

### Winging It!

# Confessions of an Angel-in-Training

# By Shel Delisle

Copyright © 2012 Shel Delisle

All Rights Reserved.

Smashwords Edition

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author's imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part or in any form.

Smashwords License

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

DEDICATION

For Judy Rice, who gave me angels every Christmas until I could no longer deny their existence.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

A Message from Shel Delisle

Acknowledgments

About the Author

**Chapter 1**

Have you ever decided to do something that seemed like a good idea—maybe even an _inspired_ idea—and in the second before there's no turning back, you think, _I musta been totally mental when I came up with this?_ And then, _Oh well, here goes._

Confession: That was exactly what ran through my mind when Gabriel sounded his trumpet and I took my leap of faith.

* * *

In the enormous circular room at the center of the Temple, Archangels stand against the walls. Everything in the room is made of white marble—walls, floor ceiling, columns—which makes for a hard, chilly atmosphere. What I wouldn't give for a shaggy rug, a comfy chair or a space heater. Strangely, even though someone has the AC set to frigid, my palms are sweating, so I wipe them on the plaid skirt of my Catholic school uniform.

I ditched the traditional white linen robe we're supposed to wear in the hope that dressing memorably would show The Big Kahuna I'm different from all the other Angels-in-Training. Independent. Non-conformist. Holy, hip, and human.

That kind of thing.

Confession: I'm not human, and don't want to be, but I gotta play the part for this whole thing to work, you know?

Today is Declaration Day. Or as I call it: D-Day. After our first three years of general schooling at the _L'académie de Divinté_ , a.k.a. Angel School, it's time to specialize and pick our eternal vocation. Then, we'll study that for the next three years. Finally, after that—and _if_ we pass—we'll receive our wings. In between, we get other junk like a scepter, scales or flaming swords. Some can't wait to get their chariots, but I'm all about the wings. Who needs wheels when you can fly?

Three more years feels like for- _e_ -ver.

As I wait, sweating it, Gabriel sounds his trumpet. A bright, multi-colored pulsing light spirals into the room through a doorway and glides toward me.

Is that Him?

Seraphim fly over the light all _holy, holy, holy._ As they soar, the Archangels and I bow our heads.

Seraphs, in case you didn't know, are at the top of the Celestial Being hierarchy, and it takes eons to get one of those jobs. Everyone thinks they're such a big deal, but I don't get it. All they do is fly around Our Head Honcho, non-stop. I mean, c'mon. The job seems pretty repetitious and not highly skilled, if you ask me. The best thing—no, the _only_ thing—about Seraphim are those awesome wings, which almost makes me think about aspiring to their job. _Almost_.

As the glowing ball of light approaches, I shield my eyes. Sheesh, that's bright!

A fiery hand emerges from the orb, holding out a pair of sunglasses. I don't believe it, they're glam. Gingerly, I take them and put them on.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome." The ball of light constricts, shifts, and then Santa emerges: chubby, red suit, a sack of gifts tossed over his shoulder. "It's time to declare your vocation, Grace."

Of course, I _already_ know this. That's why we're here.

"I have an inkling of what you'd like to do." Santa becomes the light, which shifts again, and now He is a ginormous computer, whirring softly. How much memory does He have? Oh yeah—

Omniscient.

Which can get on someone's nerves, because if you know, just _tell_ me.

Archangel Michael bows his head in the direction of the computer then steps away from the wall, bearing his flaming sword. "Declare your vocation, Grace." He sheathes the sword and looks annoyed, crossing his super-sized wings over his arms.

My stomach knots. Michael's always intimidated me because, well, first of all he towers over me with his very muscular build. I'm sure that's useful as he leads the army of Angels against doers of evil, but it can be a teeny bit intimidating. But to be honest, the thing that really makes me rubber-kneed is that he's never liked me. Not since his guest lecture in my first year at Angel School during _Celestial Structure 101_.

After about a month of classes, Professor Trueday announced, "We have a very special guest speaker today. Please welcome the Archangel Michael."

Near the front of the room a huge, stony-faced Angel stood stiffly with the most incredible, feathered, iridescent, elegant wings I'd ever seen.

Professor Trueday normally didn't exhibit his wings, keeping them concealed while teaching. But this new guy had no problem flaunting his. Mr. Gigantic Wings turned his back to the class, wrote ORDER on the blackboard and said, "In the day-to-day management of the Universe . . ."

_Blah, blah, drone, drone_. _How will I take this for the next six years?_ I didn't really tune in to much of what he said because I couldn't stop admiring his wings. Behind a cupped hand, I whispered to my roommate, Mercy, "I gotta get a pair of those."

The Archangel stopped droning, pointed his flaming sword at me and boomed, "You...with the curls. What's your name?"

I pointed to my chest, my heart already migrated north to my throat. "Me?" I asked in a small voice.

"Yes. You."

"Grace Lightbourne."

"Well Grace, did you have a question?"

"No, not really."

"A comment then?"

His eyes were locked on me as I squirmed in my seat. Could he at least put the sword down? "I said to my roommate that I wanted a pair of wings like yours."

A few of the other Angels in Training, a.k.a. AITs, snickered. Mercy slouched down and held a hand to her forehead, trying to hide.

He smirked and gave them a mighty flap. Papers flew off desks, scattering everywhere. The AITs in the front rows had to scurry around collecting everything. "You like them, then?"

"Who wouldn't?" I gushed.

One student barked a laugh.

"Then I suggest you pay better attention in class so you don't end up a Wingless One. Oh, and meet me after school today to serve a Detention for speaking out in class."

He gave out three more Detentions that day to other AITs. For me, it was the first of countless I've received from him over the years. Once, I told Mercy if he'd been around in the beginning, Michael probably would have given The Big Guy, Himself, a detention for Creation taking six days instead of four or five.

I don't think he can give one during a Declaration. Still, I don't want to risk it.

"Hi." I wave weakly at Michael.

Naturally, he doesn't smile. His expression amps up the tension in the room. Just when I think I couldn't possibly be any more nervous, scenes from Earth are projected onto the walls surrounding us like two-second clips from movies.

Faster and faster. A beautiful field of wildflowers, a traffic jam, a bowling ball knocking down pins, a bustling city street, a scorpion scuttling across the sand. It's totally unnerving.

It's impossible to decide what to focus on—the kaleidoscope of images or God's shifting appearance. Now he's morphed into an oversized owl. I finally lose my balance completely.

"What dooooo you choooose?" asks The Owl-God.

I fidget a little. "Um, well, I have this _idea_."

"I know you dooooo," the owl says. See what I mean about the omniscient-thing? The Owl-God offers me a sliver of advice. "We need you to state your wishes. Take your time. Be sure it's...appropriate."

"Lord, she just needs to declare." Michael's wings tremble a little. Like he has a nervous tic.

"Okay," He says. "Grace, what will it be?"

I scratch my temple. "I watch Earth. On HVEN TV. A lot—"

Now, Michael's wings shudder. "Just declare," he cuts me off with a clipped tone.

"And I was thinking it seems like they could use my help. I know, I know." I shake my head. "This has probably never been done with an Angel-in-Training, but I'm not really a school-type person. Just ask Archangel Michael. I'm probably more like, uh, Michelangelo."

The Archangels along the wall titter, and muffled voices leak out behind hands held to their mouths.

But I keep going. "You know who I mean, right? The guy who painted the Sistine Chapel. Anyway, I ran into him at The Hall of Records the other day, and he told me he skipped school and trained as an apprentice. Like, on-the-job-training. And that turned out pretty good, I think."

Michael's wings are totally shaking. It's like a six or seven on the Richter scale. My knees want to buckle, but I'm too far in. _Just keep going_.

"I just think it would be better for everyone—" I steal a glance at Michael, "—if I went straight to an Assignment. Say, as a Guardian." I figure he must be as tired of giving me Detentions as I am of getting them.

"This is ridiculous," Michael bellows. _Ridiculous_ echoes off the walls. "She's comparing herself to a human who painted Your masterpiece. She can't skip training."

At this point, Gabriel steps forward, trumpet in hand, and flaps his wings. "If I may say something. Perhaps I can offer a solution."

The Owl transforms into a Traffic Light. The green light is glowing brightly. "Certainly, Gabriel. Speak your mind."

It's funny how things work out. Like this morning, I took a long time picking my outfit, which made me late, so I was the last in line, which seemed bad but now seems good, because this is taking quite a bit longer than I thought. When Michael made us practice Declarations a thousand times last week, it was much quicker.

"Grace has a beautiful voice," Gabriel croons. He's shorter and slighter than Michael. Plus, his trumpet is not nearly as intimidating as the whole flaming-sword thing. "An assignment in the choir would suit her gifts."

"Um," I pipe up. "See. I have to disagree. Sorry, Gabe."

He shoots me a harsh look and one wing does a little flap. The Traffic Light turns yellow.

"I mean, Gabriel. I don't like the choir. In fact, I _really_ dread singing glory, glory all day long. It's—" I hold my thumb and forefinger a hair's width apart, "—a teeny bit boring."

Gabriel's mouth drops open, and The Traffic Light changes to bright red.

_Yikes. Was that too much honesty?_ I turn to Him, feeling plain silly speaking to a gadget. It's worse than the owl. "Sorry." Then to Gabriel, "You're a great teacher and everything."

Gabriel smiles and the Light flashes yellow.

"But back to this Guardian idea, okay? Humans, their lives are such a mess," I ramble. "I just think, how hard could it be to make them a little better? I mean, I couldn't make them worse."

After I say the last part, there's silence of the complete and total variety. In the quiet, the scenes on the walls fly by us faster and faster—waves crashing on the beach, a full moon, a palm tree. I can't stand it; I'm so dizzy.

"It really would be for the best." I sound a lot more confident than I feel.

And then, He becomes the old-man version of Himself. The one from Michelangelo's paintings.

Almost.

Because the Sistine Chapel doesn't show Him doubled up with laughter and brushing tears from his eyes. "She _is_ spunky. I like that."

Michael's shoulders droop and his wings wilt. When he speaks, his voice has lost its edge. "Sir, you know this requires much more than spunk. My training program has prepared Guardians since Day One."

The Old Man steps toward Michael, His elegantly embroidered robe brushing the floor. "I remember another brash Angel-in-Training. That trait has served him quite well for a very long time." He dabs his beard with the back of his hand. "And it wasn't Day One, Michael. It was Two or Three. I can't remember which, and it's really not important."

The other Archangels whisper behind hands and wings this time.

Michael's eyes drift to the floor. "Yes. You're right, of course."

What was that about?

The room falls silent again and the scene projected onto the walls of the Temple freezes on human teens walking through a hallway, carting backpacks, laughing, jostling each other.

"This could work. The problem is not too complex," He mutters to Himself. "And the Assignment is still malleable. All right. I've found a Mission that needs a Guardian. You'll need to depart right away. Timing is critical."

Yessssss! Ask, and ye shall receive. Isn't that how it goes?

There's a flurry of reactions from the Archangel peanut gallery. Some nod, some gasp and others are whispering behind their wings again. All of them are watching Michael. He simply looks resigned.

I bow my head in thanks.

The Old Man says to Michael in a distracted voice, "Is Grace the last Declaration? What do I have now?"

When I peek up from my pious stance, an agenda materializes in his hands.

"Busy, busy, busy—it's a hectic day. Michael, would you please take care of the details? I'm off to create a new flower then reshuffle a couple of fates and after that, there's a storm I need to set in motion."

Michael nods. "Yes, Sir."

The Old Man gazes at me, through me. "Just so you know, Grace. I prefer the first two, creation and organization. But when you have to do everything, well, that means destruction, too." His palms open. "And one more thing. You could almost say your Mission is against my better judgment. Of course, you can't say _that_ , exactly, because it is my decision. Do you understand?"

I don't, but decide I'd better nod anyway.

"No. You don't understand yet. One of the only Absolutes in all of this—" his arm sweeps grandly around The Temple, "—is Free Will. For how could I be loving and enslave any Being?"

I still don't know what He's talking about, but nod again because it seems like what He's saying is super-important.

As He glides away and changes back into the pulsing light, Michael calls, "Procedure, Sir?"

With an impatient wave of His hand, back to us all, The Old Man booms, "It will be done."

**Chapter 2**

After God said the _It will be done_ thing, He and the Archangels all floated out the door in textbook angel-walk formation.

Perfecting _the_ walk is tough. Double tough for me because it doesn't come naturally. I tend to bump into things and seriously have to question if the Big Guy knew what He was doing when He decided to name me Grace. The thing about the walk is that you need precisely the right combination of composure, kindness and _don't mess with me_ confidence. It's a lot like a runway model walk—minus the haughty.

The Archangels' walks are flawless as they leave me. Alone. With Michael.

His face is stern as he says, "Follow me." Without waiting, he leaves, almost marching out the opposite door. His walk isn't as gliding as it should be. Neither is mine as I skedaddle after him.

Ahead of me, Michael turns quickly right, left, right through a maze of corridors into a section of the Temple I've never been before. We pass doors with signs that read _Celestial Conflict Mediation and Resolution_ , _Decrees,_ and _Chariot Inspections and Licenses_. What do they do in all these departments? I rush to keep up and, finally, he stops in an open doorway. This sign reads _Prayers—Answered and Otherwise_.

A lady with bushy, shoulder-length hair sits behind a desk heaped with paper. "Michael! How are you today?" She looks as frazzled as her hair but still forces a small smile.

"I've had better. How's the backlog?"

"We're falling behind again. Everybody on Earth wants something. Want, want, want. It's hard to prioritize the needs. Say, is that a new Dominion with you? Interested in an internship, sweetie?"

How could anyone ever mistake me for a Dominion? They're all paper-pushers with a bossy nature. Before I can give her the 411 on my Declaration, Michael says, "Grace, I'd like you to meet Destiny Goodewind. She's our resident expert on sorting out prayers. Destiny, this is Grace Lightbourne, an AIT studying to be a Guardian. Sorry, she's not your Angel, but I'll keep my eye out for a Dominion candidate who'd be better suited to helping you."

AIT? Studying? Is Michael in denial? I believe I just skipped those steps. And that _better suited_ comment was pretty snarky.

"Oh, it's Declaration Day, isn't it?" Destiny smiles sweetly at me. "Congratulations! Guardians Angels are an important, but often overlooked, part of the fabric of Heavenly Society."

I can tell she's quoting from some official Celestial Structure manifesto and detect a snooty tone. Like _protecting_ humans isn't quite as important their _prayers_. This is precisely why it took me such a long time to pick Guardian as my vocation. The job means an eternity of all the other Angels turning up their halos at me. It makes me feel so inferior. But in the end, it was the only thing that _felt_ right.

I'm about to enlighten her on my views. "Actually, I think—"

"Well, we really need to get going." Michael puts his wing on my shoulder and shoves me out of the doorway. Truly. A shove with his wing.

"Me, too. Lots to do." She shuffles a few papers on her desk. "Good luck, sweetie."

Michael takes off fast-paced, saying, "You need to keep your Mission hush-hush." He doesn't speak again until we come to a glass door with an Executive Offices sign. As we bolt by a receptionist on the phone, he says, "I don't approve of this idea."

Yeah, well, as far as I know, no one died and made him Boss.

"It is my job, however, to give you the rules," he concludes as we reach a corner office.

The sign on the door reads: _Michael_ , with his title— _Archangel_ —underneath. A Cherub stands outside, his sword aflame. I salute. He doesn't budge, crack a smile or anything.

They never do.

Cherubim, in case you're unfamiliar, are security for all the really important places like The Pearly Gates or the Tree of Life or The Garden of Eden, et cetera. Apparently, Michael's office is a big deal. This guy, like every other Cherub, is utterly humorless. He could be a Secret Service agent or one of the guards at Buckingham Palace.

Confession: I never wanted to be one of them. One of Heaven's bouncers.

Michael nods at the Cherub, then scans his right palm on some kind of electronic key pad. There's a muffled click and the door swings open. Inside, he gestures to where I should sit.

Inside I'm practically panicked. Am I making a huge mistake? Should I have just stayed in school? But the thing is I've never done well there and even though I can't know if this is right I resign myself to fake it 'til I make it.

Michael clears his throat and settles into an enormous chair behind his desk, wings spread wide. He slides a hard, black briefcase across to me. "This is indestructible."

"That's too bad," I joke, "because it's hideously ugly."

No smile.

Obviously he's too serious, which I suppose is a _good_ quality to have when you battle _evil_. Still, it'd be nice if he could lighten up.

He doesn't budge and the case isn't going anywhere either, so I take it. Upon looking inside, I find:

  * One book. _My Life as a Guardian_ by Wilhelm

  * Another book. _Understanding Humans_ by Sophia

  * And yet another. This one silver, sparkly and a little lame. _The Guardian Reference Book_

  * Two folders—a silver one that matches the book and reads, "Quick Guardian Rules and Tips" and a blue one marked simply, "Identity"

  * A Gateway laptop

  * And last, but not least—a cell phone

Does he think I'll have a lot of time for reading? Or that I'll want to? Ignoring the books, I hold up the phone. "What's this for?"

"Emergencies," he replies. "You'll find all the numbers you need under _Contacts._ "

Emergencies? Like anything bad is gonna happen. But I wonder if I can call Mercy. "Okay. What else?"

Michael smirks a little when I say this and his wings slowly wrap around behind him, standing at attention. He holds out a single sheet of paper. Maybe he has a sense of humor after all? I snatch the sheet and read.

