Halo

11 Head over Heels

The front door opened before I had a chance to knock. Ivy stood there, concern knitting her brow. Gabriel sat stony faced in the sitting room. He might have been a figure in a painting so still was his bearing. Ordinarily it would have prompted overwhelming remorse, but I was still hearing Xavier’s voice and remembering his strong hand on my back as he ushered me into Sweethearts, as well as the fresh scent of his cologne.

Deep down I’d known when I clambered down my balcony that Gabriel would have sensed my absence almost immediately. He would also have guessed where I’d gone and who I was with. I knew the idea of coming to look for me would have crossed his mind, only to be dismissed. Neither he nor Ivy would have wanted to draw attention to us so publicly.

“You shouldn’t have waited up, I was perfectly safe,” I said. The words unintentionally came out sounding too offhand, impudent rather than apologetic. “I’m sorry if I worried you,” I added as an afterthought.

“No, you’re not, Bethany,” said Gabriel softly. He still hadn’t lifted his head. “You’re not sorry or you wouldn’t have done it.” I hated that he wouldn’t look at me.

“Gabe, please,” I began, but he silenced me by raising his hand in protest.

“I was apprehensive about having you with us on this mission, and now you have proven yourself to be completely erratic.” He looked as if the words had left a bad taste in his mouth. “You’re young and inexperienced — your aura is warmer and more human than any other angel’s I have known, and yet you were chosen. I sensed we would encounter problems with you, but the others believed all would be well. But now I see you’ve made your decision — you’ve chosen a passing fancy over your family.” He rose abruptly.

“Can we at least talk about it?” I asked. It was all sounding very dramatic, and I was sure it didn’t need to be if only I could get Gabriel to understand.

“Not now. It’s late. Whatever you want to say can wait till morning.” And with that he left us.

Ivy looked at me, her eyes wide and sad. I hated to end the night on such a sour note, especially seeing as moments ago, I couldn’t have been happier.

“I wish Gabriel wouldn’t do that prophet-of-doom routine,” I said.

Ivy looked suddenly tired.

“Oh, Bethany, don’t say things like that! What you did tonight was wrong even if you can’t see that yet. Our counsel may not make sense to you right now, but the least you can do is think about it before things get out of hand. You will realize this is nothing but an infatuation. Your feelings for this boy will pass.”

Ivy and Gabriel were talking in riddles. How did they expect me to see a problem when they couldn’t even articulate it? I knew my outing with Xavier was a minor deviation from the agenda, but what was the harm in that? What was the point of being on earth and having human experiences if we were going to pretend they didn’t matter? Despite what my siblings thought was best, I didn’t want my feelings for Xavier to pass. That made him sound like a cold or a virus that would eventually work its way out of my system. Never had I experienced such an all-consuming desire for someone’s presence. An expression I’d read somewhere crossed my mind: “The heart wants what the heart desires.” I couldn’t remember where it came from, but whoever wrote it had been right. If Xavier was an illness, then I didn’t want to recover. If my attraction to him constituted an offense that might incur divine retribution, then so be it. Let it rain down. I didn’t care.

Ivy went up to her room and I was left alone with Phantom, who seemed to know instinctively what I needed. He came and nuzzled behind my knees, knowing it would force me to bend down and stroke him. At least one member of the household didn’t hate me.

I went upstairs and peeled off my clothes, leaving them in a heap on the floor. I wasn’t sleepy; instead I was weighed down by a feeling of being trapped. I stepped into the shower and allowed the hot water to pummel my shoulders and loosen my tight muscles. Even though we’d agreed never to do this in the house in case we could be seen, I partially released my wings until they pressed up against the glass of the shower screen. They were stiff from hours of being folded, and I felt them double in weight as they absorbed water. I tipped my head back, letting the water run down my face. Ivy had asked me to think about what I was doing, but for once I didn’t want to think, I just wanted to be.

I dried myself hastily and with my wings still damp climbed into bed. The last thing I wanted was to hurt my brother and sister, but my heart seemed to turn to stone whenever I thought of never seeing Xavier again. I wished he was in my room right then. I knew what I would ask of him: to escort me from my prison. And I knew he wouldn’t hesitate. In my imagination I was the maiden tied to the train tracks, and the face of my tormentor alternated between that of my brother’s and sister’s. I realized I was being irrational, turning the situation into a melodrama, but I couldn’t stop myself. How could I explain to my family that Xavier was much more than a boy I’d developed a crush on? We’d only had a few short encounters and one date, but that was irrelevant. How could I make them see that a similar encounter was unlikely even if I lingered on the earth for a thousand lifetimes? I still possessed my celestial wisdom, and I knew it with the same certainty that I knew my days on this verdant planet were numbered.

