“That’s a cute vest,” Summer says as I slam the door.
“Thanks,” I say.
“So, you know, Jake, I plan on getting totally trashed tonight and…”
“I know, I know,” he says, defeated. “I’m DD.”
“DD?” I ask.
“Designated driver?” Summer answers.
“Oh, oh, gotcha,” I say, feeling very much like an idiot.
Jake pulls his sun visor down to look in the mirror, only he doesn’t look at himself; he tilts it so that he can see me in the backseat. Only his eyes are visible to me, but that’s all I need to see of…
“Hey,” he says, and I can tell he’s smiling by the way his eyes flash.
“Hey,” I answer, giving a smile of my own.
“You plan on getting trashed tonight, too?” he asks. I laugh and shake my head.
“Oh, no, no, no!” I say.
Summer pouts out her lip sarcastically, “Aw, you are too good for some drinking, Aestra?” Even the way she says my name sounds sarcastic.
“No, it’s not that. I just… I don’t know… not one for drinking, I guess.”
“Good,” Jake says to me, “at least I’ll only have to worry about carting one sloppy drunk ass home!”
Summer takes her right hand off the steering wheel and playfully punches Jake in the arm. Her shimmery makeup accents her high cheekbones as it glimmers against the street lights. She is very pretty, and I understand why Jake is attracted to her. She must have put some glittery stuff in her hair too because she seems to glint all over as if she were sparkled with fairy dust, and… the Range Rover jerks a little to the side, and I instinctively grip the door handle of the side panel. I think I must have gasped because Jake’s eyebrows crease, and he gives me a look that says, “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I mouth to him, and his face relaxes.
Summer puts both hands back on the wheel and rights the car. “Of course,” she says, “Aestra’s gotta stay sober so she can pick up a hottie.”
Pick up a hottie? I don’t even think the Valley Girls in California use phrases like these! I catch Jake’s gaze again. “I don’t know about that one either,” I say.
“Come on,” she continues, “you’ve been here like a month now, right?”
“Something like that.”
“And there isn’t one guy you can think of that you would like to go out with?”
“I’m not really thinking about dating, or hooking up, or whatever it is you call it.”
She looks at me in the rearview and makes a face. I was right; her lids are covered in silver shimmer shadow and outlined in black liner making her look like a disco doll.
“And no, I don’t like girls if that was your next question,” I blurt out. Jake laughs out loud.
“What about that guy from the café?” she continues to press.
“What guy?” Jake interjects.
“Ya know, that guy who’s always sitting by you guys in the morning. The guy who always has those girls hanging on him. The other new kid. I see Aestra and him talking in the hallway a lot.”
Jake looks at me again in the mirror, his eyes are questioning me in an almost accusatory way.
“Malek?” I ask. “Are you talking about Malek Forcas?”
“Yeah, yeah! He’s really good-looking too.”
“No, definitely not Malek! He and I are complete opposites.”
“Well,” she continues, “seems like he likes you the way he’s always staring at you.”
I fidget with the strands of hair that have escaped my bun. The last thing I want is for people to start making a connection between Malek and me. I don’t want the suspicion and attention drawn my way. “He does? I… I haven’t noticed.”
Summer pulls into the parking garage of the apartment complex. “And you know what they say, Aestra? Opposites attract! I bet the two of you would make a perfect couple. I thought it was kind of obvious that he was into you!”
Jake rolls his eyes in the mirror. I don’t think he knows I saw him do that.
“Well, it’s not obvious. Not to me,” I say.
“Don’t you think he likes her, Jake?” Summer whines.
“Hey, what do I know? I’m just a guy,” he says, dismissing her and the topic of conversation. Summer gives his arm another swat, and we get out of the car.
Vic greets us at the door with beer cans in hand. Summer’s eyes beam as she quickly reaches for one and pushes her way through the sea of people. Loud music pumps throughout the spacious apartment, and the main living room area is jam-packed with students from our school. Vic holds out a beer can toward me, “Drinking tonight, girl?”
I shake my head. He tightens his lips in a demeaning sneer, “What about you, cupcake?” he says offering the drink to Jake.
Jake hesitates for a second and then takes the beer. “Summer’s gonna have fun tonight, but one can’t hurt me.” He pops open the can and hurriedly slurps up the rising foam.
Vic pats him on the back. “Good times, man. Good times,” he says as he walks among the crowd.
I am tense. Uneasy. Not because of all the underage drinking but because I’m seriously questioning what I’m even doing here. I can’t compete with this crowd.
“I’m gonna find the bathroom real quick,” I say.
“Down the hall to your right,” Jake says pointing in the general direction and returning his attention to guzzling his drink.
I don’t need to use the bathroom, but I figure it’s a safe enough place to hide out for a while. As I reach the door, there’s a tap on my shoulder. “What’s the story, Morning Glory?” Malek purrs in my ear.
“I figured you would be here,” I say as I turn on my heels.
He grabs my hands and leads me away from the bathroom door. “Come with me. Let’s chat.” I don’t want to talk to him. I shouldn’t talk to him, but after what Summer said in the car, a new curiosity about Malek Forcas has sprung up inside me. I let him guide me into one of the bedrooms off the hallway. He shuts the door behind us and sits me down on the bed. “How’s everything going?” he says.
“Fine,” I answer without making eye contact.
“Don’t look fine to me. Trouble in the mission?”
