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WE LAND NEXT TO A GIRL with big, brown, wavy hair and some of the boldest blue eye shadow I've ever seen. Her clothes, while kind of cool, don't look modern to me. I'm pretty sure there are shoulder pads under her fuzzy blue sweater, and she's wearing a jean skirt over fishnet hose. She's sitting by the side of the road with an overstuffed duffel bag, and every time she exhales upward, her big bangs blow.
“You might have guessed this already, but... we're in the 1980's,” Sander says.
1980's? I should probably be freaking out about that, but after everything that's happened to me, nothing surprises me anymore.
The girl takes out a huge music player and slips a cassette tape into its slot. The antiquated technology is funny, but quaint.
“What's she listening to?” I ask.
Sander replies right away, “Take On Me by A-ha. It's a good one. To tell you the truth, I actually prefer the music of this era.”
To get myself in the 1980's mood, I start playing the girl's song on my LightTab. About thirty seconds into the song, I feel compelled to dance, so I close my eyes and sway back and forth. When I sing, “taaaaake... meeeee.... ooooon,” I open one eye to check Sander's reaction. I expect him to look annoyed, but he's smiling.
“Am I bugging you?” I ask.
“No! Why do you always think that? I think you're adorable,” Sander says. “It's good to see you getting into the spirit of the eighties.”
Hold up. Did he just say I was adorable? If a spirit can blush, I'm pretty sure my face is bright red right now.
Sander surprises me with another compliment. “You're a good singer, Miss Frost.”
I've won a couple of talent competitions, and my friends always said I was good... but how would Sander know that? He heard me sing one line, and I'm pretty sure it was sharp. At the very least, it wasn't my best performance.
“So... I'm guessing this person is our charge?” I ask, pointing at the girl with the duffel bag.
“She is. Should I tell you about her, or would you like to read for yourself on the LightTab?”
The A-ha song is still playing, and I don't want to turn it off, so I request, “You tell me.”
“The young lady's name is Lisa Marson,” Sander says. “She is a nineteen-year-old college student from Cincinnati, Ohio.”
“Cool.” I sit next to Lisa, wishing I could talk to her, because we're pretty close in age. I wonder if I would have anything in common with a girl from the eighties? “It looks like she's packed a bag. Is she going somewhere?”
“I don't know, Miss Frost. Why don't you try to figure it out?”
I wouldn't be surprised if Sander has already been in and out of Lisa's mind and knows exactly what our mission is. But I'm a student, so I guess he wants me to practice. I take out my crystal and clear my own mind.
Soon enough, I start hearing Lisa's voice in my head.
“Can't believe they don't take me... feel abandoned... what if grandma dies before I get home?”
I tell Sander, “Um... I only heard snippets. I think I was a better mind reader the other day.”
“What did you hear?” Sander asks. “Perhaps I can help you piece it together, and we can try to make sense of it.”
“I think she said something about being abandoned, and then... something about a grandma dying? I dunno. It didn't make sense.”
“Should I fill in the blanks for you, or would you like to try again?” Sander asks.
“Please fill in the blanks,” I beg. I know I won't get better if I don't practice, but I really want to know what's up with Lisa.
“Miss Marson went to Florida with a few of her mates. For Spring Break,” Sander says. “During the trip, she made a phone call to her parents... at a phone booth, of course. They didn't have cell phones back then.”
“Right.” Man, I can't imagine life without a cell phone. I don't even want to imagine life without a cell phone. The LightTab seems similar, so I'm content.
“Unfortunately, her parents gave her some bad news,” Sander continues. “While Lisa was on holiday, her grandmother had a heart attack, and she is now in the hospital.”
“Oh, crap. That's bad!” I exclaim.
Sander starts spouting off even more information. I knew he would have Lisa's entire life story figured out already. He knows everything about everyone, which shouldn't be a shocker. After all, he is an Archangel.
“Lisa does not, in fact, have a car of her own,” Sander says. “Her friend is the one who drove everyone down to Florida. Lisa wanted to return home early, to visit her grandmother, but her friends voted and rejected the idea. To them, having fun in Florida is more important than friends and family.”
“That's pretty shitty.”
“Indeed it is,” Sander agrees. “Now, it seems she's desperate to get back home. She intends to resort to hitchhiking, which is why she's currently sitting on the side of the road.”
“But hitchhiking is so dangerous!” I exclaim. “You never know who could pick you up!”