THE RULES:

1. NO HUMAN CAN KNOW YOU ARE AN ANGEL. (OR, IN YOUR CASE, AN ANGEL-IN-TRAINING)

2. YOU MUST NOT TAMPER WITH FREE WILL.

3. DO NOTHING TO UPSET THE BALANCE OF EARTH.

4. WATCH FOR SIGNS.

_That's it?_ Four rules? And the last one isn't even a rule. More like a tip.

And, what's with all the caps? It's like he's yelling.

Come to think of it, I should have expected yelling, but I also expected him to give me pages and pages and then make me sign something.

"This seems, well, I hate to say it...but, easy," I tell him. "Isn't there something else?'

Michael folds his hands on his desk, and his wings make what looks like an annoyed flap. His very blue eyes never leave mine. "Read your Identity File and study those books. You have a lot of catching up to do." He straightens his shoulders. "Any questions?"

I have a ton. Like, _Do those wings ever give you a backache?_ But somehow I didn't think he'd answer this, so instead I ask, "Will I have super powers?"

He smirks again. "You'll have to decide how _super_ they are. Go pack for departure and report at oh-three hundred hours."

Wow. That's soon. And, what the heck does his _super_ comment mean?

* * *

Mercy is sprawled on her bed, nose stuck into a book on shooting stars, when I walk in the door.

"He said _yes_!" I squeal at the top of my lungs.

She leaps off the bed, throws her arms around me, and we bounce up and down, shrieking. It's what you do with your best friend. Or your sister. In a way, Mercy is both rolled into one.

It's because of the way Celestial Beings come to, well, Be. Which isn't as puzzling as humans think. First of all, the Universe is expanding and the population of Earth keeps growing. Some think Creation was this one-time event, but really it's ongoing. So the Big Guy keeps creating new Angels-in-Training. He could, in fact, be creating one right now.

Upon Arrival—capital A _Arrival_ because that's what it's called when a new Celestial Being is created—we're plopped into Celestial Heaven, Quadrant Two. Then we're assigned a roommate and then led by a Dominion to registration at the _L'académie de Divinité_.

It's very different from the way Humans grow. No parents. No waiting to start school. We're ageless. Timeless. At least, that's what we learned in the History of Beings.

Contrary to what Michael thinks, I occasionally pay attention.

One common misconception on Earth is that we're spirit only. That's a myth created by some guy because he thought an invisible being was controlling things. But it was actually his Guardian, who was like his best friend. _That_ I learned on HVEN TV.

Anyway.

We have a form because El Capitán likes form. His artistic sensibilities won't allow us to be invisible wisps. Amen to that, 'cause it wouldn't be any fun to talk or hang out with Mercy if she was nothingness. What would I do all day, forever and ever?

Mercy has always been my roommate. My best friend, really—my only family. That's why she's so excited about the way my Declaration went.

Finally, after prolonged celebration, she collapses onto her bed, out of breath. "When do you leave?"

I mimic Michael. "Oh-three hundred hours."

"That's soon!"

"I know!" I squeal again, then pull some luggage from under my bed and flop it open.

"Tell me what happened." Mercy tucks a strand of her waist-length, straight blond hair behind an ear.

So I do, while hauling an armload of clothes from my closet. As I eye tops and toss them into _take_ or _stay_ piles, I give her the low-down. With only a few embellishments.

"You did _not_ say that part about Michelangelo! Tell me you didn't!"

"I did," I confess. "Truly." And the thing is, this is one of the one-hundred-percent genuine parts of my story.

"Grace!" She laughs. "Are you off your cloud? Someday that's going to get you in serious trouble."

My clothes are all packed when I spy a pair of filmy white wings on the top shelf. They're from a project Mercy and I worked on years ago. I slip my arms through the straps and have Mercy adjust them in back.

They're only a cheap fabric imitation of real ones, but Mercy and I used to play dress-up and secretly wear them around. I glide across the room from her, practicing my angel walk. "How's it look? Am I Guardian material?"

Mercy laughs at my dorkiness. "Chin up. And more gliding." It's the same advice she always gives me.

I take them off and toss them into the suitcase.

"You're taking those?" Mercy's flabbergasted.

"Um, yes. Why?"

"You do know that you're wing-obsessed?"

I've never understood how Mercy can be so serene and tranquil about when we'll receive our wings. I've always felt incomplete without them.

Pretending not to hear Mercy's question, I zip the bag shut. "There, that's everything. What time is it?"

"You have about half an hour before you go."

"Perfect. That gives me just enough time to run by The Hall of Records and thank Michelangelo for the idea."

Mercy frowns at me. "Don't you think you ought to read that stuff?" She waves her hand in the direction of my briefcase.

"Nah. I already know the rules," I say. "The rest is probably all common-sense stuff. I'll figure it out as I go."

Confession: Common sense is not my middle name.

**Chapter 3**

The sun blazes down on me; the atmosphere steamy. It's hot, unbelievably hot. Where the heck am I?

There's a shadow at my feet. Cool. I've never seen a shadow in real life before, only on HVEN TV—this is definitely Earth. I gracefully float my arms up and down to see if the silhouette looks like it has wings.

Not so much.

Palm trees are clumped together in front of a stucco building, with a sign planted in the ground reading:

River of Grass Recreation Center

A large charter bus is parked in the paved circular drive, with trunks and luggage heaped on the sidewalk next to it.

My stomach flutters, a little sweat dripping down my back. I take off the navy cardigan and stuff it in my briefcase. Did I mention it's hot? And the humidity is really messing with my curls.

I pop on my new sunglasses—courtesy of _you know who_ —to cut the glare and read a banner stretched between two pillars, over a registration table.

X-Changing the World

One Student at a Time

Three humans sit behind the table: a man with a baseball cap, a boy with longish, shaggy hair and a pleasant-faced plump lady.

She motions me over. "What's your name, sweetie?"

Something about her reminds me of Destiny, the boss of prayers. Her question makes me think I should have read over my instructions because I'm not even sure my name is the same. _Oh, well._ I attempt my angel walk, confident and poised, but slip and bump into the table. "Um . . .Grace Lightbourne?" I say, not quite a statement.

"What a lovely name. I bet people tell you all the time how pretty you are." She extends her hand and I stare at her long, thick, bright red fingernails. "It's nice to meet you. I'm Milly."

"Are those plastic?" I ask in fascination.

She laughs and waggles her fingers. "They're acrylics. Pretty, huh?"

Her fingernails make me think of _Unreal!_ , a show on HVEN TV that Mercy and I watch religiously. It's all about the natural world and some of the bizarre artificial substitutes humans come up with. For instance, a lot of them are part plastic. Faces. Lips. Boobs.

I can't wait to tell Mercy about her nails.

Then, the older male human holds out his all-natural hand. "Hi. I'm Coach Vaughn and this is my son, Cody."

Cody edges away from his dad, makes a half-circle wave and says, "Hey." He seems semi-asleep, like the heat is getting to him.

The man who calls himself Coach says, "Cody will be new to RGHS this year, too. Maybe you'll have some classes together."

Has there been some kind of mistake? The sign and the coach both make it sound like I'm not skipping school after all.

Milly pulls a stack of papers in front of her. "Lightbourne. Lightbourne." As her fingernails flip through the pile, her smile slides away. The expression on her face grows more and more confused. "That's so strange." Flip, flip. "I don't have anything. Did you say 'Lightbourne'?"

"It's spelled b-o-u-r-n-e."

"Yes, well, even under that spelling, there's nothing." She thumps the stack with a finality that makes me think I might be headed home before my Mission has even begun.

Coach Vaughn smiles. "I'm sure everything will be fine. Do you have your confirmation paperwork?"

Okay. Here's the thing. Maybe Mercy was right when she said stopping by to visit Michelangelo wasn't my best idea. Maybe I should have read the instructions. Maybe I shouldn't be so impulsive. Maybe, maybe, maybe. But it's too late now. If I ask questions, I could give myself away, _and_ clueing humans into the fact that I'm an Angel is the number one no-no on Michael's list of rules. I'll have to make the best of it.

Milly and Coach Vaughn wait patiently as I open the ugly black case, while Cody stares off into space. The case is filled with the junk Michael gave me—the books, laptop, phone and folders. I grab the blue one marked "Identity," thumb through the pages and hand Milly a sheet that resembles the banner over her desk. The same slogan about _exchanging students_ is printed along the top.

"Oh, thank God," she says.

My thoughts exactly.

While she reviews my paperwork, I can't help but pinch myself. I'm actually here. On Earth! Sure, sure, I don't know exactly what I'll be doing, but still—Earth!

There are a few kids standing by the luggage. Which one is my mission? Whose life will I change forever?

"Well, I'll be!" Milly grips my paperwork with both hands and shakes it as a smile spreads across her face. "The Murphys didn't think they were going to get a student."

Duh. It's a miracle.

"They're not here, but let me give them a call. They'll be so excited, don'tcha know." She picks up her phone, talks for a minute and then says, "Yes, she's standing right in front of me. Yes, Grace Lightbourne. A pretty little thing. Sure, sure. I'll let her know." She turns to me "They're on their way." She huffs. "Every year, I have to sort out one of these mix-ups. Let's get you checked in."

Cody gives Millie a sideways glance and rolls his eyes conspiratorially at me.

Milly rests her chin on her hand, red fingernails everywhere. "Oh, my! I think they made a mistake on your paperwork." She chuckles, turns the page toward me and taps her fingernail near my address:

777 Tranquil Lane

Paradise, ET 4141∞

I tense, because I'm not sure what the problem is.

Milly scribbles through the _E_ and changes it to an _M_. "We drove right by there when we were out west last year. Montana is so beautiful. It's God's country."

Really, isn't everything?

Then she chortles. "Oh, look! They messed up your zip code too." She changes the '∞' to an '8.'

Is she done? Because no one caught my mistake, and I'd like to get the heck out of here.

When she hands everything back to me, I go to put it into the briefcase and manage to drop my Identity File, scattering papers everywhere. Cody eases out of his chair to come help.

The girl who was standing behind me practically yells, "I've got it." She kneels next to me and quickly shuffles all the papers into a tidy stack—almost like watching cards dealt in reverse—before Cody can make it around to the front of the desk. Holding the pile to me, she stares with feline golden-green eyes. "I'm Aisha," she says.

"That's an exotic name."

She smiles, tight-lipped. "It means 'life'." Her flawless complexion is the same shade as the pale, smooth bark on the Tree of Life. Long, beaded braids sway with a tilt of her head. "You're an exchange student? Where are you from?"

I can't remember what Milly wrote on my form, but I'm sure if I just summon up a little angelic composure, I can pull this off. I straighten my shoulders and lift my chin. "Out west. It's God's country," I say with authority.

Aisha knits her brows and gives me the universal _are you for real?_ look. It's easy to recognize, because I get it all the time in Heaven. "Well, nice to meet you." She brushes invisible dirt from her knees. "I'll see you around."

Cramming papers into the hideous case, I say, "Yeah. Later," and turn back to Milly.

"You're all set." She hands me an "X-Changing the World" kit and points to another table off to the side. "Help yourself to a snack and get to know some of the kids. The Murphys should be here in no time."

I mosey over to the table. There are paper cups filled with a clear, bubbly liquid. I peer at them, not quite sure about the contents. Cody comes over to the table and says, "Just take one. They're for everyone."

"What is it?"

He looks at me like I'm from outer space, which, I guess in a way, I am.

"It's Sprite. Or maybe 7-Up. They have that in Montana, don't they?"

"I'm not sure, but thanks." I take a sip—it's fizzy. My nose tingles the way it does when incense is burned in Heaven. Fascinating. Taking another sip, I peer over the top of my cup at Cody.

He's staring at me. "Your eyes are incredible. They don't even look real. Are you wearing contacts?"

Contacts? I'm not sure what those are. All these questions they ask are like little traps meant to cage me. Time to change the subject. "Your dad said you're new this year."

Cody balls his hands at his sides. "Yeah. I went to a different school, but my mom moved out of state and I wanted to stay in Florida. So, I moved in with my dad." His voice sounds sad and angry at the same time. I want to ask why his parents live in different places, but he grabs a cup and says, "Well. See ya around."

Human teens cluster by the luggage, talking and laughing. Aisha is over there, but she's all aloof with her friends. Instead of giggling with them, she's glaring at me. What a weirdo.

Wait! Just one minute. Maybe she's my Mission. It seems like she could use some help. Or is it that guy, Cody? He needs _something_. I don't know, but come to think of it, I don't believe it's either of them. They haven't seemed drawn to me as their protector. This is what I _do_ know: when I find the human I'm here for, that person will welcome me and I'll wrap him or her in my blanket of angelic serenity. It'll be bliss.

And here's something else: it is possible Aisha knows my Mission. It might be one of those girls she's hanging with. Maybe she's part of a divine plan to introduce me.

I'm about to walk over to her when I realize she—and all the other girls—are dressed in shorts, tank tops and flip flops, compared with my outfit of knees socks and plaid skirt.

_Dear Dad!_ Who picked my clothes? Oh yeah—me. This isn't the blend-in type outfit I'd imagined. Now, where's my luggage? It didn't come with me.

I suppose if I'd gone through the training they would have covered this, but I'm pretty sure I don't need an additional three years to fix this snag. Let me see, is there a power I can use? Hmm...I haven't learned that yet, either. No fear. I'm resourceful and have a cell.

Using the angelic composure walk, I glide to the side of the building and huddle near a hedge where the others can't see me, then pull the phone from my briefcase. A few feet away, a large iguana is sunbathing.

"A little privacy would be nice," I tell him.

He looks over what I think is his shoulder and grumbles, "They all think they own the place," as he lumbers off to another sunny spot over near a playground.

After he's gone, I pull up the _Contacts_ menu, debating: Too soon to call for help? Him, or Michael? It doesn't make sense to risk Michael scolding me for this oversight, so I fire off a quick text: _fashion abomination! 911._ I hesitate for one breath and wonder if this is what Michael meant by an emergency, then decide it _is_ and press send.

Seconds later, the phone plays Handel's _Messiah_. Gabriel must have picked my ring tone, because it's all gigantic orchestra and choir. It's as bad as the clothes and it's gotta go.

"This is Grace."

"Your luggage is on the way," The Boss says and hangs up.

What? No convo? I guess He's really busy.

But with my first problem successfully tackled, I head back to the front of the building and run smack into Milly so hard, it could have detached her fingernails.

"Sorry," I say. "I'm so clumsy."

It doesn't seem to faze her: the bump, or my apology. "Here she is!" Milly says brightly to the four people she has in tow. "Grace—meet the Murphys."

A trim woman with short, curly red hair hugs me. "I'm Megan, and this is my husband, Mr. Murphy...I mean, Sean."

A pale, tall man with black hair peeking out from under a floppy, outback-style hat waves from the back.

"Here's Finn." She gives a small boy with the same curly, carefree red hair as hers a little push from behind.

The corners of his mouth are covered in peanut butter. He rushes to me, wraps his arms around my thighs and smears the peanut butter on my plaid skirt.

All right! The uniform is history.

"Finn, careful. I'm sorry, Grace. I'll wash that for you later."

"It's fine."

Finn beams up at me with eyes as blue as the sky in Heaven. What a cutie!

Mrs. Murphy tugs at his T-shirt. "Finn, let go." He pops his thumb into his mouth and Mrs. Murphy gently removes it. "Grace is going to be staying with us, so you'll get to spend a lot of time together. Let me introduce your sister."

Mrs. Murphy steps aside and tucked behind her is a girl about my age with long, straight red hair and her parents' fair complexion. "Grace, this is Tara. You girls will go to school together."

Tara slouches and shoots her mom a wicked look. Then she turns and gives me a feeble smile. "Hi."

"Hi," I say, but she's looking past me to the registration desk and there's this gaping hole in the conversation.

"Well, we should get your things." Mr. Murphy points to the mounds of luggage.

"Oh. I don't have anything over there. It'll be delivered to your house later."

The Murphys give each other a look and it feels like I might have messed up again. _I will be resourceful_ , I affirm.

"I didn't come on the bus," I explain. "I flew in."

Mrs. Murphy says, "Oh, are you sure it's not there? I'll check with Milly."

Okay, so what I said is _not_ 100% accurate, since I don't have my wings yet, but I know I didn't come on the bus, even if I'm not sure exactly how I got here.

**Chapter 4**

I can't count the number of times over the last three years that Michael has said to me, "If you don't know where you're going, any road will take you there." It's one of his absolutely bizarre clichés _._ I have no clue where I'm headed with the Murphys, but at least the ride is short.

When we reach the house after the X-Change check-in, Mrs. Murphy gives me a tour and finally leads me down a hallway. With an open-handed gesture, she says, "This is your room."

In Heaven, Mercy and I redecorate almost weekly because our personal styles are, well, worlds apart. Mercy likes girly. Ruffles and lilac. She wants to be a Virtue and keep the Heavenly bodies aligned. Peace, beauty, order and all that.

Guardians, like me, prefer bold contrasts. Last week I'd decorated our room in black and white geometric designs and had Escher hanging on the walls. Mercy said it gave her a headache.

And honestly, by Sunday, I was glad to have her change it.

Mine on Earth is all pastel floral comforters. Gag. But Mercy would love it...then, homesickness sets in. This room looks so much like ours in Quadrant Two with its two twin beds, dresser, desk and chair. I wish Mercy was sitting on the bed, reading one of her boring outer space books.

