The A-Word (21 page)

Mags narrowed her eyes. She twisted a strand of red plastic beads around her index finger and then untwisted it and started over. “Jenna,” she said, drawing out my name. “How long are you going to keep on not telling me whatever the hell it is that’s going on with you? Because you know what? It’s getting old. I
know
you’ve been through stuff. I
know
. But if you don’t trust me to listen then maybe I’m going to stop asking, you know?”

Her words made my skin prickle. No matter how frantically my mind searched for the right thing to say, it came up empty. Over on the field, the football guys were lining up to do their skit. They had changed into cheerleader outfits. Donny Sneed had a blonde wig and it looked like he was aiming to mimic Lanie. (Ryan was only a freshman, even if he was on varsity, so he was on the sidelines for this part. I admit: I was grateful.)

“You hear what I’m saying?” Mags barked.

I turned. Her eyes were serious, with something confused and hurt sitting behind them. Was this why she’d been so bossy about the Extra Energy drinks? Not because of the chemicals. But because of … me. I noticed now—how could I not have noticed?—that she had fixed her hair into a French braid like the one I’d been sporting the other day. Because we had planned to joke around at this thing and go as two Twinkies. Best friends, dressed alike, half school spirit/half mocking in that way we thought was funny. Maggie Boland—my backup, my bestie. My true north other than my brother.

Shit
.

I glanced back at the field. The football players were prancing around in an awkward rendition of a cheerleader routine. “Copperhead Road” blared again. The opening bagpipe riffs filled the sound system and the cheerleaders joined in, wearing football jerseys with each senior’s number. Nothing like some spirited cross-dressing to get the crowd all revved up. The routine gelled into the line dance, and then they were all moving together to the music. The Texicon Jumbotron flashed colors and fireworks and
EXTRA! EXTRA! EXTRA ENERGY SPIRIT!
in time to the beat.

Still it sounded mournful somehow. A chill rose up my spine.

I wondered vaguely if my brother was still in the Merc, watching Lanie wear Donny Sneed’s football jersey and stomp dance with him, bending low to the beat, not realizing that the lyrics were about Vietnam and moonshine and marijuana.

“Maggie,” I said. The truth bubbled up then, thick as the air, no way to swallow it back. “There’s something I have to tell you about Casey. You’re not going to believe it. I know that. But I swear it’s true. It’s a long story, so maybe now isn’t best, but you’re right. I need to tell you something.”

Maggie took my arm. She looked me straight in the eye, curious and sympathetic and wanting to help. That was good, right? She was even ignoring Billy Compton, though the marching band had gotten into the act, stomping their sideways stomp.

“You remember last year,” I began. My heart was stomping its own dance now. Overhead there was a rumble of thunder. I glanced from Maggie to the field and back again, shifting my gaze, trying to find the right words. If I was going to tell her—Was I going to tell her?—I couldn’t stand here all
night yapping. I had to slap the truth at her quickly, like ripping off a Band-Aid.

The wind picked up, and some strands of Mags’s hair came loose from her little French braid. Around us, everyone was cheering and laughing and enjoying the show.

“It’s a long story,” I said, then stopped. This wasn’t going to work.

“God, Jenna,” Maggie said. “You’re scaring me. Is this about the EMT girl? Did Casey cheat on Lanie with her or something? No—it’s your parents, right? But I already know about that.”

On the field, the cross-dressed guys and girls separated. The cheer squad lined up under the Jumbotron. The video flashed on the screen.
Mustang Cheerleaders Rock It!

We were all still down by the cinder track, a huge crowd, most of them still chugging Extra Energy like there was no tomorrow. Maybe I should have kept mine. My mouth was pretty dry now.

“Go on up to the stands, people,” Principal Baker bellowed into a mic. I was surprised he hadn’t made us do that earlier. It was more fun to stand down here. Fun is a dirty word in the public school system. Of course people just crowded closer toward the field.