“I don't disagree with you. Regardless, our job is to get her back home, and to protect her along the way.”
“There has got to be another way. Maybe... she could take a bus or something?”
“That might be difficult,” Sander says. “I believe she only has twenty dollars in her purse.”
Twenty dollars? Who goes on vacation with nothing but a twenty dollar bill? Either she was mooching off her friends, or she was planning to eat cheap. Really cheap. Or maybe things were cheaper in the eighties? I really don't know.
“Maybe...” I rack my mind for another solution—something that isn't hitchhiking. “Maybe her mom or dad could drive down here and pick her up?”
“I don't know if they would,” Sander says. “Lisa's grandmother is currently in the hospital's intensive care unit. She could die at—”
I interrupt, “They should come to get Lisa if they care about her!”
Sander has a comeback for everything, and his next one is a good one. “As I said before, there are no mobile phones in this era. Even if her parents wanted to come to her, they currently have no way to contact her. She would have to contact them.”
“She should call her parents, then.” Leaning closer to Lisa's ear, I shout, “Call your parents! Tell them to pick you up!”
To my surprise, I hear an answer from Lisa—in my head.
“I can't call my parents. I don't want to be a burden. They should be with grandma right now.”
“She rejected the idea,” Sander states the obvious. “But it was good of you to try, Miss Frost.”
“Can you stop calling me Miss Frost?” I ask. “It's weird. None of my high school teachers ever called me that, and you look way younger than any of them ever did.”
“What moniker would you prefer? Mikey?”
“Yeah.” I give him a deep, approving nod. “Mikey would be good.”
When a truck drives by, Lisa hops to her feet and sticks out a thumb. As the vehicle passes, its driver sticks his head out the window, honks, and yells, “Hey, beautiful!”
Sneering, I tell Sander, “I'm glad he didn't stop. His truck was sketch. I got bad vibes from him.”
“As did I.”
“What if your charge was a giant douchebag like truck guy? You would have to help him, wouldn't you?”
“You would,” Sander says. “I have been assigned to some rather shady people, and it's never pleasant.”
Lisa's jean skirt is covered in wet grass. I wish I could brush it off for her, but I can't. Being a spirit sucks sometimes.
“Here comes a van,” Sander says. “It looks like a middle-aged couple. They look friendly enough. Should I try to get them to stop?”
I give him a nod, then he steps in front of the incoming van, compelling it to stop. The driver slows, and the lady in the passenger's seat rolls down her window.
“Are you alright, honey?” the lady asks. She has a thick, southern accent, the kind that always sounds friendly and pleasant.
“I'm alright,” Lisa says. “I'm just looking for a ride. Are you heading north by any chance?”
“Uh huh. My husband and I are heading to Atlanta.”
A spark of life returns to Lisa's bored, brown eyes. “Atlanta's good. Atlanta's in the right direction. Could you take me with you? I can't pay you, but—”
The lady cuts her off. “I'm so sorry, honey. My husband and I don't pick up hitchhikers. I'm sorry.” After her second apology, the woman grimaces. “I really hope you can get to where you're going, though.”
“It's okay. Thanks.”
Lisa sounds dismissive, if not a little pissed off, and I don't blame her. Why pull over if you don't intend to help?
Sander confesses, “I made them stop... more or less. Maybe that wasn't a good idea?”
“Yeah, just wait for someone to stop voluntarily,” I advise him. “Otherwise, you're just getting Lisa's hopes up and wasting our time.”
Damn, I can't believe I said that. It sounds like I'm lecturing him—an Archangel. I bet Archangels don't get a lot of lectures.
Less than two minutes later, another car drives by. It's a white station wagon, the kind my grandpa used to drive. It's a clunker, but I guess beggars can't be choosers.
Once again, Lisa's thumb pops out. The driver stops. It's a geeky-cute guy with bushy dark hair and thick, black glasses.
“H-Hey,” he greets her. “Are you l-l-looking for a ride?”
The first thing I notice is his stutter. It's kind of hard not to notice. The second thing I notice: his eyes. They're bright green and really pretty.
“Yes. Please,” Lisa begs. “I need to get to Cincinnati really bad. My grandmother's dying. I hate to use a sob story on you, but I'm desperate. Really desperate.”
“Hop in.” The guy leans over and opens the passenger door for her. “You're in l-l-luck. I'm heading to Columbus.”