Against one wall there's an open door, and I can see through a short passage to a neon-colored room. Orange, hot pink, lime green. Piles of clothes and shoes litter the floor. That's more my style. Without the mess.

"That's Tara's room." Mrs. Murphy guides me into the passage. "You girls will share this bath." She calls out sing-songy, "Tara," and then says louder, "Tara!"

"What?"

"I thought I told you to pick up in here."

Tara slouches into the bathroom with a cord trailing from her ear to a box in her hand. That can't be good.

Perhaps I can help. I pat her forearm. "Excuse me, but did you know you have something in your ear?"

"It's called an iPod." Her flat tone mocks me.

_Oops_. I've seen them before on HVEN TV. Time to muster some angelic poise. And an Archangel _don't mess with me_ face. "I know what it's called, but did you want it in your ear right now? Your mom is talking to you."

Mrs. Murphy gives me a strange smile and Tara shakes her head.

_There. Crisis averted_.

"I did pick up," Tara says without pulling the cord out.

Mrs. Murphy eyes her daughter. "There's no room for Grace's things." The counter had two sinks, and every inch of space was covered by makeup, facial cleanser, hair brushes, a flat iron, perfume and other stuff I can't even begin to identify.

With one sweep, Tara slides everything into a big pile that still spills onto my side.

I paste on an expression of angelic sweetness. "Thanks."

But before I can kill her with kindness, Mr. Murphy's head pops into the doorway. "There you are. It's Milly from the program." He holds out a phone to his wife. "She needs to speak with you. They located Grace's luggage."

_Thanks be to the Commander-in-Chief._ I can finally change out of these clothes.

Mrs. Murphy takes the phone and wanders away, leaving Tara and I in a smothering silence. Her eyes never leave the counter as she straightens a few items and asks, "Are you a freshman?"

_Fresh_ man _?_ "I think so."

" _Ha!_ You mean, you don't know?"

Her scorn irks me. "Of course I know," I pretend. "Are you?"

She finally looks directly at me. "I'm a sophomore."

Huh?

"Look—" Tara says, "no offense or anything, but I never wanted us to get an X-Change student. The program is stupid. But my parents want me to broaden my horizons—" she makes quote marks with her fingers, "—and go somewhere next year."

"So, what's wrong with that?"

"It'll be my junior year. If I go away then, when I come back for senior year, I'll be this total outsider. Who wants that? It'd be crazy, right?"

This question throws me, but when in doubt, be agreeable. I swallow. "Yep."

Tara eyes me for a fraction of a second. "We're probably not going to have any classes together, but I'll introduce you to my best friend Lacey and—" She stops.

"And?"

"We'll see," she says.

* * *

The Murphys want to eat out to celebrate my first night.

"What sounds good?" Mr. Murphy jangles the car keys.

I'm not sure what to say. In Heaven, we're only allowed fruit, nuts and dairy because it doesn't kill anything. Humans don't realize how lucky they have it. The Man Upstairs doesn't care what _they_ eat as long as they're thankful.

I shrug.

"How about Chinese food?" Mr. Murphy suggests.

I'm supposed to blend. "Sounds good," I say.

A few minutes later we pass through the intricately carved, dark wood doors of Wan's Mandarin House. Spicy smells linger in the air. The dimly lit restaurant is decorated in shades of red and gold. In a huge tank, colorful fish glide to a _cling-cling-ping_ melody.

Mercy would _love_ this. I should pick this décor when it's my turn.

As the hostess seats us, I notice a statue on an ornately carved chest. "Hey cool! Buddha!" I point. "He's very popular where I come from."

Mr. Murphy's expression is quizzical. "Really? I never realized there were a lot of Buddhists in Montana."

"Well, yes, but—" I'm completely at a loss, having never been to Montana. "He's still...I mean, what's not to like about Buddha?"

Mr. Murphy laughs and Mrs. Murphy says, "That's exactly right. I agree."

There. That was a good job of covering. And Michael thought I couldn't handle this.

Quickly, I quickly bury my nose in the menu to avoid any further slips, but there's no help there. I mean, wow. Look at all the choices. It's all in teeny tiny print. Column A and Column B? Maybe if I use my _angelic composure_ face, they won't realize how confused I am. I wonder if every Guardian has to cope with figuring this stuff out, or if skipping school hurt me.

"What are you having?" Mrs. Murphy asks me.

"I'm having the sweet and sour chicken," Finn answers. "Red sauce on the side." He dips pretend chicken in pretend sauce.

Mrs. Murphy rubs Finn's shoulder. "I know that's your favorite, but I was asking Grace what she wanted."

Angelic composure, angelic composure, shrug. I look to Finn for a little help, but he pops his thumb into his mouth.

Tara stares at him. "Grow up," and then says to her mom, "Would you stop him, please? He can't do that when he goes to school. The kids will pick on him."

"Tara, I can handle this without your help. Finn, you need to stop. You could hurt your teeth when your grown-up ones start coming in." Mrs. Murphy says. When Finn obeys, she turns to me, acting like nothing happened. "Most of the time we order a few things and share. That way you can try a bit of this and that."

_This_ and _that_ sounds good to me because I can't decide what to have. After the waitress takes our order, Mrs. Murphy folds her hands and says to Tara, "I spoke to that voice coach today. He said he could fit you in on Saturdays. He's mailing us some more information." Then to me she says, "Tara has a beautiful voice. She's been accepted to train with a well-known instructor."

Tara sinks in her seat. "I told you already. I don't want to do this."

I'm actually sympathetic. Gabriel always wanted me to be a singer too, and sometimes you're just not _feeling_ it.

"Honey, I don't understand. We've talked about this for years."

Tara won't even look at her mom. "So, I'm not allowed to change my mind?"

"I don't understand. You've wanted this since you were a little girl and now that some friend doesn't think it's cool, you don't want it anymore?"

"Lacey is not _some_ friend, Ma. She's my best friend."

"Well, if she's your best friend, she'll want you to pursue what you love."

_Wait, what?_ Tara loves to sing? Now that's a different story than me. But I can hardly believe she'd be a good singer. I mean, look at that posture. Gabriel would have a fit. There's absolutely no confidence in her walk.

Tara won't take her eyes off her plate. "Yeah. Right. Like you were sixteen, oh—thirty years ago. You're clueless about how high school works."

"Tara, that's enough," Mr. Murphy says.

Should I step in? It seems like they could definitely use my help, even if they aren't my Mission. "If you ask me—which I know you didn't, but I feel compelled to tell you anyway..." I stare at Tara. "You should listen to your mom. She's trying to help you."

"You're right." Tara pauses. "No one asked you."

Doesn't she know angelic advice when she hears it?

"Tara! You need to apologize." Mrs. Murphy's expression says _what am I going to do with this girl?_

"Seriously? She shows up, like, five minutes ago and starts telling me how to act. You've got to be kidding!"

"Tara—"

"It's all right," I say breezily. And it is. Because I don't plan on spending any more time with Tara than absolutely necessary. She's not even relevant to my Mission, which involves one Human—who will most definitely appreciate my angelic input.

We're rescued by the waitress and platters of food. I bow my head. Habit, y'know?

"Maybe we should say grace," Mrs. Murphy whispers to her husband.

"You don't have to say _my_ name," I offer. "You can just say _thanks_." They both look at me open-mouthed as I say, "Amen."

With that taken care of, everybody passes the dishes around. Tara's doing a nice job of sharing, so I smile at her. It's not returned.

It's so tempting to say, _Hey I'm an Angel, so maybe it'd be a good idea if you were a little nicer to me. I gotta cell phone and could put in a good word for you._

Unfortunately, that would break one of Michael's messed up rules, so I do my best to ignore her as I heap chicken cashew, shrimp lo mein, beef with snow peas and fried rice onto my plate.

Leaning over, my face inches from the food, I inhale garlic, ginger, soy sauce, onions. Finn imitates me and when he sits back, his nose is dotted with sticky sweet and sour sauce. Mrs. Murphy wipes it off.

I chow down. "Delicious," I say with my mouth full. While shoveling in more, I close my eyes. "Mmm, mmm. Mmm." Plate empty, I resist the temptation to pick it up and lick it. All eyes are on me when I raise my head; Mrs. Murphy's fork is suspended mid-air. Her mouth hangs open.

"Grace likes Chinese food," Finn says and pops a piece of chicken in his mouth.

"Grace eats like a pig," Tara says under her breath.

"Tara!" Mrs. Murphy says, and Tara sulks.

Maybe I should eat slower in the future? I smile at everyone, rub my stomach and think about another helping.

It's quiet at the table. Tara's sulk is as dark as midnight and the only noise from Mr. and Mrs. is the clink of their forks punctuated by the background music.

Everybody stares at the table except Finn, who smiles up at me. His sweet and sour chicken has hardly been touched, so I help him out and snatch a piece, which makes him giggle.

Mrs. Murphy turns to me. "It must be hard to be away from home. Do you miss your parents?"

Like I already explained: no official parents, and I'm not sure how I feel about that. From what I've seen on HVEN TV, there are times I'd think it might be nice. Other times, um, not so much. Either way, I need to fake it for the Murphys.

"They're always with me." I steal another piece of chicken from Finn.

"What a nice way to look at it," she says. "What does your dad do?"

"Everything," I say.

Mr. Murphy laughs. "I feel like that some days, too. What line of work is he in?"

C'mon, give me a break! Wasn't that the right answer? "Sometimes He makes stuff. Sometimes He takes care of stuff. Sometimes He tears it down." I shrug. "Whatever's needed, you know?"

The two adults give each other a weird look. "And your mom?" Mrs. Murphy asks.

Hmm. Supposedly there's nothing close to Mom, but I—along with a lot of others—rely on Mary. "Well, mostly she helps me when I screw up, which I don't do very often, but I still do it sometimes, y'know? She just makes sure Dad cuts me a little slack."

Mrs. Murphy says, "Yeah that sounds like our family, too," but that weird look is still flashing between her and Mr. Murphy and he waves at the waitress, calling her over to the table.

Did I just make a mistake I can't recover from? Could we end this conversation, like, now? Please.

_Dear Daddy—I should have read that_ Identity _file._ "So, that's my family," I say brightly.

Mrs. Murphy rubs her cheek. "We'd love to hear more about them another time."

Mr. Murphy just glances at a piece of paper and gives the waitress a card. _Was I being paranoid?_

She returns with a tray heaped with little plastic packets, and Mrs. Murphy doles them out, handing me one. "Fortune cookie?"

This seems to be an important Earthly ritual, so I study Tara and Finn to mimic them.

Mr. Murphy takes his own cookie, signs a paper and asks me, "How was your dinner?"

"Omigod, it was good!" I unwrap the cookie and take a bite. Sweet and crunchy...and then, there's something strange in my mouth. Huh, what's that? I pull out a tiny slip of paper. Weird. Unfurled, it reads: _Watch your language!_

Very funny. A sign from Michael. Except it would be a lot more helpful if it let me know who I was supposed to protect.

"Grace." Finn clasps my hand. "Do you want mine?" His clear blue eyes gaze up at me as he holds out his cookie.

"Sure, Finn. That's really sweet of you. Thanks. " I tear the wrapper and break open the cookie.

This one reads: _It's right in front of your nose_ _. If you'd done your homework . . ._

Finn is still gazing at me. "Did you get a good one?"

I'm so relieved it's Finn. Truly. When he smiles, my heart melts, so I couldn't have asked for a better first assignment.

"It's wonderful," I tell him. "Thank you."

Then, between thumb and forefinger, I smooth out the paper just to re-read the message.

It now reads: _For goodness's sake!_ _Not Finn, his sister._

God! Nooooooooooo!

I open it one last time _,_ hopeful the message has changed again. It has. Now it says: _I told you—watch your language! AND do your homework!_

**Chapter 5**

After dinner, Tara's won't stop texting, so there's no chance to get to know her better. Not like she gave me any indication during dinner that she'd want to. My Assignment—who knew? I mean, other than our CEO in Heaven. Maybe Mercy will have some advice for me. Can I use the laptop? In my room, when I power up the Gateway, a halo icon pops up. _Hallelujah!_ I can send A-mail.

From: glightbourne@halo.hvn

To: mbeamkind@halo.hvn

Subject: how are ya???

Hey Mercy!

Can you believe it? I'm here! On Earth!

Tonight I learned who my Assignment is, and I think there's been some kind of mistake. I'm sure it'll get straightened out soon. But just in case I'm wrong, do you have any advice on how to approach a surly human teen? I know you're not planning to be a Guardian, but you've always been so much smarter than me.

Speaking of school...how's Virtue training?

Great, I bet! You're going to make an awesome Virtue, you know. Sometimes I envy how you've known since Arrival that it was the right job for you. I made this Guardian decision pretty quickly. But I know it must have been the right one, because otherwise He wouldn't have gone along with my plan to skip school. Plus, it's definitely gonna help me get my wings faster.

I don't miss school at all. Especially choir practice. You know that was torture for me—but don't tell Gabriel I said so! ☺ Anyway, no lectures, no classrooms, no homework (well almost no homework—I haven't read my books yet). This should be a piece of cake.

I don't know what I'm going to do without you. I already miss you horribly, horribly, horribly. But I did find a cool way to decorate the room when I get back. You'll probably be ready for a change by then.

Promise to stay in touch, okay? Promise. I'll write when I can and fill you in on all my Earthly happenings.

Yours in ♥,

Grace the blessed and meek Lightbourne

Angel in Training

P.S. Mercy, I forgot to tell you. After my Declaration, He said sending me was almost against His better judgment! I'm not sure what that means. What do you think?

**Chapter 6**

Late Sunday morning, Mrs. Murphy slathers sunscreen on Finn and chases us all out of the house. "It's the last day of summer vacation. Take advantage of it."

Finn swims around for a bit, then runs around for a bit then finds a spot in the yard and plunks himself down. Tara lounges under a green- and white-striped umbrella, whispering to Lacey on the phone. Nonstop. It makes me wish Mercy had a phone, because with A-mail, I have to wait to hear back from her about my— _ahem_ —Assignment.

So, I'm the only one in the pool when Tara holds the phone away from her head and yells, "Hey Finn, cut it out." Then she turns toward the house. "Dad, he's doing it again!"

What's bugging her now? He's just sitting in the yard.

Mr. Murphy comes to the door, shakes his head and waves at Tara. It's like his head is in the clouds and he thought she was saying _hi_ to him. She stretches and yells, "Dad, weren't you supposed to spray those weeds so he'd stop doing that?" Lowering her voice, she says into the phone, "He's such a dork!" Then a high-pitched giggle bursts out. "I meant Finn, but yeah, my dad too."

I climb out of the pool into the August heat. In the corner of the yard, Finn's sitting cross-legged, peering at the lawn. He brushes his hand back and forth over the grass.

"Whatcha' doing, Finn?"

His eyes never leave the ground. "Looking."

Tara strolls up and puts one hand on her hip, the other holding the phone still glued to her ear. "Just stop," she says to Finn.

A few drops of water drizzle off my body. "What's he looking for?"

Tara thrusts one hip to the side. "One day, my mom wanted me to watch him, y'know? 'Keep him out of my hair.'" She does a fairly good impression of her mom. "Lacey told me to have him look for four-leaf clovers. He never found one." She smiles, and there's something a little mean in it. "Now he won't stop. He's out here all the time." Tara shakes her head. "Finn, Finny—I told you there's no such thing. I made it up to keep you busy."

Tears well up in Finn's eyes.

"You never found _even_ one?" I ask him.

He looks down and shakes his head.

"You could sing the song," I say. "You know how it goes. ' _I'm looking over a four-leaf clover that I overlooked before.'_ "

Finn laughs at me. "I don't know that song."

"Sure you do. Maybe you just don't remember it," I say and then catch myself.

Tara snorts. "Where'd you hear that song? I don't know it either. Sounds like something from Barney." She speaks into the phone. "She's singing him some kiddy song." Pause. "I feel bad for me too." Pause. "You'll meet her at school tomorrow." Pause. "I don't know about _that_." Pause. Then, Tara places both hands on her hips and says to Finn. "You _are_ hopeless. Lacey says, 'Give it up. You'll never find one.'"

Finn's eyes never leave the ground. Through gritted teeth, he says, "I don't like Lacey."

When I glance at Tara, she says, "He thinks since we're Irish, he's going to find one."

She's so obnoxious! Aren't Angels assigned to help nice humans?

Finn says to me, "They're supposed to be lucky—that's why they're so hard to find."

"They really aren't _that_ hard to find," I tell him.

"Are too," Finn says, very sure of himself.

"Are not."

Finn tears a clump of grass and clover from the ground and scatters it. "I haven't found one," he says, sticking his thumb into his mouth

"Grow up. You're not going to," Tara says.

_All right. That does it._ Anger briefly surges through me and I feel a power that starts low in my belly. This kid should be able to see a four-leaf clover, for heaven's sake.

"It's been hard because that's what you believe." Kneeling, I pluck one clover. I'm still angry as I hold it out to Finn. "See?"

Tara gasps, and her eyes grow wide.

Finn, open-mouthed, removes his thumb and stares at the clover with all four leaves intact. "How you'd do that?" he asks.

"Now you know they're real, so try again," I say.

Finn peers at the ground. "Look! Here's one!" He plucks the clover from the ground. "And another!"