Here’s the funny thing about real life being shown simultaneously on a big screen. You don’t know where to look. Do you watch the virtual version, which you can see better because it’s above you? Or do you watch the real thing, craning your neck around the crowd and thinking it somehow looks less authentic even though it’s not?

My eyes darted from one to the other. Next to me, Maggie was waiting for the story of a lifetime. In the sky, there was another rumble of thunder and then a flash of lightning,
closer. More thunder. The storm was almost overhead now. Lightning flashed again. My memory flashed to the images of war and bombs and destruction that Bo had forced into my brain. It hadn’t begun to rain yet. The air was thick and too still.

But the cross-dressed cheerleaders had begun their pyramid. I guess not even a huge storm was going to stop them from shoving Lanie Phelps into the air. The girls on the ground acted as ballast and two of the strongest ones pushed her up, their hands holding her feet while she stood tall and then lifted her leg up and up so that it was parallel to her body. I had once heard my brother tell Dave Pittman that Lanie’s limberness was a thing of wonder. This had both fascinated and grossed me out, knowing that my brother had been up close and personal with her gymnastic skills.

At my ear, Maggie said, “The cheerleaders look funny. Wrong, I mean. Why is Lanie stunting? She’s too tall to toss.”

She did not say this in a mocking tone. But I didn’t have time to process her words. Because lots of people in the crowd were acting wrong, too. Tired looking and spacey. My first thought was Dave Pittman. Was he back? Selling weed to the crowd? That made no sense. People were giggling and pointing and acting flighty in a way that seemed off, even for a football pep rally with cross-dressing. It was still early, after all. Besides, everyone had been guzzling Extra Energy. Empty bottles were scattered everywhere at our feet. Principal Baker was shouting something over the mic, but we couldn’t hear him.

I raised my eyes toward the Jumbotron.

The girls pushed Lanie higher, propelling her into the air. She arched her back as she flew skyward, keeping steady so that when she fell back down, the girls could catch her and take her safely to earth.

It was then—just as Lanie soared impossibly high—that a bolt of lightning hit the Texicon Jumbotron. Smack in the middle of the logo. After the thunderclap, a terrible grinding sound filled the air, a shriek of metal, and then flames.

The huge letter
T
broke apart, pieces falling like huge daggers. The cheerleaders screamed, including Lanie. They scattered beneath her. But the screen was still working. The flames raced down, licking the turf.

“Jenna!” Maggie screamed. She grabbed my hand. The crowd pressed in tighter. I couldn’t move my head. My eyes had no choice but to stay glued on the screen.

Lanie Phelps was falling.

Maggie hollered for all she was worth, and all I could think was to keeping clinging to her hand so we didn’t get separated. I would make it out of here with her and we would meet Casey back at the Merc …

And then there he was. On the screen. Casey Benjamin Samuels. My brother. My angel. Wings spread. My heart lurched. How was that possible? He’d used up his earthly flight for me. His body curved through the air, beautiful and perfect and majestic. He had been right, my brother. He was made for this.

He caught Lanie Phelps, cradling her gently in his arms, and set her down as she fell, just as he had caught me last year—just as he had in the earthly flight that had grounded him. Only he wasn’t grounded now. He was swooping back up through the air. I watched transfixed as he blew an angel breath at the Texicon Jumbotron. And my heart burst out of my chest now—at least that’s what it felt like—because he blew and blew, pushing back the fire, leaving a blackened stump of a screen. And in that last instant, his eyes met mine, and he flashed me his goofy stoner smile, and then he was … gone.

It made no sense. It defied the laws of nature not to mention the obviously bullshit rules of Angel Management. My brother had just freaking outed himself as a heavenly being to the entire student body. But where was he?

Everyone was running.

“Did you see that?” someone said. “What the hell?” said someone else. “Is that pothead Samuels wearing wings again? He’ll get himself killed!”

“Casey!” I shrieked. But he didn’t reappear.