“Mission’s great,” I snap. “What do you want to talk about?”
“You’re right, Aestra. You can’t compete,” he says, and his use of my very own words freezes me in place. I’ve lost my breath, and I’m struggling to regain control. My hand shakes slightly, and like any predator sniffing out a weakness in its prey, he notices and smirks.
“How did you…?” I stammer.
“No worries,” he says. “But you’re right. Your mission seems so easy, but you fail to see the influence of the human mind and soul. Like I said, and correct me, but I believe you said it yourself, you can’t compete … not with Vic—he and Jake have been close like brothers for years; not with Europe—the human soul’s thirst for adventure and exploration far exceeds the need for stability and routine; not with Summer—her female aspects…” He stops and stares at me as if he’s stumbled upon something he hadn’t thought of before, but I doubt that. I doubt that anything he says or does is anything less than calculated. His demonic nature forbids him to leave any stone unturned, and the wary pause he’s given is a dead giveaway that he’s trying to plant a thought in my head.
Ignoring his deliberate silence, I urge him on. “Continue,” I say.
“Well, you know you are a female. An interesting pairing from The Powers That Be, don’t you think?”
“How so?”
“Well, it’s just that in all of my experiences, The Powers would match like-for-like, angel to human, same sex. Yours is a tale quite interesting.”
He’s frustrating me, and at this point, I think I really do need to use the bathroom. I get up from the bed. “If you have nothing worthwhile to say, then I’m done here.”
He grabs my wrist and pulls me back onto him. I stumble into his lap, and he cradles me in his arms for a moment, staring lovingly into my eyes. I try to blink quickly so as to not be entwined within the gray storm of his eyes again, but when I look at them there’s a forest—deep and wide and teeming with gentle woodland creatures. His touch is icy; the coolness of his skin seeps through the thickness of my sweater. I hear laughter outside the door of the room, and I try to move, but I can’t… I’m dancing with the forest animals with ritualistic movements that sweep me deeper and deeper into the silver light of the moon dazzling in his eyes.
The door bursts open, and my trance is broken. Summer stands in the threshold, drink in hand, and nearly collapses when she sees me embraced in Malek’s arms.
“Whoops!” she slurs. “Wrong room! Get him, Big A!” She clumsily fumbles with the door behind her. It was surprising that she could be on her way to a drunken stupor in less than twenty minutes.
I release myself from Malek’s hold and scramble to the other side of the bed. “What in the hell was that?” I say.
He reaches into his jeans pocket and takes out a small brown pouch. “Listen,” he says softly. “You can compete. You can be successful. This is how.” Within the pouch is a medal. It is diamond-shaped, like the one he wears around his neck, except it is flat and pure silver. He dangles the medal in front of my face, and I watch it sway back and forth like a hypnotizing pendulum. I mindlessly reach for it, but he snatches it up onto its chain and puts it securely back in its bag. “For you,” he says, handing me the pouch. “Keep it safe. And only use it when you need to. Your guy, up there,” and he points toward the ceiling, referring to Camael, “he watches you, you know, but when you take this medallion out of its bag, he won’t be able to see. It’s what I call a cloaking device. Pretty, isn’t it? I forged this one myself. When you take it out of the bag and hold it, or wear it, you become enshrouded in an invisible aura, so none of those looky-loos from on high can see you. Kinda neat, eh?”
I hold the bag in my unsteady hand. I’m shaking so hard; I might drop it. “I don’t want this,” I say, and hold my hand out for him to take it back.
He takes my fingers and gently folds them over the bag. “Trust me,” he says.
Trust him?
“No, really, it’s…”
“Aestra, you’re going to need this. There’s no other way. You’ve only begun to crack the surface with your calling. You’ve just started, and that’s fine and everything, but in reality you don’t have much time. Jake’s going to have to make a decision at some point and…”
I try to back away, but he pulls me toward him again. “And these things take time,” I say. “Besides, I know what you are! There isn’t anything that you could say or do that would make me trust you. Would you let go of me now?”
He breaks hold of his grip, and the pouch falls to the bed. “You’re not the only one invested in this mission, Aestra. There’s a lot at stake here. More than you can ever realize.”
More mind games? “Yeah, then explain to me how a cloaking device is going to make this all work out?”
“It will give you leverage. You thought it yourself… You will do anything possible to succeed and to help the creation that you and your Lord and your brethren love so much. Consider this an opportunity, an … advantage. Think of the freedom you’ll have when you don’t have a giant set of eyes constantly watching you. You’ll have freedom to say or do whatever it will take with your … female accents…”
“You’re disgusting.”
“Well, I speak the truth. Are you really going to deny the attraction you have for Jake?”
I don’t respond because I want him to leave. I want to leave. My eyes remain fixated on the bed, on the brown leather pouch, on the possibilities this could possibly open up for me.
He swipes at my forehead with the back of his hand. The ice sensation of his flesh sends goosebumps down my arms. I shudder from the frigid touch. “And I’ll tell you this much… don’t have yourself so convinced that all those early morning meetings are just for some class project.
I can’t help but look up at him with curiosity.
He huffs as if he just told me something that I should have known all along. Like some idiot who is just figuring out some simple mystery. Who stole the cookie from the cookie jar… duh! “Aestra,” he exhales in a near disappointment, “you’re so much smarter than that.” He leans over, kisses me on the forehead, and leaves. I look down, and the brown pouch has returned to my hands.