Angelhood by A.J. Cattapan

Author:A.J. Cattapan
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: hell, paranormal, speculative fiction, christian, heaven, aj cattapan
Publisher: vinspirepublishing

Chapter Fourteen

When I join Vera in geometry, she’s working on a problem with Miss Goody Two-Shoes. I wish Betsy had stayed long enough to tell me what she’d seen. It must’ve been something amazing to have her rush off like that. More importantly, I want to know how she did it. Part of me wants to run over to Ms. Kitchin’s and find Warren so we can talk, but I’ve already left Vera alone for too long.

Lunch is relatively uneventful. I can’t figure out how to get Vera away from the loser table. The bulimic girl doesn’t pay attention when I blow Vera’s aluminum foil toward her. Vera just looks up at the ceiling like she’s looking for a vent that’s blowing on her before retrieving the foil herself. At the end of lunch, I grab hold of the bulimic girl’s shoelace, and she trips getting up from the table, spilling greasy napkins and the remains of some nachos all over the floor. Vera sweeps around to help, but the bulimic girl doesn’t even acknowledge her presence. I’ll say this for Vera, either she’s got a kind heart or she’s simply grown used to picking up after her father all the time.

Class after class, I watch Vera doodle and scrawl verses in her thorny heart notebook. Some of her lines are quite lyrical even if they are darker than an Emily Dickinson poem about Death with a capital D. When she isn’t writing, Vera has a novel or poetry book tucked inside her textbook. I suppose if I’d had no friends, I would’ve spent more time with my nose in a book, too. By the end of the day, I still have no idea how to help Vera make friends, but I feel hopeful. Goatee boy had said he’d been clean for over a month. Maybe that’s all it takes—a month or two of Guarding. I could do that.

After the final bell rings, Vera packs up her bag at her locker. She’s getting ready to leave when a familiar face breezes past. Cecille. Her face is red, and her eyes puffy. I expect her to stop at her locker, but she heads straight for the girls’ bathroom next door to Ms. Kitchin’s room. For a moment I forget I’m dead and call out, “Cecille, what’s wrong?” My baby sister was never a crier. She was Miss Mostly Sunny to my Miss Mostly Cloudy.

Without a thought for Vera, I follow Cecille into the girls’ room. She plops her pile of books onto the counter and heads into a stall. Another girl washes her hands at the sink and then leaves. As soon as the bathroom door squeaks shut, Cecille lets out a wail and sobs. I stand on the other side of the stall door, my angelic hands almost solid, pressing against the pink painted metal. “Cecille,” I whisper her name.

A strong wind roars through the building.

“What?” I cry in outrage. The shadows have scared me in the past, but this time I’m pissed.

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