Tara reaches down and picks her own, shock soaring across her face.

Feeling quite smug for making Finn happy and showing Tara she was wrong, I stroll away. As I slip back into the pool, I hear Finn's fading voice, saying in amazement, "Another one, Tara! And another!"

Yeah, tomorrow might be my first day of human high school, but today was Tara's first day of Grace school.

* * *

True to her word, Tara introduces me to a blonde who sashays up to us. "This is Grace, our exchange student."

Lacey gives me a once-over, turns to Tara and says, "I really have to go to my locker. See you later, Grace."

They walk away, Tara two steps behind the blonde. Obviously Tara wants nothing to do with me, so how in the name of our CEO am I supposed to protect her?

After a quick stop at the front office to pick up my schedule, I look at the school map and try to figure out where my first class is. I spin the map, turn left, then right. Which way? The ugly black briefcase thuds against my leg as I take off in what I hope is the right direction.

Boom.

I walk straight into a wall.

Well, not exactly a wall. But a big guy. So that's what it felt like.

This guy is easily over six feet tall with broad shoulders. And he's beautiful, which I know is a weird way to describe a guy, but he glows, and the quiet expression on his face reminds me of one of Michelangelo's paintings. Brown hair with sun streaks of caramel. Deep brown eyes. A tanned, flawless complexion. He's wearing jeans and a crooked smile. Cody, of shaggy hairdom and the reception table, is standing next to him.

"Hi, Grace," Cody says.

"Hi," I manage while staring at the other guy. My heart must have wings. It just fluttered. Why couldn't this guy be my mission instead of Tara? "Sorry, I wasn't watching where I was going."

Cody laughs. "See ya, Grace. Later, dude." Cody fist-bumps the beautiful guy and walks away.

A half smile flickers, more amused than upset. "You're new?"

"An exchange student."

"Ah! I see. Exchanging the world one student at a time," he quotes from the program's slogan, holding out his hand palm up. "Here, let me see your schedule."

For some crazy reason, my heart pounds like mad. When I turn it over, his hand brushes mine and there's a quick electric zap.

_Did I do that?_ I laugh self-consciously.

"That happens to me all the time," he says and gives me the half smile again. He speeds through a rundown on where all my classes are— _like I'll remember how to get there_ —and also gives me the scoop on a couple of the teachers. "Ms. Sands is great, but Gindi is a wanker."

Over my shoulder, I hear a familiar voice. "Victor, hey Victor!" Aisha, the unfriendly girl from reception, appears at his elbow.

"Oh, by the way I'm Victor," he says to me.

"Uh...I'm Grace."

"Yeah. Got it. That's what Cody called you."

Right. Duh. His appearance has me all flustered, which happens all the time. Except this is a bit more than normal.

Aisha grabs him by the arm. "Hey, I really need to talk to you." She gives him an intense right now look, steering him away while casting a snooty look at my briefcase. "Hey Grace, you should lose the briefcase. Get a backpack."

Does she think that's helpful? It's not like I don't know how repulsive it is.

"Bye, gorgeous," I whisper to the back of Victor's fading head, almost tripping over this kid stumbling along in front of me.

He's super short and hunched over a backpack so big, it looks like it could tip him if he stood up straight while trying to weave his way through all these bigger kids. Until he bangs into one and ends up dropping ten dollars on the floor. The big kid he bumped scoops up the bill and puts it in his pocket.

How can he do _that?_ I'd seen this kind of thing on HVEN TV before, but thought it was mostly hype. If I had my wings, I could swoop in there and scare the living daylights out of him, but the direct approach always works for Michael.

"Hey! That's not yours. You need to give it back."

He laughs at me and walks away. Laughs. At an Angel. Can you believe it?

I can't make him give it back if he doesn't want to because it'd be a violation of Rule #2—free will. I try to make it fall out of his pocket. Nothing. And the kid with the jumbo backpack has disappeared, completely unaware his lunch money has been stolen.

Whoa, Daddy. This Guardian thing might be a little harder than I thought.

* * *

This is how the day has been so far:

First Period—Science. Mercy would enjoy this class. Later this year we're going to be doing a unit on the universe. I'll probably fall asleep.

Second Period—American History. Okay, this is a weird one. In my History of the Universe class, we had a chapter on Earth. This is a class for _one whole year_ about one country on Earth. Seems a little too detailed, if you ask me. And Victor was right. Mr. Gindi is a wanker.

Third Period—Math. What's the point of this class?

Fourth Period—Chorus. This is one of things I was trying to avoid by coming to Earth. Truly. How in the name of all that is Holy did I end up with this?

Halfway through fourth period, we break for lunch, which is kind of strange. We sing. We eat. Then we have to go back and sing some more. Whatever.

The cafeteria is total chaos. Clattering trays and the steady roar of conversation in the background. If the Chinese restaurant smelled like Heaven, then this place smells like Hell.

Victor and Aisha lean against a wall on the far side of the cafeteria, creating a tranquil image that reminds me of Michelangelo's painting, despite the fact that they're wearing jeans. If she wasn't so rude, they'd make a beautiful couple.

They both look at me with the same serene expression and—

Wait. Are they walking toward me?

Yep. They're definitely headed this way. Why couldn't Victor be by himself? Now that'd be something I could look forward to.

They're halfway across the room when everything freezes, except the two of them.

Huh?

I don't mean freezes like that special slo-mo effect they use on HVEN TV. I mean stopped, no motion. One kid's juice is falling off his tray, and it shouldn't be hanging in space like this.

Another guy at the table next to me was laughing. Or, is still laughing? His face stays red, mouth open. On the far side of the cafeteria I can see Tara sitting with Lacey, who's flipping her hair over her shoulder. The hair is suspended mid-flip.

"We need to talk to you." Victor says, still striding.

What is going on? How come they're not frozen?

He stops right in front of me. "We're Angels."

_Angels?_ From Heaven? "You're Guardians?"

Victor nods.

"That is so cool!" I wave my hand around at all the human statues. "You did that! You froze time. Can you teach me?"

Aisha closes her eyes and shakes her head.

Victor says to her, "C'mon, you remember the first time you saw it?"

"We. Don't. Freeze. Time." Her braids clack, emphasizing each word. She is acting so freakin' superior.

Victor takes over. "Actually it's been slowed down, or more accurately—we've sped up. Here, I'll show you." He weaves in and out of tables and around sculpted kids, looking over his shoulder at me. "I hope there's one here. There usually is." When we get to the trashcan, he points at a housefly. "Look."

At first the fly appears as motionless as everything else. But then I notice—his wings are moving, very, very slowly.

"That's incredible."

Victor cracks a smile and seems about to say something when Aisha urgently waves us back over to her. She points to a spot on the floor. "When we switch to ordinary time, you need to be standing right there. Got it?" She shifts from foot to foot and then flexes her fingers,

I nod, annoyed.

Flexing her fingers, one by one, she says to me, "So, let me get this straight. You haven't been through the training? He let you come here without it?"

"Yes, well, I explained to Him this would be for the best. For everyone."

Victor laughs and Aisha looks incredulous when she says, "You do realize Victor and I took three years of classes before we ever had our first Mission? We had to fully learn about Human Psychology, contemporary culture, Earth's geography and on and on."

It's not my problem she needed a lot more training _._ "I think I'm doing okay without all that."

"Oh, like when you told me you were from _out west_? Yeah. _Real_ smooth."

There's a sinking feeling that comes from knowing someone caught your mistake. "You knew I was on a Mission that day?" Victor's eyes skim Aisha's. "And you knew when you helped me this morning, right?"

Victor puts an arm around my shoulder and gives it a gentle squeeze. "Listen, once you have your wings, it's easy to tell Celestial Beings from humans."

The wing thing again. I need them, like, yesterday. If only to identify other Angels. Plus, the freeze-time thing would be pretty cool.

Victor's arm feels comfy. It's nice that I'm not totally alone on Earth. I lean into him.

Aisha's eyes burn as she fixates on his arm. "But we weren't going to interfere, right, Victor?" she adds.

He removes his arm and runs his fingers through his hair. "Until we saw you in the main hall this morning with the kid who took the money."

"You can't protect everyone," Aisha says. "You need to focus on your Mission."

"Let me get this straight. So, you did this _time_ thing—" I wave my hand at our surroundings, "—to tell me _that_?"

"We did the time thing to get your attention," Aisha says.

Victor smirks. "And because it was kinda fun. You should have seen your face." Aisha's look singes him and he adds, "Plus, we thought you could use some help."

I'm not sure I want Aisha's help, but Victor—now that's another story.

"Thanks," I say. Mostly to him.

"Any time." Victor slips his arm around my shoulder again. "Listen, do you have a cell phone?"

"She doesn't have her wings yet. Why would she—"

"I have one." I reach into my briefcase, pulling out the phone Michael had given me and wiggle it.

Victor takes it from me, opens the _Contact_ list and taps the keys. "There. You have my number in case you need my help again."

Confession: I've always prided myself on my independence. But I can create a 911 situation. Help me, Victor. Oh yes, help me, please!

Aisha narrows her eyes and her look snaps me back to reality. "Enough. You know where to find us." She points at the floor again. "That spot. Exactly. Don't move from there. Because if you're somewhere else, it will throw them." She hitches her thumb at a group of nearby humans then grabs Victor by the arm. As she leads him away, I overhear her say, "I can't believe you both have phones. I have the most experience, and they've never given me a cell!"

Once they position themselves against the wall, they become as still as department store mannequins. I haven't budged an inch and suddenly everything shifts into motion. The kid's drink spills, the red-faced kid finishes his laugh and Lacey's hair falls into place, flip completed.

With everything moving, I look for Victor, but they've both disappeared.

I line up behind a couple guys and imitate all their actions: take a tray, silverware, napkins. Point to the food that looks the least offensive. One of them stares at me. Did I do something wrong?

He elbows the guy next to him. "Hey, check out her eyes."

His friend looks at me and says, "Cool contacts."

Okay. I get it. My eyes are different.

"Thanks," I say, trying not to be distracted from what Victor and Aisha told me. Focus on my Mission. I make a beeline for an open seat next to Tara.

As I hover over her shoulder, she leans toward Lacey.

"Hi, Grace. We were just leaving. You can have our seats," the blonde says and without another word, they ditch me.

Fine. If they want to act like Seraphim, I'm used to it.

Sliding into the empty chair, I force an angelic-kindness expression onto my face and smile at a girl with braces by herself two spots down. Then I stare down at the tray and replay my progress so far.

1. Crappy classes. I tried to avoid school, and that's where I ended up anyway.

2. There's not one but _two_ other angels in this school. So, how _special_ am I? And even though Victor seems all right, Aisha's almost as bad as Michael.

3. The human I'm supposed to guard wants nothing to do with me.

4. I haven't got a clue about what kind of protection she needs.

5. After I eat this gunk, I've gotta go sing.

Is there a way to go back?

Maybe I could call Michael on the phone and say, "You win. I'll do your stupid training."

Either way, I could still get my wings. Probably.

It's just that I hate the idea of going back and having everyone, especially Mercy, know things didn't work out. I've always felt like I'd never catch up to my AIT classmates and getting this chance seemed like a way to maybe even zoom by them. Plus, I really only feel insignificant around other Angels. On Earth, with humans, I have loads of confidence.

If I think about this, I've only been here a couple of days. I should probably cut myself some slack. Rome wasn't built in a day. Besides, I did teach Tara _something_ with the clover. Y'know, on second thought, I'm doing just fine.

**Chapter 7**

From: mbeamkind@halo.hvn

To: glightborne@halo.hvn

Subject: hi!

Dear Grace, the Blessed and the Meek,

I miss you so much and hope everything is great where you are. Sorry, I don't have any advice for you on your Assignment. Wish I did. But I've never been able to figure out humans.

I did start Virtue training and absolutely love the classes about space. Like the other day, we watched Angels holding back a black hole in the Andromeda Galaxy. It was so exciting to think about doing that for real. And Raphael said because The Universe is expanding, they always need more Virtues. He made a joke about job security. Isn't that funny?

I really wish you'd chosen this as your vocation.

I know you decided Guardian would be best for you, and there's no shame in it or anything, but think of how cool it would be keeping The Universe and The Heavenly Bodies aligned together. We'd have loads of fun! Plus it's so worthwhile, you know. So, just think about it, okay?

Oh, by the way, I have a new roommate named Faith. She's studying to be a Dominion. She seems really nice and she liked the pastel room, so we decided to keep it that way for a while. She's been helping me with my angel walk a lot and she said I'm getting better. You'd be so proud of me.

Anyway, I have to fly. (No I didn't get my wings yet. It's only an expression, silly.☺) Faith and I have choir practice. Write when you get the chance. I know you must be busy.

Yours in the Glory,

Mercy, the Humble

Angel-in-Training

P.S. I don't know what He meant about against His better judgment. How strange!

It's times like this when I have an uncontrollable urge to shake Mercy by the shoulders. Me—A Virtue? Honestly. I'd say her halo's on too tight, but we don't have them yet.

She probably doubts my decision to become a Guardian, because even though she says, _there's no shame in it_ , there kinda is. While Seraphim are at the top of the Celestial Hierarchy and Virtues in the middle, plain 'ole Vanilla Angels—like Guardians—are at the bottom of the totem pole. We're the dregs of Heavenly society, because our interaction with humans cheapens the job. So while Mercy loves me, she's knows my future vocation won't really be in the same class with her future vocation. Awkward, huh?

You might think this would bother me, and I guess it does make me feel like a lesser Angel, but if I get my wings faster than the rest of my class, who cares? I hope she and Faith, the future Dominion, are very happy in their lilac room practicing the angel walk.

But here's the thing I don't get. When I complete my Mission, where will I live? Can I move back in with Mercy? Does Faith have to move out? Or...or what?

**Chapter 8**

During dinner, Finn jabbers about his first day of school, which I'm really happy about because no questions for me means less awkwardness. Plus, I remember to eat slower. I inconspicuously try to keep an eye on Tara. Besides sulking, she doesn't do much.

When everyone is done, Mrs. Murphy asks Tara and me to help with the dishes.

As we clear the table, Mrs. Murphy packs leftovers while giggling. "Finn's so excited, he didn't let anyone else talk. How was your first day back?"

Tara shrugs. "Lacey says sophomore year is the worst. We just have to get through this year and then when we're juniors, everything will be better."

Mrs. Murphy burps the plastic container and carries it to the fridge. "Sounds like the Sophomore Slump. Mine started slow but got exciting near the end. I met your dad."

"News flash, Mom. Dad's not that exciting. Especially when he wears the floppy hat," Tara teases.

"He didn't wear the floppy hat back then, and besides, he's exciting to me," Mrs. Murphy says with another giggle. "But all I'm trying to say, Tara, is give this year a chance because you never know. It might be better than your junior year."

"That won't work. I have no intention of going away then. You should have sent me this year."

Mrs. Murphy shakes her head and carries the leftovers to the fridge. "How about you, Grace? Was today a lot different from school in Paradise?"

_You could say that!_ But there's no way I can. I rinse and stack the dishes in the sink while I think about something safe to say. "Classes are all right. I met a couple of nice kids."

Tara, on her way to the table for the last of the dishes, whips her head around, interested in me for the first time today. Maybe the first time ever. "Who'd you meet?"

"Some kids named Aisha and Victor."

Dishes in the dining room clatter as Tara sets them down. "How did _you_ meet _them_?" She couldn't sound anymore amazed if I sprouted wings and flew around the kitchen.

"She's friendly," Mrs. Murphy says. "You and Lacey should try it sometime."

"Very funny, Mom. Lacey is already friends with Aisha, and she's going to introduce us to Victor. I'm just surprised Grace met them her first day." Tara watches me from the corner of her eye, then speaks to her feet. "Especially Victor. It's not that easy to do."

"I'm glad you met someone your first day." Mrs. Murphy runs hot water through a sponge. She gives me a small smile. "Do you like _Angel Stories_?"

Huh?

"Don't tell me you've never watched it! It's our favorite TV show."

"It's not _my_ favorite." Tara sneers. Scrape. An overdone French fry is sacrificed to the garbage disposal.

How cool. They have TV on Earth. I wonder if I can watch _Unreal!._

Mrs. Murphy wipes the counters, oven and microwave. "Tara used to love it, but she feels she's outgrown it."

"I _have_ outgrown it. It's ridiculously childish." She thrusts the plate at me to rinse.

"You might like it, Grace." Mrs. Murphy wrings the sponge, laying it on the ledge of the sink.

I might. Or then again, maybe not. I was never into shows like _A Day in the Life of a Principality_. Too much like being in the classroom. On the other hand, I loved _Astounding Aid_ , which was described as "surprising acts of love and charity from both Guardians and humans."

I'm torn. Truly. Should I try to stay with my Mission? Or should I watch something called _Angel Stories_? Best case: it's like _Astounding Aid_. Plus, there's a possibility that the show will have clues about how to get my wings. Worst case: it's like the classroom. "Sure. Sounds good," I say to Mrs. Murphy.

In the den, Mrs. Murphy surfs through channels while Finn lugs a double-wide bean bag to the center of the room. He plops it right in front of the TV and wriggles down into it.

"Sit by me," he says, patting the open spot next to him.

I plunk down next to him, and he hugs me around the neck, practically strangling me.

The show begins. Earth's version of HVEN TV. We watch them and they watch us—incredible. But right away, something about this show seems really off. Everything looks too planned and the humans are talking strangely.