What I couldn’t determine and didn’t dare to ask was what would happen once the powers in the Kingdom learned of my transgression. I didn’t imagine the reaction would be mild. But was a little compassion and understanding too much to ask for? Wasn’t I as deserving of these as any human being who would be pardoned without a second thought? I wondered what would happen next. Would I be recalled in disgrace? I felt a chill run through me at the thought, but then the memory of Xavier’s face filled me with warmth once again.

The matter was not raised the next morning or during the rest of weekend. On Monday morning Gabriel went through the ritual of making breakfast in silence. The silence continued until we reached the gates of Bryce Hamilton and parted company.

Molly and her friends offered a welcome distraction. I let their conversation wash over me; it stopped me thinking. Today their source of entertainment was dissecting the latest fashion faux pas of their least favorite teachers. According to the girls, Mr. Phillips looked as though his hair had been cut by a lawnmower; Miss Pace wore skirts that would work better as carpet; and Mrs. Weaver, with her tailored slacks tucked under her breasts, had been dubbed Harry High-Pants. Most of them saw teachers as an alien species, undeserving of common courtesy, but despite their laughter, I knew there was no real malice intended in their jibes; they were just bored.

Soon the conversation turned to matters of more importance.

“Get excited, ’cause we’re going shopping soon!” said Hayley. “We thought we’d get the train to the city and check out the boutiques in Punch Lane. Molly, are you coming?”

“Count me in,” Molly replied. “What about you, Beth?”

“I don’t even know if I’m going to the prom,” I said.

“Why would you even think about missing it?” Molly looked aghast, as if only an apocalypse might serve as a valid reason for not attending.

“Well, for one I don’t have a date.”

I didn’t confess this to Molly, but several boys had already broached the subject, seizing the opportunity of finding me alone in between classes. I had fended them off with noncommittal responses. I told everyone who asked that I wasn’t sure if I’d be going, which wasn’t entirely a lie. I was buying time and secretly hoping Xavier would ask me.

A girl called Montana rolled her eyes. “Don’t worry about that. The dress is way more important. If you get desperate, you can always find someone.

I was about to say something about checking my planner when I felt a strong arm slip around my shoulders. The group froze, their gazes fixed on the space above my head.

“Hi, girls, you don’t mind if I steal Beth for a minute, do you?” Xavier asked.

“Well, we were in the middle of an important conversation,” Molly objected. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion and she looked at me expectantly.

“I’ll bring her right back,” Xavier said.

There was something familiar about his manner toward me, which they didn’t fail to notice. Although I liked it, I was also uncomfortable to suddenly be the center of attention. Xavier guided me to an empty table.

“What are you doing?” I whispered.

“I seem to be making a habit of rescuing you,” he replied. “Or did you want to spend the rest of lunch talking about spray tans and eyelash extensions?”

“How do you even know about that stuff?”

“Sisters,” he said.

He seated himself comfortably at the table, ignoring the sidelong glances being aimed at us now from all directions of the crowded cafeteria. Some looked envious, others simply curious. Xavier had chosen to sit with me when almost any table in the room would have welcomed him and coveted his company.

“We seem to be drawing attention,” I said and squirmed.

“People like to gossip, we can’t help that.”

“Why aren’t you with your friends?”

“You’re more interesting.”

“There’s nothing interesting about me,” I said, a note of panic creeping into my voice.

“I disagree. Even your reaction to being called interesting is interesting.”

We were interrupted by two younger boys approaching our table.

“Hey, Xavier.” The taller of the two greeted him with a respectful nod. “The swim meet was awesome. I won four out of six heats.”

“Good job, Parker,” Xavier said, slipping easily into his role as school captain and mentor. “I knew we were going to kick Westwood’s butt.”

The boy beamed with pride.

“Reckon I’ll make the nationals?” he asked eagerly.

“I wouldn’t be surprised — Coach was pretty pleased. Just make sure you show up to training next week.”

“You got it, man,” the boy said. “See you Wednesday!”

Xavier nodded and they knocked their fists together. “See you, kiddo.”