I looked up at the sky and was greeted with pelting rain. I lost track of Maggie then, let go of her hand. I had to reach Casey. I thought I heard Ryan Sloboda call my name. Maybe I did. My brain was reeling. What would I tell him? Maggie? How would I explain? Principal Baker would call Mom. How would we cover this up? Casey would have to lay hands on her for a while to make her forget this one. And a hopeful thought, even as I knew it would turn out badly: What would Dad say?

This wasn’t like last Christmas at the Galleria with a bunch of strangers and an excuse that we had skydived. This was here. In front of everybody. But he had been grounded. Bo had confirmed what Amber had said. You fly once in earthly form and you lose your earthly flight. So now what? What would happen? Would they give up on him all together? Send him to the other place? Was there even
an
other place?

At that moment I could have sworn I heard Bo laugh.

I froze on the field, alone.

A single white feather drifted to the wet grass.

I
t is hard to recall exactly what happened after that. Maybe my brain was doing me a favor. What I do remember is this: Amber and Bo were suddenly there beside me on the rainy field.

I spun this way and that, looking for my brother. He couldn’t be gone. He couldn’t. Not like … He couldn’t. No. No. No.

“Casey!” I remember shouting. “Casey. Casey. Casey,” until my throat was raw. Even after that, when Amber and Bo were dragging me to the Camaro.

“Where is he? Where is he?” I rasped. “He flew again. I thought he couldn’t! Y’all are grounded. No earthly flights. But he … and then … What the hell? Where is he?”

Amber didn’t answer. At some point I think Bo told her to shut up, anyway. At another point, he asked me if I needed him to carry me. And then Amber was shouting something at him and saying, “How could this happen?” And Bo was
muttering something about how “she wasn’t his to save,” and my body felt like it would stop breathing.

Footsteps and shouting came from behind us as we reached Amber’s car on the far side of the lot. Ryan and Maggie had caught up.

“Mr. Shivers?” Maggie was gawking at Bo. “Where are you taking Jenna?”

My heart was hammering like a demented woodpecker, but somehow I managed the thought that Bo’s plan to watch out for me by teaching at our school had just backfired royally. My own angry humor. Maybe this was all some sick joke, right?

“Jenna can’t talk to you right now,” Amber said.

“We’re going to find Casey,” I said. Even to
my
ears this sounded stupid. But I said it again, because I thought: if I say it enough, it will happen. It couldn’t be the other. I wasn’t ready. I would never be ready. Not like this. Not now. I wasn’t prepared. Casey would have prepared me.

The thought felt small and selfish. I was in that car with him last year. I saw him slumped over the wheel after our accident. I saw what he looked like. I
knew
.

Ryan’s cut had stopped bleeding, the rain washing it to a thin red gash on the curve of his forehead near his left temple. Amber was telling him and Mags to leave again, but I saw him plant his feet.

“Jenna can speak for herself,” Ryan said. He glared at Amber, puffing out his chest like he was on the football field. Ryan Sloboda, who would someday write amazing characters like that Tony Stark. Ryan Sloboda who had hung on to that stupid sheep. “I remember you. You’re that EMT lady who spoke to us at Ima Hogg last year.”

“Where’s your brother?” Maggie asked. Then she swept me into a hug. Ryan grabbed my hand, holding tight. I forced myself to squeeze back. His skin was warm under my clammy palm.

Even as I felt the niceness of that, my brain screeched:
Tell him to go away. He can’t be here. He doesn’t understand what I’m so upset about, other than that Lanie Phelps almost bit the dust and then she was saved. How could he? I can’t tell him the truth. He wouldn’t believe it anyway. So he can’t be my boyfriend anymore. And here we had just gotten started
.

Bo Shivers laid his left hand on Maggie’s arm and his right on Ryan’s.

“Wait,” I began.

But it was already done. Mags stepped away. Ryan’s hand slid from mine.

“She’ll call you later,” Amber said, not even looking at them.

“Maggie needs a ride,” I said, remembering.

Ryan blinked. Looked at me. Looked at Maggie. “My dad’s coming for me. I’ll take you home, Mags.”