Five minutes into it, I'm in shock.

There's a woman pretending to be an Angel. I know she's a phony because she's just told a human she's there to help. If she were a real Angel, Michael would be all over her.

"This, this," I stammer, "is a lie!" I point at the screen. "She's not an Angel!"

Mrs. Murphy laughs like I've just told the funniest joke ever. When I turn back to the screen, the Bogus-Angel is walking through a wall. Crazy. I want to scream, _You're an Angel, not a ghost_ , but somehow manage to hold that tidbit inside. Next, the image on the screen switches to a human washing dishes. She holds up a bottle of soap, smiles at it and pats the soap on the head like it's a family pet.

It makes no sense.

Finn loses interest during the bit with the Soap-lady, rolls out of the bean bag and wanders away. Now the TV shows humans in blue and red blankets named Snuggie. They work on laptops, read books and cheer in the bleachers. Too strange. And this is even weirder. Now some people worry about when something absolutely, positively has to be there overnight. What does this have to do with fake Angels? Suddenly, the Bogus-Angel reappears.

"Why is that—" I catch myself. I almost said _h_ _uman_. "Why is that woman pretending to be an Angel?"

Mrs. Murphy looks confused. "It's just a show. It's not reality."

Huh?

"Are you sure?" I tilt my head then confess, "I've only ever watched reality TV."

Mr. Murphy looks up from the book he's reading. He and Mrs. Murphy share a stare, passing a message between them with only their eyes.

Did I slip again? How will I ever remember all their oh-so-foreign customs?

At least once I know this show's make-believe, I can enjoy it. It's corny and totally off-base. At one point, I can't help myself and snort. "That's not the way it works."

Mrs. Murphy casts another strange look in my direction. But it's completely engrossing to watch the fantasy unfold and the ending is sweet.

My eyes tear up.

Mrs. Murphy is brushing one from her cheek, too. "That show always gets to me." She hesitates and looks around. "Where's Finn?"

I start to tell her he left during Soap-lady, but she's already off the couch, "Finn? Finny?"

We call and search until I open my bedroom door. Finn is sprawled out on my floor, surrounded by a load of action figures.

"He's in here," I yell.

Finn holds a robot, which is about to battle with a ninja. There's every type of warrior spread out before him and also three Barbies: a red head, a blonde and one with light brown hair. Pilot Snoopy sits alone by the desk.

Mrs. Murphy rests against the doorway, hands to hips but she's smiling. "So this is where you ran off to? I'm not sure Grace wants company."

"He can stay," I say.

A wide grin blooms on Finn's face.

"Does Tara know you have her dolls?" Mrs. Murphy asks.

Finn thrusts his chin out. "She gave them to me. She said they're for babies."

See, now I know I skipped training and everything, but I swear it seems like Finn needs me as a Guardian waaaaay more than Tara. Truly. I don't get it.

I sit next to him on the floor, pulling my knees to my chest. "I'll play with you if it's okay with your mom."

"Can I stay? Pleeeease?" He looks up from under long, thick lashes.

"Okay, but only for a few minutes. It's almost bedtime, and you've got school tomorrow."

"Because I'm not a baby, right?"

"Right. You're a big Kindergartner now." Mrs. Murphy leaves the door slightly ajar.

Finn smiles at me and then lays down the warrior. He picks up the Barbies, hopping the blonde one over to the redhead. "I don't like my brother. You shouldn't like your brother." He pretends the red-haired Barbie replies, "All right, I won't like him." Then, he moves the red-haired doll to a stuffed Snoopy sitting alone by the desk. "You are such a baby. Don't come in my room anymore," the doll says while the Snoopy cries _boo-hoo_.

I hug Pilot Snoopy and hold him out to Finn. "Are you this guy?"

Finn's lips tighten; he grabs the Barbie with light brown hair and flies her through the air, swooping this doll down over the head of the red-haired one. "You should be nice to your brother," the flying doll says. Finn turns to me and holds up flying Barbie. "She's an angel," he tells me.

My throat constricts. "That's nice."

Finn lays the Angel-Barbie gently on the floor and pushes all the other dolls aside. He pops up from the floor, walks to my desk, and points to the A-mail from Mercy. "You're an angel," he says, blue eyes wide.

OhGodOhGodOhGodOhGodOhGodOhGod!

"I can't read all of this," Finn scrunches his face, "but I can read this." He brightens, pointing to the word _Angel_ and puffing his chest. "I learned to read last year." His eyes gleam. "I knew you were magic."

"I'm not magic." I close the top of the laptop and scramble across the floor to shut the door. I hope the Murphys didn't hear any of that.

"I _already read it!_ " Finn shouts. He has an impish smile made even cuter by his tousled red curls.

"Shh. Quiet, Finn!"

I _am_ so dead _._ Okay, maybe not dead, but I _am_ in big trouble. This wipes out Michael's #1 rule—no human can know you're an Angel. I haven't even been here for three days and I've already blown my cover. With a five-year-old, no less.

And the #2 rule—Free Will—stands in the way of me fixing it.

"I'm right! That's how you did the four-leaf clovers, and that's why you say weird things."

I sit up stiffly and lift my chin to try to channel some angelic composure. "Finn, I'm going to trust you with something very important." I stare directly into his wide eyes. "Yes, I'm an Angel, but I'm not supposed to tell anyone. Understand?" Confession: Technically, I'm only an Angel-in-Training, but I figure I should keep it simple.

"I'm not _any_ one. You know me. I'm Finn."

Ordinarily this would be funny, but the hysteria I'm feeling is not the amusing kind. "All the same, we probably shouldn't talk about it. Why don't you tell me a little about the red-haired doll?"

I guess he's smarter than I thought, because he shakes his head at me. "Are you here to help someone? Like, on that show?"

Reluctantly, I nod.

"Is it me?"

I think of the fortune cookie. "No. I wish it were you."

"Is it Tara?"

He's good for a five-year old. If Finn were an Angel, what would his job be? Something to do with Inquisitions? I nod in answer to his question.

"I wished for someone to come and make her be nice to me again. That's why you had to come." Finn lays his droopy-eyed head in my lap and sticks a thumb into his mouth.

"I thought you weren't supposed to do that," I say.

He pulls it out. "Don't tell, Gracie." Pop. It's back in.

I look Finn directly in the eye and speak slowly. " I'll keep it a secret, but you need to keep it secret that I'm an Angel, understand? 'Cause we both could get in big trouble."

Finn grins broadly behind his thumb and nods over and over. "See-cwet," he says through a full mouth. His long, red lashes settle on his cheeks as he dozes off.

Geez. I was worried about this when the Murphys eyed each other. Do they suspect? And, if a five-year-old knows I say _weird things_ , how will I ever blend in at school?

* * *

After moving Finn to his room, I try not to panic.

_Think. Think_. _Think._

Victor flashes into my mind. He gave me his number. Scrambling under the bed, I haul out the black case and pull out the mobile. What? Two voicemails?

Oh God! I hope it's wasn't Him.

The first came yesterday at 11 am. When I play the first message, it's Michael. His voice is as stern on voicemail as it is in person.

"It has come to our attention that you violated Rule number three when you performed _The Miracle of the Clover._ You may _not_ tamper with the Earth's fragile ecosystem. The most damaging consequence from your creation is that the virulent strain of four-leaf clover could overtake the three-leaf variety, thus eliminating any luck and the sense of wonder associated with finding a four-leaf plant. The patch must be eliminated. In the future, may I suggest you use discernment _and_ permission before undertaking any Celestial activities?"

Doesn't sound like _a suggestion_ , if you know what I mean. I hit delete and play the second message from, like, one minute ago.

What a surprise. It's Michael. Again.

"Grace Lightbourne," he starts with a voice that's angry beyond the first message. "You violated Rule number one."

Yeah, yeah. I know, I know. And I already felt bad when it happened. I mean, this is old news, right?

"It is Rule number one because it is the most important rule..." I hold the phone away from my ear as he drones on and on. There's a break, and I hold it to my head again. Michael is just reiterating all the rules for me. I mean, it's not like I forgot them. There are only four. "And you have not done any of the homework I provided to you. That needs your attention! Immediately!" End of message.

Delete. Am I supposed to call him back? He didn't ask me to—so probably not. I jump through screens until I reach the _Contact_ list, select Victor and press send.

"Hey, Grace!" There's a smile in his voice. I beam in return.

"I think I need your help," I say.

"Already?" He laughs. "What's up?"

I take a deep breath and start to run through the messages from Michael, but then I have to backtrack and explain the four-leaf clover and the TV show and Finn with the dolls. I finish by saying, "But the good news is, I think Finn helped me figure out that my Mission somehow involves Tara's friend Lacey. So I guess there was a reason behind it after all."

Victor is quiet for a minute. Maybe he's making sure I'm done talking? Then he says, "Well, what did it your Identity File say?"

"How would I know?"

"Michael didn't send you without one, did he? Sometimes he's a real jerk."

I agree with Victor on this, but in this case it's not the truth. "No he gave me one. I didn't read it."

Victor laughs. "Well, start there—unless you want to end up a Wingless One."

How stupid can I be? Michael keeps telling me to do my homework. Victor's Wingless One remark is pretty funny, though. They're a myth for keeping us in line.

I crack up and tease, "Oooh! A Wingless One! I'm so scared!"

There's silence on the line. I'd expected Victor to laugh with me. Finally, he said, "You shouldn't joke about things you don't understand."

"Stop! You're messing with me. Everyone knows they're not real."

Victor clears his throat, "I can assure you, they are _very_ real. If you were still at school, you'd learn about them next year."

Is he kidding me? He might be, but his voice doesn't seem that way. That's so strange. What if they're real? Celestial Beings that are never to be allowed in Heaven. They either didn't earn their wings or they were stripped of them. That's some scary stuff.

"I won't learn about them in school next year, _since I won't be in school next year_ , so why don't you fill me in? Details, please."

There's a long pause followed by a huge sigh. "Basically there are two kinds. The first type isn't very dangerous, because their flaw—a lack of love—results in apathy and laziness. But the second type should alarm you. Proud. Selfish. Angry. Filled with hate. Avoid them."

"How will I do that? I couldn't tell you and Aisha are Angels."

"Listen, Grace, I gotta go. I've already said more than I should've."

Oh, no! I want to keep talking to him. "Okay, all right, you convinced me to study. I'll read the file after we get off the phone, but you haven't even told me—what's new with you?"

"Ahh! I just got two tickets to the Worthy Idols concert. I went to see Foolhardy on my last Mission."

_A Concert?_ Over in Quadrant Three, a.k.a. Paradise, human souls can go every night if they want, but it's totally off-limits for most Angels. The performers are top notch. Pick your decade: Frank Sinatra, Elvis, Jimi Hendrix, Michael Jackson, Kurt Cobain or Amy Winehouse. Oh sure, the Archangels who work in Paradise have probably seen one and I bet the Cherubim who work the gates have gone. But I'll never get to go.

"What are they like?" I ask.

"Concerts? They're incredible. Last time, I was right in front of the stage and there are a ton of lights. They had huge screens behind the band that kept flashing videos. It's hard to explain."

I think about the images on the walls when I was at the Temple. "I can picture what you mean."

"Then the music, and the smells...smoke and perfume and sweat. But the best—and I mean _the best_ —is that everyone is standing close, moving like one to the music. It's like a pulse. You should go."

Is he asking _me_?

"I mean, if you haven't finished your Mission. The concert's not until January. Want to go?"

"Sounds good," I say, acting nonchalant. "Well, I'd better go read that file. See you at school."

"I'll look for you."

After hanging up the phone, I want to squeal and jump up and down and dance around the room like a spaz. I wish Mercy were here to hug. Because that was three miracles rolled into one—I get to see a concert, a Full Angel wants to mingle with me, _and_ the Full Angel is the divine, completely heavenly, _holy cow, he's gorgeous_ Victor. He probably would've never noticed me up above.

Turns out, Earth can be a lot like Heaven.

**Chapter 9**

For the second time tonight, I open the ugly black briefcase and this time remove the blue folder, pulling out the papers I'd dropped at the X-Changing the World check-in. It's right there, on top, in big bold letters.

IDENTITY FILE (TOP SECRET)

MISSION: The young human boy Finn Murphy (hereinafter The Requestor) asked for assistance due to circumstances involving his older sister Tara Murphy (hereinafter The Assignment).

The Assignment has dramatically changed her behavior to her family, and especially her interaction with The Requestor. Sibling rivalry is a normal occurrence and usually healthy for human souls to work through. However, in this situation, because of the large age gap between The Requestor and The Assignment and the unequal distribution of Power and Intellect, it has been determined that this is an unhealthy situation for The Requestor.

In the past, The Assignment has held a nurturing attitude toward The Requestor, but no more. Our Maker wishes to avoid a Cain/Abel Situation. (Please refer to Chapter 2 of My Life as a Guardian to understand how this situation was mishandled in the past.)

The Assignment's friendship with Lacey Fitzsimmons (hereinafter The Causal Agent) is the primary reason for the deterioration of said parties' relationship. The Assignment defers to the Opinions and Influence of The Causal Agent, which has created False behavior. Your Mission is to restore The Assignment's True Self with her family and to convince her to reveal this True Self with those outside her family.

Please confine all Celestial activities to The Assignment. The Causal Agent has her own Guardian in place. At times, these Missions may become intertwined. It is imperative for Guardians to work with and assist each other to mutually satisfy both Missions.

The Requestor? The Assignment? Couldn't it just say Finn? And Tara? I had to read that craziness three times to make sure I had it right. Still, it would have been a lot easier if I'd read this from the beginning. Oh well, I did figure it out on my own.

Except the part about Lacey having a Guardian.

Is she Victor's Assignment? I scan the page, and it outlines my pretend background. Dad's a real estate developer and Mom is a teacher. I try to remember what I said at Wan's. It was fine, I think. My age is listed as fourteen. Not quite sure what that means. Other than I'm still in school.

Then a section on my strengths and weaknesses catches my eye.

GUARDIAN STRENGTHS/TALENTS:

  * The ability to adapt to changing environments

  * Creative thinker

  * A genuine interest in Earth & humans

  * A strong sense of right vs. wrong and appropriate justice

  * Protector of the small and/or weak

  * Determined

  * Angelic voice and athleticism

Wow. I never knew Michael thought I was good at anything. Creative thinker? That's nice to know. And determined? It's all surprising. The voice thing irritates me, I must confess, but Gabriel always said I should be in the choir.

The biggest shocker on a list filled with revelations. Athleticism. Seriously? How can I be athletic when I always feel so clumsy? Maybe it's just when compared to humans? .

I scan the weaknesses section. _Rebellious._ Okay, I can see that. _Lacks adequate study skills._ Well, yeah. But it's such a waste of time. _Lacks ability to foresee consequences of actions. Too impulsive._

Wait a minute! I foresaw that I should be a Guardian and skip the stupid training, didn't I?

Temperamental.

Now Michael's starting to piss me off.

_Tendency toward arrogance_.

Who does he think he is? The Boss?

And finally: _It is uncertain whether Grace Lightbourne possesses the ability to sacrifice herself in a meaningful way._

Hmm. I'm not sure what he means. What kind of sacrifice is he looking for? I flip through the rest. There's another page and a half of stuff in this file. Ugh. I've done enough for tonight, and so I shove the Identity File back into the case and look for a better spot to hide it. Top shelf of the closet, behind the linens looks good. It's the same spot I used for my imitation wings in Heaven.

**Chapter 10**

I'm _so_ not into exterminating the clover. "I could have sworn I had weed killer," Mr. Murphy says, moving a bag of fertilizer off the shelf.

The two of us stand near the far wall of the hotter-than-Hell garage. "Ah-ha!" He grabs a container and reads the back. "This should do it. Says right here it kills all kinds of vegetation."

I take the plastic jug, which has a short hose and trigger dangling from it.

"You don't have to do this," Mr. Murphy says with a hint of guilt. "Tara's been after me to get rid of that patchy spot for a long time."

I smile at him. "No biggie."

What Mr. Murphy doesn't realize is I _have_ to do this. Michael made it clear—there's no allowing my four-leaf clover to survive. It could blossom into some kind of freaky variation on kudzu. Which would be totally bad PR for Guardians. No way do I want to be the source of that, so I search the backyard, finally finding the place where I performed my _one_ and _only_ miracle.

Cringing, I release a single stream of poison. Then stop.

_I can't do it._ Kill my own creation. _But I have to_.

Bending over, I gently pick one piece. It's whole, with four perfectly formed leaves. It almost looks like it has wings. Lucky! I tuck it into my pocket as a reminder, then go back to work, flinching every time the poison hits the clover.

After a few minutes as an executioner, I'm into the routine. It's surprising how quickly your heart can harden. Tara and Lacey wander onto the patio and watch me from a distance.

They're dressed almost identically: short shorts, bellies exposed, flip-flops, big hoop earrings, super-straight long hair. They giggle and whisper and again, it reminds me of the Hierarchy in Heaven. Sweat drips down my neck. I'm dressed in old clothes and I couldn't feel more removed from my Assignment if the Red Sea separated us.

Surprisingly, Lacey speaks to me. "Tara tells me you know Victor. Aisha, too. "

I've been on duty for a week and haven't made much progress. Maybe this is my chance. I give the patch of clover one last shot. "Yeah. I met Aisha at the park, right after I arrived. And Victor helped me out a couple of times."