I saw right away that Xavier was good at dealing with people; he was affable without inviting familiarity. When the boy had gone, his expression changed back to one of concentration, as if what I had to say really mattered. It made my skin prickle and the corners of my lips twist into a smile. I could feel a blush starting in my chest, and soon it traveled to spread across my face.

“How do you do that?” I asked to cover my confusion.

“Do what?”

“Talk to people so easily.”

Xavier shrugged. “It comes with the territory. Hey, I almost forgot, I dragged you over here to return something.” He pulled a long, white, iridescent feather, flecked with rose, from the pocket of his blazer. “I found this in my car last night after I drove you home.”

I snatched the feather from his hand and slipped it between the covers of my planner. I had no idea how it had ended up in Xavier’s car. My wings had been firmly tucked away.

“Good luck charm?” Xavier asked, his turquoise eyes watching my face with curiosity.

“Something like that,” I replied guardedly.

“You look upset; is something wrong?”

I shook my head quickly and looked away.

“You know you can trust me.”

“Actually, I don’t know that yet.”

“You’ll find out once we spend more time together,” he said. “I’m a pretty loyal guy.”

I didn’t hear him. I was too busy scanning the faces in the crowd in case one of them belonged to Gabriel. His fears didn’t seem so unfounded now.

“Don’t overwhelm me with your enthusiasm.” Xavier laughed. His words brought me back to the present with a jolt.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m a little preoccupied today.”

“Anything I can help with?”

“I don’t think so but thanks for asking.”

“You know, keeping secrets is unhealthy for a relationship.” Xavier folded his arms comfortably across his chest and settled back in his chair.

“Who said anything about a relationship? Besides, we’re not required to share everything; it’s not like we’re married.”

“You want to marry me?” Xavier asked, and I saw some faces turn toward us in curiosity. “I was thinking we’d start slow and see where things went, but hey, what the hell!”

I rolled my eyes. “Be quiet or I’ll be forced to flick you.”

“Ooh,” he mocked. “The ultimate threat. I don’t think I’ve ever been flicked before.”

“Are you suggesting I can’t hurt you?”

“On the contrary, I think you have the power to do great damage.”

I looked at him quizzically and then blushed deeply when his meaning dawned.

“Very funny,” I said curtly.

His arm lying across the table brushed against mine. Something inside me stirred.

There was nothing I could do about it. My attachment to Xavier Woods was instant and all-consuming. Suddenly my old life seemed far away. I certainly didn’t yearn for Heaven as I knew Gabriel and Ivy did. For them, life on earth was a daily reminder of the limitations of flesh. For me, it was a reminder of the wonders of being human.

I became adept at masking my feelings for Xavier in front of my brother and sister. I knew they were aware of it, but if they disapproved, they must have made a pact to keep it to themselves. For that, I was grateful. I sensed a rift between us now that hadn’t been there before. Our relationship seemed more fragile, and there were uncomfortable silences at the dinner table. Every night I fell asleep to the sound of their whispered conversations and felt certain that my disobedience was the subject of discussion. I elected to do nothing about the increasing distance between us even though I knew I might come to regret the decision later.

For now, I had other things to think about. I suddenly looked forward to getting up in the morning and leapt out of bed without needing Ivy to wake me up. I lingered in front of the mirror, trying different things with my hair, seeing myself as Xavier might see me. In my head I replayed snippets of conversation, trying to determine the impression I’d made. Sometimes I’d be pleased by a witty remark I’d delivered; other times I berated myself for saying or doing something clumsy. I made a pastime of thinking up sharp one-liners and memorized them for future use.

I was envious of Molly and her group now. What they took for granted, I could never have: a future on this planet. They would grow up to have families of their own, careers to explore, and a lifetime of memories to share with the partners they’d choose. I was just a tourist living on borrowed time. For this reason alone I knew I should curb my feelings for Xavier rather than allow them to develop. But if I’d learned anything about teenage romance, it was that intensity wasn’t dictated by duration. Three months was the norm, six months marked a turning point, and if a relationship lasted a year, the pair was more or less engaged. I didn’t know how long I had on earth, but whether it was a month or a year, I wasn’t going to waste a single day of it. After all, every minute spent with Xavier would form the basis of memories I would need to sustain me for eternity.