" _Helped_ you?" Lacey asks.

"You know, to find my classes. And then when we talked the other night." I open the screen door and move closer.

"You talked to him _the other night?_ " Lacey tosses her pale hair over her shoulder and Tara mimics the motion.

What's really strange is I stop short of flipping mine too. It's almost like her presence demands it. "Yeah. He gave me a little advice and then said we'd go to some concert."

Lacey gasps. "Not the Worthy Idols!"

"I think that's the one."

Lacey gives Tara this raised-eyebrow look. "Do you think you could introduce us to Victor?"

"Sure."

It seems like she's about to say something else but stops herself when Mr. Murphy wanders through the sliding glass door. He holds out his hand to take the jug from me. "Thanks for doing this." Then he says to Tara, "You might want to change into something grungier."

" _Why_ would I want to do that?"

"I'm teaching you how to change a tire this morning, remember?" Mr. Murphy's brow and jaw are firm.

Tara makes a _can you believe this?_ face at Lacey. "We can do it later, Dad. I'm going to CVS with Lacey. Grace is going to come with us, right, Grace?"

"Not until you learn how to change a tire, you're not. Listen, you've put me off twice already. If you think you're just going to get your license and start driving without learning some of the basics, that's not gonna happen."

This seems a lot like the whole chariot thing in Heaven. But I do get why humans would want some wheels. No chance for wings.

"This is so, so," Tara sputters, "so lame." She spins on her heels and charges into the house.

"You're dressed for it," Mr. Murphy says to me.

I'm sticky, sweaty and gross from the murder I committed. "For what?" I ask.

"Do you already know how to change a tire?"

He's kidding, right?

* * *

Mr. Murphy is wearing the same goofy, floppy hat he wore on the day they picked me up at the X-Changing the World registration. His pale, knobby knees jut as he bends down to show me how to put the jack close to the tire. "You have to make sure these two points line up. See?"

Tara and Lacey stand behind me, totally ignoring the instructions.

Lacey whispers. But not too quietly. "She said just buy what you want and let us know how much it costs. So, I went to Abercromie and..." The last part trails off and I can't hear it.

"You are so lucky," Tara says. "My mom would never let me pick my own clothes. And an unlimited budget? Hardly."

I crank the extension that raises the tire off the ground and try to focus on my eavesdropping.

Now, Lacey's voice takes on a snotty tone. " 'Ethan needs me more than you, Lacey.' 'Ethan has appointment today, Lacey.' Ethan, Ethan, Ethan. Her world revolves around that kid."

The wheel nuts are too tight, so Mr. Murphy takes over for me. He grunts as he loosens each one and I try to tune back into my Mission. Tara did what her dad asked—put on a pair of old shorts and a holey tee, but she hasn't gotten anywhere close to the car, so I'm not sure it mattered.

"My mom's the same way with Finn. It's because they're the babies."

I line up and mount the tire, then spin the nuts until they're what Mr. Murphy called finger-tight. He takes over with the wrench again to make sure everything is completely secure.

Lacey whispers something I can't hear.

"What was that?" I mutter to myself.

A warty-looking duck waddles across the Murphys' driveway and quacks, "She said, 'It's like they forget that they have another kid.'"

"Thanks," I say to the duck, and Mr. Murphy's head spins toward me.

"Grace, why did you quack at that duck?" he asks.

"To be polite." I pause. "They like it when you speak to them in their language."

A big _ha!_ bursts from Mr. Murphy. Then he lowers the car and shows me how to remove the jack. He winks at me and turns to Tara. "You'd better hope you've got Grace with you if you ever get a flat."

"I was watching," Tara whines. "Good job, Grace."

Lacey is grinning fiendishly. "Yeah. Good job." She whispers something to Tara that I miss. It's too bad the duck is long gone. He can't clue me in on what was said. Then she says to me, "Hey, you're coming with us to CVS, right? After you clean up and everything."

Hurray! Time to complete my mission. Who knew it would be so easy?

Well, actually, I did.

But I'd temporarily lost faith in myself. Now, their acceptance of me feels like being embraced by Seraphim. Except Seraphim don't actually have arms, but you know what I mean.

* * *

Cars zoom by us, the gusts from their speed ruffling against my bare legs. CVS is on the other side of the busy six-lane street. When there's a gap in the traffic, we dash to an island of grass in the sea of cars and wait for a break from the other direction.

Just before the lull, Tara steps down. A pick-up races toward us at light speed and I throw my forearm into her chest, knocking her down as it whizzes by.

Whoo-hoo! I just saved her life. That should get me my wings.

"What the—" A horn blares, drowning out Tara's curse. She sits half on, half off the curb. _What would Michael make of that language?_

"You don't have to thank me," I say. "Anyone would have done that."

"I wasn't going to walk in front of that truck." Tara rolls her eyes.

Lacey laughs and holds out her hand to hoist Tara off the ground while Tara brushes some dirt and dried cut grass off the back of her shorts. My adrenaline surge disappears.

This isn't wing-worthy.

My Mission is not complete. It involves Finn and the way Tara treats him. I should've known it wasn't going to be that easy.

Traffic clears and we race again, not stopping until we reach the parking lot. Out of breath, Lacey says, "Ready to get nicky?"

Huh?

Tara giggles. "I really need some clear lip gloss on discount. But I need to buy some school supplies too."

"I need a bunch of stuff on discount." Lacey says. "How about you, Grace?"

Discount sounds good to me. "I need a backpack. The briefcase is gruesome."

They laugh and nod, and we cross the nearly empty parking lot through doors that whoosh open. Awesome. Magic doors. Inside CVS, glowy overhead lighting illuminates the shelves. The air is like angel's breath—cool, dry and sweet-smelling. Soft sounds tinkle in the background. It's so much more comfortable than the heavy air outside. The cosmetics section is at the front of the store.

"Meet you back here in a few," Lacey says as she grabs Tara by the arm and pulls her away.

Tara giggles and gives me a little finger wave. "Backpacks are over there."

I wave back. How cool that I have a minute to explore. I'm sure this store doesn't have the same stuff as Perpetuity, our department store in Quadrant One of Celestial Heaven. Humans don't exactly need halo-fitting services or new parts for scepters. It should be fascinating.

I wander around, absorbing all the rows and rows of stuff. Mesmerizing! Do humans really _need o_ r _want_ all of this? At the end of one aisle is a box with a picture of a lady curled up in a Snuggie. The box has a bright orange and black _As Seen on TV_ sticker.

That's from _Angel Stories_ _._ Then it snaps into place like a missing puzzle piece. The parts that didn't make sense when I watched TV were to get humans to buy things. It was a pause in the story, which is weird. Totally weird.

I turn into the aisle by the Snuggie, checking out all the products. Diapers? I'm glad Celestial Beings never had to wear these. Tampons? I study the box. What is the purpose?

Then, one shelf up, a box snags my eye.

Oh.

My.

God.

Maxi pads have wings! I don't even know what they are, and they have wings! I pick up the box. It reads: _Provides Superior Protection_.

Well, I guess so.

Deciding these could come in handy—and help me figure out a quicker way to my goal!—I tuck the box under my arm and head to back Cosmetics. Lacey and Tara aren't back, so I lean against a glass-topped counter filled with boxes and bottles of perfume.

One's called Heaven's Scent? Another is White Shoulders? Near the edge, there's a small silver bell and a sign that reads _Ring for Assistance._

Rule #4. Watch for signs.

There's no way this is a coincidence. I mean, I find a box with wings inside, see things with angelic names and then I'm given a direct message. Finally, Michael, something obvious! Without hesitation, I tap the top of the bell, wait a second or two and tap it three more times. _C'mon, c'mon, I'm ringing._

A lady in a navy uniform waddles toward me. "I'm coming. Relax." She doesn't look especially virtuous to me. I know I need my wings to tell humans from Celestial Beings, but still, Aisha and Victor have...a certain quality.

This woman looks entirely human, and not in a good way.

She takes an elastic key chain from around her wrist and sticks it into the back of the case. Whatever she is, she's not in a good mood. "You needed something?"

I was kinda hoping _she'd_ point _me_ in the right direction. "Can you tell me how they got their wings?" I hold up the box of pads.

"Is this some kind of joke?" Ms. Grumpy's face turns practically purple.

"No, I . . . uh . . . "

Someone grabs my arm and I turn expecting to see Tara or Lacey, but Aisha is standing there. "Hey, girlfriend!" she says, a huge smile on her face.

Are we friends? It doesn't seem that way.

Ms. Grumpy crosses her arms. "What's the joke? Just get it over with so I can get back to work." The CVS lady folds her arms across her chest.

I would never joke about wings.

Aisha grabs the box I'm holding up. "She has a funny sense of humor," she says about me. "She's not from around here."

"That's not too surprising. No one is," Ms. Grumpy says. "If you girls are done, I'd like to get back to work." She stalks off a lot quicker than she came.

"I thought she was a messenger." I point to the sign. "I thought—"

"She's human," Aisha interrupts. "And this..." she snorts a laugh. "Forget it. I'll explain later. We only have a minute. Tara and Lacey are—"

But I don't get to hear what she was going to say because they both stroll up with devilish grins.

"Aisha!" Lacey grins broadly. "Getting nicky with us?"

Aisha smiles.

"It's nicky time," I say, trying to fit in.

Lacey flips her hair and says, "You're pretty cool for someone from Wyoming."

"Montana," Tara reminds her.

"Whatever. It's one of those big square states, right?" Lacey moves toward a display of mascara. She picks one up and slides it into her purse.

_Holy Hot Rollers!_ They're stealing?

I look around. Ms. Grumpy is nowhere to be seen. Tara lifts a tube of lip gloss and pockets it. Aisha is the farthest away from me and she's just standing there. Doing nothing. Unbelievable. I have to stop this—it's wrong.

I give an Aisha a _what the hell_ look but can't say anything. My mouth opens and closes like the door at the front of the store. She stares back and slowly, almost imperceptibly, shakes her head.

What kind of Angel is she?

Tara is reaching for an eye shadow and I charge in to stop her, but then my foot catches something solid. I trip and tumble headlong into the wall of cosmetics, sending nail polish, mascara, and powder in every direction. A small smile barely curls across Aisha's lips as she watches me try to recover. It feels like she tripped me. Impossible. She's standing fifteen feet away.

And now, here comes Ms. Grumpy. "I should have known it would be you!"

"I'm really sorry."

She doesn't look like she believes me. I pick up a nail file near my right hand and try to re-hang it but manage to knock three more things to the floor. "I...let me...help," I stammer.

"I need your help like I need a hole in the head," Ms. Grumpy says. "Why don't you kids get out of here—now—before I call the police?"

My Mission is in a body, mind and spirit nose-dive. I scramble to get off the floor and we trot away from the trashed Cosmetics area. This time I don't even stop to admire the doors as they whoosh open to let us escape.

In the parking lot, Lacey and Tara crack up. Lacey's face turns red and she hangs her arms around my neck. "That," she says between outbursts, "was the funniest thing ever." She opens her purse and it's crammed with an incredible amount of stuff. "And your _diversion_ worked better than anything we've ever done before."

"It looked like a hurricane hit the Cosmetic aisle," Tara squeals and then giggles. "I'm going to call you Hurricane Grace."

It makes me think of when The Big Kahuna said he needed to set a storm in motion. I wait for a bolt of lightning to hit us. Nothing. The sky is cloudless—no threats, not even on the horizon.

"That's perfect." Lacey cracks up all over again. "Did you get anything?"

I shake my head _no_. Stealing is wrong and I'd never, ever do it. Except, I guess I did steal some chicken from Finn's plate at Wan's. But that's different. He wanted me to have it. I'm pretty sure Ms. Grumpy or Mr. CVS didn't want us to have this.

"You gotta have a souvenir from that escapade," Lacey says and hands me an item from her purse.

A small case of fake eyelashes sits in my palm. Like the humans wear on _Unreal!_ , the show I watch with Mercy. They resemble mini-wings and I don't want them, but I probably shouldn't refuse them either.

Maybe Aisha could help me out here? That's when I notice she's vanished.

Of course she has. Miss Perfect wouldn't want to be involved when the feathers hit the fan with Michael.

**Chapter 11**

Earth is a combination of light and dark and in-between shades of gray. At least that's how Michelangelo explained it one time when I asked him what it was like here. After the incident at CVS, I made a list about my Mission. To test his theory.

LIGHT:

  * The Murphys are a nice family. I feel comfortable with them. So it's not horrible to be on Earth.

  * Tara loaned me one of her old backpacks. No more briefcase! Hurray!

  * I eat lunch every day with my Assignment. I think they invited me _because_ of the CVS incident. Like it was some kind of initiation. It's progress!

  * Victor!

DARK:

  * Human school has way too much homework. Just one more way that it's _exactly_ like Angel School.

  * I'm an accomplice to theft.

  * Aisha saw me screw up at CVS _and_ explained the whole maxi-pads-have-wings thing. Now it's completely mortifying to have to spend ANY time with her.

  * Cafeteria food. Especially pepperoni pizza.

SHADES OF GRAY:

  * I've got a pair of fake eyelashes.

  * Michael has only called once this week. Right after CVS.

Seems like the Human artist was correct-a-mundo.

The weirdest thing about what happened after CVS was the message on my cell. I expected Michael to be all Archangelic, but his voice on the message sounded weary. All he said was, "Grace I'm sure you're aware you came very close to breaking rules today. Please focus on your homework." No scolding about the theft. What's up with that? And I'm not sure what rules he's referring to—but at least I didn't break them.

So, at lunch on Friday, I feel pretty good that I've managed to get through the week without another voicemail. Unfortunately I don't feel as good about today's meal. I have a piece of pepperoni pizza that needs to be buried. That's how dead it looks. Even The Big Guy couldn't resurrect it.

Lacey peels the foil from the top of her raspberry yogurt. "Tonight's lookin' good for an escapade!"

Tara grins. "What? Spill!"

"Mommy and Daddy are taking Ethan upstate for an evaluation. And they're leaving the Hummer. _And_ I know where they keep the spare key." She fidgets in her seat, excited by the possibilities.

My Assignment's grin wavers nervously. She stares into her container and stirs her lunch. "I don't know, Lace. It scares me a little, y'know? What if something happened?"

"Nothing will happen."

"You saw how my dad was about learning to change a tire." Tara leans in, whispering, "If he finds out we drove around without our licenses. . . " She makes a slitting motion across her neck.

"Don't go Girl Scout on me," Lacey says. "The only reason I don't have my license yet is they can't ever seem to find time to take me. 'We're so sorry, Lacey.' 'We promise next week, Lacey _._ ' Then, next week comes and Ethan needs something else _._ "

"What if we were in an accident?"

"The Hummer's like a tank—we wouldn't get hurt. I doubt you could even hurt it."

"We could hurt someone else," I say.

Tara seems to be considering what I said. Maybe I'm on the right track.

Lacey scoffs. "That is _not_ gonna happen. Stop worrying. You're up for it, right, Grace?"

Before I can answer, Aisha plunks into the seat next to me. _Oh, please, please don't sit here._ Shame and Despair. Or vice versa.

Aisha smiles wide at all of us. "Up for what, girlfriends?"

"Riding around in a Hummer. Tonight."

"Cool. Sure," Aisha answers, even though Lacey didn't invite her. "You can pick me up at the front of the Enclave. You know where it is on Pines?"

Lacey nods. "There's someone who's not afraid of a little fun." She stares at Tara, waiting for her answer.

Why does Aisha always show up at precisely the wrong moment? And which side is she on, anyway? Doves are from Heaven and pigeons from Hell. I mean, they both coo, right?

I wish I had my wings so I could freeze time and tell her off.

Then. It. Happens.

Tara's spoon is poised right in front of her mouth. Lacey is _still_ waiting for her to answer. _Cool! I did that!_ She's going to have to keep waiting until I get some answers of my own. " _What_ in the name of all that is Holy are you doing?" I ask Aisha.

Aisha's braids sway from side to side. "You know, Tara needs to be able to stand up to peer pressure."

"She was. You weren't here. She was about to say _no_ until you came along and said, 'sounds good.'"

"She still might say no. Keep the faith."

I have a vision where I'm winged and they're supremely large like Michael's. I use one to swat Aisha on the side of her head. It's not very angelic of me, but it's satisfying. Instead, I just clasp my hands and grit my teeth. "But, she might say _okay_ and I almost had her convinced."

Aisha's about to take a bite of her sandwich and then stops herself. It would cause dissonance—the eerie feeling Humans experience when Angels make a slight slip. She sets the sandwich back on her tray. "She needs to be able to say no without you. Like, after your Mission is complete and you're gone. It's not just about you. Get it?"

I don't get it. "I'd like to do _my_ Mission _my_ way." I tap the center of my chest, emphasizing the word _my._

" _Your_ way might not be _best_. When you stopped Tara at CVS, they might have been caught. Getting caught might be exactly what your Assignment needs. It could have meant a speedy end to your Mission."

"It could have?"

Aisha shrugs. All nonchalant.

"Is there some way to flip us back in time?"

Aisha stares at me with her parakeet-colored eyes. "Have you been reading your materials?"

Confession: Not since the night I talked to Victor. But I answer, "Yes," and unfreeze time so I don't have to talk to her anymore. At least, not about Missions and strategy and angelic homework. I'll still need to make small talk, because there's absolutely no chance that Aisha is leaving in the middle of lunch.

When time speeds up—or we slow down—Tara swallows a spoonful of yogurt.

"Well?" Lacey asks.

"All right," Tara says, and I scowl at Aisha.

Lacey smirks, flips her hair back on both sides. "Seven-thirty. Your driveway. Be there."

* * *

The bathroom is crowded. Tara peeks over my shoulder while I lean over the sink, trying to line up the fake eyelashes. My wildly curly hair is completely straight. Tara flat-ironed it for me, and it only took about three hours to achieve this glamorous look.

Finn hovers near my thigh, rapt, as he watches my every move: too much glue, the cockeyed lashes. Finally, one adheres to the edge of my lid. The second lash is much easier to apply. Tara insisted I wear them, insisted they'd make me look "hot." I guess that's a good thing, and, anyway, I'm trying to earn her trust.

Confession: Tara's right. They do look great.

My eyelids feel heavy and I blink—once, twice—slowly. It's like my eyes have wings.

Finn removes his thumb from his mouth long enough to say, "Grace is pretty—like an angel." Then he sticks it back in.

_My secret!_ I make a zip-lip motion at him. "Thanks, Finn."

"Angels are boring. She's gorgeous. Those lashes make your eyes look crazy." Tara huffs at her brother as she brushes by him, ignoring his longing expression. Her cell phone buzzes and she reads a text message. "That's Lacey. C'mon."

Moments later we climb into the Hummer. Tara's in the front seat; I'm in the back

Lacey jerks the car into reverse and we take off with a jackrabbit start, jumpy _and_ fast. The Enclave is only a short way— _thank Dad—_ from the Murphys' house. The neat, uniform condos, which stretch on seemingly forever, remind me of the housing for Guardians and Virtues in Quadrant Two.

Is this where all the Full Angels live? Are there _that_ many on Assignment?

Aisha stands by the guard booth and as we cruise up. She waves, jogs over and hops into the backseat. Lacey makes a sloppy U-turn and takes off. The car lurches into traffic and zigzags from lane to lane.

_Pop!_ An explosion pop startles me. The car fishtails, swerving into the next lane.

_Maybe this is it. Maybe Lacey's going to kill us. Is this how my Mission ends? Would Tara go to Heaven? I think so. And if she dies, do I still get my wings_? _Probably not. Michael will get really pissy if my assignment croaks._

Then, nothing happens. Amen.

Lacey, trembling, pulls the car off Pines Boulevard. The back right corner of the Hummer dips as we edge on to the shoulder. Nerves tattered, I hop out. Lacey beats me to the problem.

She takes one look at the rear tire with a hole the size of a grapefruit, shredded rubber at its edges. "Merde, merde, merde, merde, merde!"

Apparently Lacey takes French.

I freeze time.

"Why did you do that?" Aisha asks. "You can't use that now."

This occurred to me as soon as Aisha said it, but it still ruffles the feathers on my non-existent wings to have her point it out.

"Just give me a minute so I can think." I bite my lip and wonder if this is a coincidence or some kind of freaky divine intervention. "I know what to do," I tell her and set things in motion again.

After finding the jack, I line it up and crank away, raising the Hummer. It's heavier than the Murphys' Honda. A lot heavier.

But I focus on all the steps Mr. Murphy showed me until I get to the point where I have to loosen the nuts. No go. I even stand and jump onto the wrench. Nothing. The blasphemous nut won't budge. This is exactly the place Mr. Murphy had to take over during his demo. And now, because this plight isn't quite enough, one of my fake eyelashes comes loose and dangles into my line of vision. I use my knuckle to try to get it to re-stick, but it's as uncooperative as Aisha.

I freeze time again and ask her, "Do I have super strength or anything?"

She smirks. "You'd know the answer to that if you'd done your reading. Besides, are you sure you want to change the tire?"

I glare at her. "Are you sure you're supposed to be a Guardian? Maybe you should have been a Dominion!" I unfreeze time and return to the tire. Headlights from another car illuminate the area, and I hear the crunch of tire on gravel. What now?

A tall figure emerges from the car, laughs and says, "Need some assistance, ladies?"

It's Victor.

"Oh, thank God!" Lacey says. "I think Grace is stuck."

More like unglued.

Victor stands over me, smile flickering, eyes twinkling. He looks fantastic in his board shorts and a light blue tee. "I don't know about stuck. Looks like she's doing a pretty good job." He squats close to me and examines the tire. Incredible. He smells like a bath towel straight from the dryer—warm and clean. I'd like to wrap him around me.

"I'm not strong enough," I say in despair.

"You are," he whispers.

I mash my hand against the Hummer's rim. "Not for this." Both of my hands are filthy and the eyelash is still flopping like a broken wing.

The glimmer blinks out of Victor's eyes. His smile fades. "I guess you want my help, then?"

"Please," I dab the edge of my eye, attempting to put the lash back in place.

"Okay. Don't want to get too dirty." He smirks when he looks at my hands and then pulls his shirt off.

Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hal—leeee-luuuu-jah!

I hope my gasp isn't audible. He is so tan. And, and...exquisite. He squats down again and goes to work on the tire, not even grunting like Mr. Murphy did. The muscles in his back tense as he loosens each of the nuts. Tara, Lacey and I are transfixed by his every move. Only Aisha looks bored. More proof that she's hard to please.

He stands up and brushes spotless hands on his shorts.

"I can take it from here," I say.

The twinkle returns to Victor's eyes and he pulls his t-shirt back on. "Are you sure? You don't want me to finish it for you?"

"I said, _I can do it now_." Expertly, I swap the mangled tire with the spare, tighten everything and lower the Hummer to the ground. It's done in a matter of minutes. As fast as Jiffy Chariot Repair in Heaven. I hand Victor the jack. "There. All done."

He smiles and holds the jack in his right hand. "I like your hair like that and...you have a smudge." He gently rubs near the edge of my eye. "It's gone," he says and raises one eyebrow, staring at the defective, sagging eyelash.

"Thanks," I say, "for helping." I bat my eyes a little, hoping that the lash will reattach, but it doesn't and so it comes off as a really weak flirt.

Victor looks very serious for the first time tonight. "You could have done it without me."

I blush. Does he really think so?

I wish he'd freeze time so we could talk privately. It's that kind of moment. But spoilsport Aisha's here and even in Heaven, that would kill the mood.

Lacey struts over and plants a kiss on Victor's cheek. "You're an angel. Can I buy you a burger? We're going to The Jukebox."

What a phony! _Okay_ , first of all, we never talked about the Jukebox, and second of all—she got lucky with the angel comment. It's clear he's her Guardian. That's why he appeared out of nowhere. And hey! No _thank you_ for me? What about all the work I did on the tire before he arrived?

"I never turn down burgers or The Jukebox." Victor smiles, white teeth flashing.

"See you in a few." Lacey gives a flirty finger wave and heads for the Hummer. The rest of us follow like mindless, mindless...I don't know whats. It's like how Tara has fallen under her influence. Everyone just plays into her control of things.

In the backseat, Aisha rifles though her purse and hands me a wet cloth. "For your hands. Victor got the spot on your face."

That's different. Maybe she's nicer than I thought.

Tara spins around as I scrub my palms. "I think he likes you, Grace." She giggles. "I've never seen him act like that, right, Lace?"

Lacey's voice is dull; both her hands grip the wheel. "Yeah. Never."

In the quiet, Aisha says, "I have." I look at her as I peel the fake lashes from my eyes. Her lime-green eyes are sad, and a pained smile is plastered on her face. "It was sooooo long ago."

Victor liked Aisha? How long have they known each other?

Because long to Humans is different than to Guardian Angels. If Tara or Lacey said this, they'd mean they'd known him since last year. But Aisha means something entirely different. It makes me wonder—a hundred years? A thousand? More?

**Chapter 12**

The décor at The Jukebox is cool—all black and white and red and chrome. I'll probably copy it for one of my weeks with Mercy. Then, I remember Faith. I mean, if we _ever_ get to room together again.

The five of us end up squished into a red leather booth by the side window. Aisha, Victor and I sit across from Lacey and Tara—with me crammed in the middle.

Every so often, Victor's knee bumps into mine. Warm and solid. Combine that with his bath towel scent, and I re-read the first menu item more times than I can count. When the waitress asks me what I want, I almost say: _Victor._ But instead, I draw deeply from the well of angelic poise and, most importantly, self-control so I can, you know, curb my impulsiveness. Then I follow Victor's lead and order a bacon cheeseburger medium, onion rings and a strawberry shake. I still haven't gotten used to how totally good—or bad—the food is here.

When the food arrives, I take a bite of the burger. "Mmmm....heavenly."

Victor laughs. At least he gets me.

"Check it out." Lacey jabs a forkful of her I'll-Have-The-Purgatory-Hold-The-Dressing-Salad toward the window. Ms. Sands, my English teacher, and Coach Vaughn are walking by, holding hands. "How cozy," she adds.

Victor shrugs. "That's old news."

"Not to me," Lacey says.

Ms. Sands wraps her arm around Coach's waist and then glimpses me through the window. I've got her for English and considering I'm not crazy about school, I think she's decent.

Victor stirs his shake absentmindedly. "Did you see she's having a meeting for Spirit Week? Is anyone else going?"

Spirit _Week_? Don't they get the whole omnipresent thing? "What makes Spirit Week different from any other?" I ask in an attempt to make them see the light.

Aisha buries her face in her palms and rubs her forehead— _bad question?_ — but Tara explains. "It's what a lot of schools call Homecoming. There's hall decoration and a parade, Skit Night, the big game and a dance on Saturday." Tara's brows knit on the word _dance_.

"The dance is the only thing worth going to," Lacey explains. "The rest of it is too rah-rah. _You_ can't possibly be going," she says to Victor.

"I'm very spirited." Victor swirls the straw two times, smirks at his own joke then takes a sip.

Aisha scowls at Victor, maybe because it's too close to the truth. Then she says, "I'm going too. C'mon, Lace. It'll be fun."

Lacey hesitates. "I hadn't really thought about it. Uh...I guess it wouldn't hurt to go to the meeting. What about you guys?" Lacey asks Tara and me.

There's enough on my plate—and I'm not talking cheeseburger here. I shake my head. Before I can get out one word, Aisha stops time. Lacey's straw is frozen between her lips and Tara is perpetually picking one of her cuticles. "What now?"

"You know," Aisha says, all bossy, "that you may need to be there for your Mission. I could tell you were going to say _no_. Just follow along with what Victor and I do."

"I don't want another responsibility. Sorry." Besides, if Aisha knew me better, she'd realize I don't do _follow_ well.

Aisha looks day-of-reckoning annoyed with me. "Why don't you try waiting to see what Tara says, huh?"

My Identity File said not to concern myself with other Missions—to focus on my own and all that. Has Aisha forgotten this part of the program? I sit up straighter, shoulders squared, trying to summon angelic composure. "Why don't you focus on your own Assignment?" I remind her.

Aisha takes a deep breath. I guess I told her.

"Listen," she says in a softer tone. "You need to be focused on Tara. That hasn't changed. I think you did a great job earlier with the tire, but it might have been a little easier if you were studying. I can tell you're still slacking."

Victor clears his throat. "It can't be easy for her, Ish. She's on her first Mission, distracted by all the Earthly stuff, _and_ she's supposed to study." He turns to me. "It's easy to get distracted. You really love everything about this place, don't you?"

I nod, because it's nice to have someone on my side. "Even before I came here, I used to watch all the shows about Earth on HVEN TV. That's how I picked my vocation—that new show, _Angelic Aid_. And I even met Michelangelo once in The Hall of Records."

Victor's face lights up and he leans in close enough that I get a quick whiff of his warm bath towel aroma. "You did? What was he like?"

"Excuse me." Aisha nudges my shoulder. "You two can continue this conversation later. Take your places—I'm putting it in motion."

_Places?_ _How was I sitting?_ I prop my elbow under my chin, but that doesn't feel right. Not another mistake. Please.

"C'mon...another minute won't hurt." Victor leans forward and stares past me at Aisha.

"You know the deal—Missions only. Besides, it won't be hard to talk later. You _both_ have cells. Right?"

The world briefly goes into motion, but then, Victor freezes it again. Aisha—unfreeze. Freeze. Unfreeze. There's a hurky-jerky motion to everything and I'm trying to stay completely still so I don't freak Lacey and Tara. Victor freezes it again and Aisha says, "Cut it out. You already delayed things for me tonight with all your _help_. Enough already. You know I'm doing the right thing."

Victor tips his head back, looks skyward pleadingly and lets out a long breath. Then, he positions himself statue-like. "Okay. Go ahead."

Aisha sets everything into motion. Tara pulls a piece of skin from her thumb and leans into the rest of us, flushed and gushing the answer to Lacey's question. "Yeah. I've been thinking about it ever since I saw the signs, but I never thought anybody else would do it. Cool."

Aisha raises an eyebrow at me. Spirit Week—which, by the way, is totally misnamed—had slipped my mind. This is so bogus! I have no control over my destiny. "If everyone else is doing it," I say all monotone, "I'm in."

Aisha gives me a ha-I-won-that-one smirk while Lacey grins and semi-whispers, "Coach Vaughn must be advising her on... _activities_."

He's just opened the door for Ms. Sands, which is bizarre because it feels like they walked past our window so long ago, but it's only been a few seconds.

The hostess grabs two menus and leads them in our direction until Coach points to a small booth on the far side of the restaurant. After she places the menus on the table, Ms. Sands scoots in and Coach saunters toward us. He claps Victor on the back, gives a hearty laugh and says, "I always knew you were fast. But how'd you get here before me and eat half your meal? When I left, you and Cody were in the middle of that video game."

Victor squirms. Aisha is giving him an evil eye. It's worse than any Lucifer look she's given to me.

"I guess I got lucky and caught green lights," Victor says.

Coach looks perplexed. "Yeah, but when I talked to him five minutes ago, he said you were just leaving."

Victor sips his shake for one, two, three eons—at least, that's what it _feels_ like. Then, he changes the subject to the team and the opening game, while Aisha glares at him.

Coach finally says, "The team is coming together nicely under your leadership and I appreciate you taking Cody under your wing. This year, with all the changes in his life...well, it's been hard on him."

"Cody's cool. I like hangin' with him," Victor says.

"Well, just know I think it's making a big difference to him." He claps Victor on the shoulder again.

After Coach walks away, Lacey says, "He must be out of his mind smitten with Ms. Sands, or Cody's got his own fiction going on—because you changed the tire and everything. You can't be in two places at once."

She's absolutely right. But Victor just smiles.

_Or_...on second thought, can we?

* * *

The Spirit Week meeting has been _very_ hum-drum. Not as boring as Michael's lecture on the Celestial Hierarchy, but I'd rather be watching an _Angelic Stories_ re-run with Mrs. Murphy and Finn. So far, the only interesting parts have been when Coach walked in and interrupted Ms. Sands for five minutes, which sent Lacey into a fit of laughter. In between bursts, she said to me, "You're coming with us after this, aren't you?"

I said, "Yes."

Then, Victor sat behind me and passed me a note that read, "Can I walk you home?"

I said, "Yes."

Of course, being agreeable has put me in a bad situation. I can't do both.

Aisha finally showed up right before everything started and had to sit in the front row. I said nothing to her and for once felt all-Higher Order because she's the slacker tonight.

Ms. Sands stands in front, behind a podium, and clears her throat. "Spirit Week is such a wonderful part of your high school experience. It's an opportunity to be creative, make new friends, have fun and work hard together. I feel privileged to be this year's advisor." She takes a sip of water. "This year's theme is Myths and Legends, which should be a lot of fun. One thing we're going to do differently than the past few years is to have mixed-grade teams, so that the Seniors don't automatically win everything."

A bunch of Seniors _boo_ , but there are also a couple of _sweets_ and _all rights_ scattered around the room. On the far side of the room, I see two guys fist-bump. Lacey and Tara grin at me.

Ms. Sands shuffles a few papers and clears her throat. "Before you start picking teammates, you should know we'll be using a lottery system. And we've already come up with the team titles: Monsters, Pirates, Aliens, Wizard of Oz, Fairy Tales and Greek Gods."

Victor leans forward and whispers in my ear, "I bet the odds are pretty good we end upon the same team."

Goosebumps chase his breath across my neck. I tilt my face toward him. "Why?"

He sits back, laughs and says aloud, "I had a vision."

I hope he's right. I didn't get any divine message and the only vision flashing through my mind is what he looked like changing the tire. Come to think of it—that was divine.

Ms. Sands waves a sheet of paper over her head. "There's a sign-up sheet being passed around...where is it?"

A muscular guy in a black tee who looks like a pirate team candidate holds up his hand.

"Thank you," Ms. Sands says. "And, be sure to sign the sheets, and if you miss it or have any friends who aren't here tonight, just stop by my room tomorrow. We'll pick teams tomorrow night and post the results Friday morning in the main hall, before the pep rally for the first game." Ms. Sands raps her papers on the podium. "That's it for now. More details to come."

Lacey leans in to Tara and me. "Ready?"

I hesitate. Victor hovers. "I need to sign the sheet."

Lacey gives me a you-are-hopeless face. "Don't you have Ms. Sands? Sign it in class. You need to go with us—this one is epic."

Earthly epic is probably different from what I'm used to, but I know Lacey has something planned. Victor? Mission? Eeny-Meeny. I know what Aisha would say. But why would I listen to her? I've made so much progress with Tara, but this might be the event that gets me my wings.