I had no trouble collecting such memories because soon there wasn’t a day that passed without me having some form of interaction with him. We looked for each other routinely at school whenever we had free time. Sometimes our contact was nothing more than a brief conversation at the lockers or sitting together at lunch. When I wasn’t in class, I found myself on full alert, looking over my shoulder, trying to spy him coming out of the locker rooms, waiting for the moment when he came onto the stage during assemblies or squinting to make him out among the players on the rugby field. Molly sarcastically suggested I might need to get glasses.

On afternoons when he didn’t have training, Xavier would walk me home, insisting on carrying my bag. We made sure to extend the walk by taking a detour through town and stopping at Sweethearts, which quickly became “our place.”

Sometimes we talked about our day; other times we sat in comfortable silence. I was content to just look at him, something I never tired of doing. I could become mesmerized by his floppy hair, his eyes the color of the ocean, the habit he had of raising one eyebrow. His face was as entrancing as a piece of art. With my keen senses, I learned to identify him by his distinctive scent. I always knew when he was close by, before I could actually see him, by the clean, woody fragrance in the air.

Sometimes during those sun-kissed afternoons, I would look around furtively, expecting heavenly retribution. I imagined being watched by secret eyes gathering evidence of my misconduct. But nothing happened.

It was largely because of Xavier that I went from being an outsider to an integral part of life at Bryce Hamilton. Through my association with him, I made the discovery that popularity could be transferred. If people could be guilty by association, they could achieve recognition in exactly the same way. Almost overnight I became accepted simply because I numbered among Xavier Wood’s friends. Even Molly, who had initially discouraged my interest in him, seemed appeased. When we were together, Xavier and I turned heads, but now it was more as a result of admiration than surprise. I noticed the difference even when I was alone. People gave me friendly waves as I passed them in the corridor, made small talk in the classroom while waiting for a teacher to arrive, or asked me how I’d done on the latest test.

My contact with Xavier at school was limited by the fact that we mostly took different classes. Otherwise I might have run the risk of following him around like a puppy. Apart from the French class we shared, his forte was math and science while I was drawn to the arts.

“Literature’s my favorite subject,” I announced to him one day in the cafeteria as if it were a vital discovery. I was carrying my booklet of literary terms, and I let it fall open at a random page. “Bet you don’t know what enjambment is.”

“I don’t but it sounds painful,” said Xavier.

“It’s when one line of poetry runs into the next.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier to follow if you just put in full stops?” That was one of things I liked about Xavier; his view of the world was so black and white. I laughed.

“Possibly, but it might not be as interesting.”

“Honestly, what is it you like so much about literature?” he asked with genuine interest. “I hate how there’s no right or wrong answer. Everything’s open to interpretation.”

“Well, I like the way each person can have a completely different understanding of the same word or sentence,” I said. “You can spend hours discussing the meaning behind a poem and have reached no conclusion by the end of it.”

“And that doesn’t frustrate you? Don’t you want to know the answer?”

“Sometimes it’s better to stop trying to make sense of things. Life isn’t clear-cut, there are always gray areas.”

“My life is pretty clear-cut,” Xavier said. “Isn’t yours?”

“No,” I said with a sigh, thinking of the ongoing conflict with my siblings. “My world is messy and confusing. It gets tiring sometimes.”

“I think I might have to change your world,” Xavier replied.

We looked at each other in silence for a few moments, and I felt as if his brilliant ocean eyes could see right into my head and pull out my thoughts and innermost feelings.

“You know, you can always pick the lit students,” he continued, grinning.

“Is that so? How?”

“They’re the ones who walk around wearing berets and that I-know-something-you-don’t expression.”

“That’s not fair!” I objected. “I don’t.”

“No, you’re too genuine for that. Don’t ever change, and don’t under any circumstances start wearing a beret.”

“I’ll do my best,” I laughed.

The bell sounded, signaling the start of the next class.

“What have you got now?” Xavier asked.

I cheerfully waved my glossary of literary terms under his nose by way of answer.

I was always happy to be going to literature with Miss Castle. It was a diverse class despite there being only twelve of us. There were two sullen-looking goth girls, who wore black eyeliner and whose cheeks were powdered so chalk white they looked like they’d never seen the sun. There was a group of diligent girls with neat hair ribbons and well-equipped pencil cases, who were obsessed with grades, and they were usually too busy taking notes to contribute to class discussion. There were only two boys: Ben Carter, who was cocky but astute, and loved an argument; and Tyler Jensen, a brawny rugby player, who invariably arrived late and sat through the lesson wearing a stunned expression and chewing gum. He never contributed anything and his presence in the class was a mystery to everyone.

Due to the small size of the group, we’d been relegated to a cramped classroom in the old part of the school that adjoined the administration offices. As the room wasn’t used for any other purpose, we were allowed to shift the furniture and put up posters. My favorite was one of Shakespeare depicted as a pirate wearing an earring. The room’s only advantage was that it came with a view of the front lawns and palm-lined street. Unlike other subjects, literature class could never be described as lackluster. Instead, the very air seemed to be charged with ideas all vying to be heard.

I sat next to Ben and watched him look up his favorite bands on his laptop, an activity he kept up even once the class had started. Miss Castle arrived carrying a mug of coffee and an armful of handouts. She was a tall, slender woman in her early forties with masses of dark curly hair and dreamy eyes. She always wore heavy-framed glasses on a fine red cord around her neck and pastel blouses. Judging by the way she carried herself and the way she spoke, she would have been more comfortable in a Jane Austen novel, in which women rode in carriages and witty repartee flew across a drawing room like sparks. She was passionate about language, and it didn’t matter what text we were studying, she identified vividly with the heroine every time. Her teaching was so animated, people sometimes stopped to look into the classroom, where they’d see Miss Castle thumping the teacher’s desk, firing off questions or gesticulating wildly to illustrate a point. I wouldn’t have been surprised to walk in one day and find her standing on top of her desk or swinging from the light fixtures.

We’d started the term studying Romeo and Juliet in conjunction with Shakespeare’s love sonnets. Now we were assigned the task of writing our own love poems, which would be recited to the class. The studious girls, who’d never had to rely on their own imaginations before, flew into a panic. This was something they couldn’t look up on the Internet.

“We don’t know what to write about!” they wailed. “It’s too hard.”

“Just think about it for a while,” said Miss Castle in her floaty voice.

“Nothing interesting happens to us.”

“It doesn’t have to be personal,” she coaxed. “It can be a total figment of your imagination.”

The girls remained uninspired.

“Can you give us an example?” they persisted.

“We’ve been looking at examples all term,” said Miss Castle in a dejected tone. Then an idea for a starting point came to her. “Think about qualities you find attractive in a boy.”

“Well, I think intelligence is very important,” a girl named Bianca volunteered.

“Obviously, he should be a good provider,” her friend Hannah piped up.

Miss Castle looked at a loss. She was spared having to comment by a contribution from a different quarter.

“People are only interesting if they’re dark and disturbed,” said Alicia, one of the goths.

“Chicks shouldn’t talk so much,” drawled Tyler from the back of the room. It was the first thing we’d heard him say all term, and Miss Castle was graciously prepared to overlook its derogatory nature.

“Thank you, Tyler,” she said with underlying sarcasm. “You have just proved that the search for a partner is a very individual thing. Some say we can’t choose who we fall in love with; love chooses us. Sometimes people fall for the complete antithesis of everything they believe they’re looking for. Any other thoughts?”

Ben Carter, who had been rolling his eyes and wearing a martyred expression throughout the discussion, put his face in his hands.

“Great love stories have to be tragic,” I said suddenly.

“Go on,” encouraged Miss Castle.

“Well, take Romeo and Juliet for example: It’s the fact that they’re kept apart that makes their love stronger.”

“Big deal — they both end up dead,” snorted Ben.

“They’d have ended up divorced if they’d stayed alive,” announced Bianca. “Did anyone else notice that it took Romeo all of five seconds to switch from Rosaline to Juliet?”

“That’s because he knew Juliet was the one from the moment he met her,” I said.

“Puh-lease,” Bianca retorted. “You can’t know that you love someone after two minutes. He just wanted to get in her pants. Romeo is just like every other horny teenage boy.”

“He didn’t know anything about her,” Ben said. “All his praise is for her physical attributes: ‘Juliet is the sun’ and blah blah blah. He just thinks she’s a babe.”

“I think it’s because after he met her everyone else became insignificant,” I said. “He knew right away that she was going to be his whole world.”

“Oh God,” groaned Ben.

Miss Castle gave me a meaningful smile. Being a hopeless romantic, she couldn’t help but take Romeo’s side. Unlike most of the teachers at Bryce Hamilton, who competed to see who could get to the parking lot first after the final bell rang, she wasn’t jaded. She was a dreamer. I suspected that if I told Miss Castle I was a celestial being on a mission to save the world, she wouldn’t have even blinked.