Victor rests his hand on my shoulder. I've made a ton of progress. Right? And everyone deserves a little break. Right? "Um...I'm going to pass."

Lacey says, "Whatever. Your loss." Tara elbows her and motions toward Victor.

"Have fun," I tell them.

_Have fun?_ Maybe not—I don't know what they have planned. Oh, I just need to keep the faith—it'll be fine.

"You too," Tara says and giggles as they walk away _._

Victor perches over my shoulder until they leave and without a word, we stand in sync. At the auditorium exit, he pushes open the heavy metal door for me. I graze him.

_Oh, zap!_ Am I imagining he gave off sparks? Or did I really get a jolt?

Outside, we follow the sidewalk that weaves between the cafeteria and the main building. It's quiet tonight, with only the shush of palm fronds blowing in the breeze. The other kids have left so quickly it feels like they disappeared. Like Victor and I are the only two people at the school. As we walk, shoulder to shoulder, my throat and stomach tighten.

He is heavenly.

Looking up at the sky, the full moon is huge. Bright. But it's the only Celestial body I see. If you don't count Victor's. "Where are the stars?" I ask.

"You can't see them because of all the light, but they're still there," Victor explains. We've come to the area that includes the gymnasium and athletic facilities. There are no events tonight and this part of campus is very dark and very quiet. Victor stops when we reach the concession stand. It's shuttered and empty. "Are you practicing your powers?" he asks.

"When I was changing the tire, I froze time." I laugh. It's light and flirty, not at all like my normal laugh. "But then I couldn't do anything with it, except bicker with Aisha." _Wait._ "Can I do more than that?"

A restrained smile brushes Victor's lips. "What about bi-location? Have you used that?"

I tilt my head toward him. "I don't even know what it is, so how could I use it?"

"It's pretty handy," Victor says. "It's being in two places at once."

Like Lacey said at the Jukebox _._ "You're kidding!"

He raises one eyebrow. "Have you been reading your books?"

Why is Victor acting like Michael, all worried about my schooling? It kills the mood. I stare at the ground, pushing a pebble around with my toe. "It's been really busy. Everything happening with Tara _and_ schoolwork _and_ now Spirit Week..." Then I look into his deep brown eyes. "And...well, not exactly."

Victor laughs and makes a shame-shame motion with his finger. Okay, he's not _exactly_ like Michael. "Watch," he says, and suddenly there's another Victor on the other side. I look left. Right. Yep, it's the same gorgeous guy.

"That's pretty cool, but I don't see how we'd use it. Wouldn't that just confuse humans?"

The Victor on the left laughs and the one on the right scratches the top of his head, pretending confusion. Left Victor approaches me. Over his shoulder, I see the other one cover his eyes with his hands. "I'm only doing it this close—" with the word 'close' I feel his breath on my forehead, "—to show you, but you could be at school...and the beach...with me."

_Wow_! A way out of school! And Victor as a bonus. How cool is that? And if I'd known, I could be using that right now. Sigh.

"We should do that someday," says the right Victor, removing his hands from his eyes. "Remember when I helped with the tire?"

If he's talking about when he took his shirt off and the Angels in Heaven sang out in glory, well then the correct answer is..."Yes."

"I was bi-located so I could help my Assignment. Nothing super important—I didn't need to be centered, but I did need to be present."

My mind is reeling when the Victor standing in front says, "So, what do you think?"

"I think you probably have more in that bag of tricks. What else?"

Victor looks skyward. "She's a tough one," he says and then shrinks to four inches high. "This is size-shifting," a tiny, far away voice near the ground yells up at me.

I bend over and lay my hand on the ground, palm up. He steps onto it and I lift him close enough to my face that I can study the details of the miniature version. He's exactly the same, including his smooth smile that always looks like it's holding back a laugh.

"You're cute like this. I'm going to put you in my backpack and carry you around all day," I tease.

Mini-Victor complains, "Put me down!"

I gently place him on the ground and smile to myself as he re-grows.

"You can make yourself bigger too—but I never use that one," he says. "Shrinking lets you hide and observe things. Getting gigantic only calls attention to yourself." He merges his two bodies into one.

Getting big could come in handy. It might be nice to tower over Aisha, or even Michael. "So, you never do the giant thing?"

He smiles. "I use it every once in a while to get things that are . . . " Victor lengthens his arm, drapes it over my shoulder and pulls me over to him. "Out of reach."

My heart is pounding as he holds me against him and I wonder if he has a special ability to feel that, too.

"You should practice. It's like freezing, just focus on the results you want." Victor releases me and I step back.

I try shrinking but end up only a few inches shorter.

"Try again."

This time I concentrate on small. Angel Barbie-sized. That's the goal. It works.

I manage to shrink to a pee-wee Grace. _Not bad_! Even if I'm not book-smart _._ After re-growing, I will myself to bi-locate, which feels totally strange. Now I understand what he meant about not centered, because it's like you have two sets of thoughts and sensations and feelings going on at the same time.

"You're a fast learner! I didn't get it the first time."

"Thanks." I lower my eyes.

The other, bolder me pipes up. "Great stuff, but all I've ever _really_ wanted are my wings—to fly."

"Practice these," Victor says. "You'll like using them."

"I'm sure. But it's not the same," the mouthier me replies.

His controlled smile briefly appears and he runs a hand through that his streaked hair. "So, you want to know how it feels to fly?"

I feel my two separate selves combine. "Of course. I mean, didn't you?"

Our eyes lock. Victor holds out his hand. "C'mon." The chain that wraps around the gate to the football field falls to the ground. When I take his hand, my stomach flutters like a small, winged angel is trapped in there. We walk across the squishy, rubbery track and on to the sweet-smelling grass of the football field. We're cocooned by the stadium bleachers.

There's a challenge in my tone when I say, "What? Are you going to teach me now?" I can't believe how I'm acting. I never flirted in Heaven.

Victor closes his eyes, tips his head back. Wings sprout and unfurl from his shoulders. He gives them a flap that reminds me of how I stretch my legs after being curled up for a long time.

_Magnificent!_ Will you look at those wings? They're splendid in all their white-feathered opalescence. Victor has always been good-looking, but now he's stunning. Truly. It's weird—even though I knew Victor was a Full Angel, I don't think I really _grasped_ it until I saw the wings. They make me feel small and insignificant, torn between looking and looking away.

"Turn around," Victor says, spinning his finger. He eases behind me, wrapping his arm around my waist. "Ready?"

My heart thumps like mad. "I think so."

We lift and hover a few inches off the ground. More wing flutters in my stomach. We rise higher. Then he circles me around the field a couple times. _Swoop_ —we're low, skimming the ground. Blades of grass speed by in a blur. What a rush! He ascends to the top edge of the bleachers. Weightless. The feel of his arm keeps me stable. Everything looks smaller from up here.

"Enough?" Victor asks.

I shake my head. We climb higher. The air is cool on my arms, but Victor's body is warm. I can hardly breathe. "Go higher!"

He rockets off above the trees, above the rooftops until we're soaring far above the Earth. I can see for miles. The breeze whips through my hair, against my face. Laughter bubbles up in my throat. Above us, the sky's an inky black veil with specks of light twinkling through the weave like a candle behind lace. Below, CVS and the River of Grass Rec Center—my history—are distant.

"So, what do you think?" he whispers in my ear.

I'm startled by Victor. He'd faded away, but now I feel his warmth again. "I love this," I whisper.

"Me too." He squeezes me tighter. "I have to take you to the beach. It's magical, flying out over the ocean."

The idea of gliding above the waves with him makes me giddy. This is nice too. "Thank you," I whisper.

"Time for the landing," he says. "Just let me touch down." He makes one more big swoop upward and as we sail toward the ground, I spy Lacey and Tara dashing across the football field, lugging a big container.

What are they doing?

I don't want to get caught, but would it be good if _they_ did? I tap frantically on Victor's arm.

"I see them," he says, swerving out of the stadium. He drops down gently and we land near the dugout of the baseball field.

"Thank Heaven they didn't look up," I say. My heart is thump-thumping from the flight, from almost getting caught, from being next to Victor.

"No kidding. I knew that was risky. Fun, but risky. We probably shouldn't do it again." There's a combination of relief and disappointment in his sad smile.

"Yeah. Probably not," I agree, but I can't stop imagining flying over the ocean in his arms.

**Chapter 13**

From: glightbourne@halo.hvn

To: mbeamkind@halo.hvn

Subject: FLYING!!!

Oh, Mercy!

I miss you! And can't believe I haven't even been gone three weeks. So much has happened. I don't know where to start!

The biggest news—I flew tonight!!!!!!!

I know that doesn't make sense and I didn't get wings or anything, but there are two other Full Angels here (at least two).

Hold on. I'm gonna rewind. Okay, there's one Angel named Aisha. I can't figure out if she's my friend or enemy, but one thing I know for sure—she's bossy. You know I don't respond well to that!

The other Angel—his name is Victor—is so...I can't even describe it. But I'll try. Remember when we said it would be nice to combine Justice and Forte? How that'd be the perfect guy? It's that, but better. He's the one who took me flying, which was indescribable and makes me WANT my WINGS more than ever.

When you and I both have ours, you need to come to Earth for an Interlude, so we can fly around and sightsee.

Um, my Mission? It's going, I guess. Humans sure are hard to figure out. At first, my Assignment, Tara, wouldn't have anything to do with me. I mean, you'd think humans would gravitate toward their Guardians, like planets around the sun. You get that whole solar system thing as a Virtue.

It's not like that at all.

Anyway, now we hang out together every day and even though she's a long, long, long way from taking my advice, it's better than when I first got here.

What else? I have a few powers. OH! I ALMOST FORGOT! YOU'RE NOT GONNA BELIEVE THIS!!! WINGLESS ONES ARE REAL!!! I SWEAR TO DAD!!!!

Scary stuff, right? It creeps me out. Sometimes I catch myself looking over my shoulder, like one might be behind me. I never believed they were real and know you didn't either, but Victor's the one who told me. He was completely sincere and looking out for me.

It was sweet of him. I wish you could meet him!

Gotta go. Earthly homework calls. Something called Algebra. Be very glad they don't have this in Heaven. I'm pretty sure it's featured in Hell. If I can get motivated, I need to read some Guardian stuff, too.

Joyously Yours,

Grace Lightbourne

Angel-in-Training

P.S. Is that other AIT (Faith was it?) still your roommate? How's all your shooting star studying going?

**Chapter 14**

Mrs. Murphy swings the van into a circular, brick driveway when we reach Lacey's mega-house. There are huge columns in front of a heavy-looking wooden, double doors. It resembles the Hall of Records. I almost expect to see a Cherub or two standing guard.

Lacey bops out the front door and climbs in back seat next to Tara. "Did you remember your Guardian Angel stuff?"

_Omigod!_ They _did_ see me last night! I take my cell phone out of the backpack. Strangely, there's no voicemail from Michael. I attempt to muster every ounce of angelic poise I possess, which admittedly isn't much, but if I'm going down in flames, I might as well maintain some dignity.

"I brought Granola bars and Gatorade." Tara holds up a plain brown gift bag decorated with footballs and #25 and 'Go Eclipse.' "Think Cody will like it?"

"It's better than mine. My mom bought these." Lacey thrusts a plastic container of football-shaped cookies at Tara. "Like, how's that supposed to give Victor protection or energy or whatever? I told her these have a ton of processed sugar. So unhealthy!" She shoves the container into a glossy gift bag with an illustration of a pensive angel printed on it.

"I bet he'll like them anyway," Tara says.

_Holy Granola._ What are they talking about?

Mrs. Murphy glances at me out of the corner of her eye. "So which hunk are you the Guardian Angel for, Grace?"

"No one says _hunk_ , Mom." Tara and Lacey giggle and even Mrs. Murphy smiles.

I'm totally confused. By all of it. _Hunk?_ Hunk of what? Why did Mrs. Murphy ask who I'm a Guardian for? Dear Dad in Heaven. She must know—or suspect—but at least she doesn't realize it's Tara. And how can they be Guardians? Do _they_ have wings? Maybe this is just a really weird dream? I turn around halfway in the front seat to face Tara and Lacey. What do I look like right now? Probably mostly mystified with a dash of horror tossed in.

"Oh, Grace! I'm sorry," Tara says "I didn't know you very good that first week of school when the sign-ups happened. That's when all the Guardian Angels were picked. Do they do that in Montana?"

"No," I manage. "At least, I don't think so."

Lacey twirls a small section of hair and tosses it back. "You sign up and then you get assigned to a football player and you hope to get a hottie—which I did, Victor—and not some sweaty oaf. Then, on game day, you bring the guy a gift, most of us bring food, to wish him a good game. It's pretty lame, but you get to get out of first period to play angel and deliver the gifts."

Whew! That clears up some of my questions. "Oh! You're not really angels," I say. If only it were as easy as delivering snacks. "The part of about getting out of class sounds good," I deadpan.

Lacey tee-hees and continues explaining. "And then tonight, when we go to the game, we'll cheer for our players. Because really, if I didn't have someone to look for, I'd probably be bored out of my mind. So again, I lucked out with Victor, because he's primo, being the quarterback and everything."

Lacey getting Victor is no coincidence. Despite what he said, I still think he's her Guardian. He was probably just trying to throw me off.

Lacey fiddles with a fat folder on her lap. "It would suck if you got assigned to a benchwarmer." She pauses, then looks at Tara. "I don't think Cody will be a benchwarmer, so lose the look of alarm. I mean, he _is_ the coach's son and all."

I'm pretty bummed. I'd like to see Victor be a quarterback—whatever that is—and now I can't even stay close to my mission. "It's too bad I can't go with you tonight."

"Why can't you come?" Tara asks. "I was counting on you."

"Well, because I'm not guarding one of the players, right? I mean, I missed my chance."

Mrs. Murphy gives me a sideways glance and Lacey cracks up. "You don't have to be a Guardian Angel. Anyone can go. Didn't you go to football games in Nevada?"

"You mean, Montana?"

"Whatever."

"Uh, no. I never made it to one."

Tara's and Lacey's mouths drop open in unison. Even Mrs. Murphy's eyes leave the road.

Lacey closes hers first and then says. "Well, if football is not big out there, you _have_ to come with us tonight. It's the season kickoff and you'll see at today's pep rally, it's going to be even _more_ exciting this year."

Tara covers her mouth to stifle a giggle and that's when Lacey opens the fat folder she's been holding. It's stuffed with fliers printed on slips of pastel paper. Lacey gives me a wink and shows them to Tara, but I can't see what's printed on them. Tara laughs in a way that sounds almost like a hiccup, gulping air.

Mrs. Murphy looks into the rearview mirror. "That didn't sound good. What are you two up to?"

Lacey closes the folder and crams it into her backpack. "It's nothing bad, Mrs. Murphy." She flashes her best innocent smile into the rearview mirror.

But Mrs. Murphy's brows furrow while I try to figure out _exactly_ how bad it will be.

* * *

When we enter the main hall, I'm assaulted by signs. Rule #4 says to watch for them, but I can't make any sense of the banners strung from the ceiling.

One reads: _BLUE DEVIL POWER!!_

Omigod Devils! Wait. Why are they blue? Did Hell freeze over?

Another: _Flame the Jaguars!_ This one pictures a devil shooting flames from his pitchfork at a big cat.

For the first time ever, I wish I had a flaming sword. It'd come in handy against that pitchfork thing. And for the second time today, I'm left to wonder about the possibility of a nightmare. _Wake up!_ I tell myself. But the signs don't go away.

A huge group of kids are huddled around a poster in the main hall. Another sign. Which one means something? As Tara and Lacey head straight into the crowd, Lacey says, "Spirit Week teams. I hope we're Pirates." She adds, "Or Monsters would be cool."

"Do you see the _devil_ signs?" I ask Tara in a hushed voice.

"Yeah?" She says this in a way that makes me feel like the question is silly.

"Do you know what they mean?"

"It's our mascot." Tara gives me a funky look. Weirder than normal.

"Is that a good idea?" I grip her arm to try and make her see my point, but it doesn't faze her.

Tara scrunches her nose. "I don't know. It's what we are."

If humans make up stuff about angels, would they make up demons, too. I don't know, but that seems weird to me. Maybe Mr. Gigantic Wings Michael pulled a fast one and didn't send me to Earth? What if this is really Hell?

The closer we get to the poster, the more chaotic it gets. Some look excited; others upset. I'm totally smooshed between two big guys. Tara grabs my wrist and pulls me through to the wall. Lacey called it. It's a listing of the teams.

I look for my name but don't see it. Did I finally get a break? Then, Aisha's name jumps out at me. She's on Team Oz. _I could use a break_. Lacey—Oz. _Don't be on the list_. Tara—Oz. _Pretty please_. Cody—Oz. _With sugar on it._ Victor—Oz. _Um . . ._

And there I am—Grace Lightbourne—Oz. This sign, more than any others since I got here, is clear proof that I'm supposed to partake in Spirit Week.

Lacey says loudly, "Oz is totally lame! But at least we ended up on the same team."

Tara nods her agreement.

"What is it anyhow?" I ask.

"What is _what_?" Lacey asks, annoyance clearly in her voice.

"Oz?" I ask. I'm a little concerned that it has something to do with the whole devil-sign thing.

Tara and Lacey's mouths drop open even more than after my clueless football remark. Not another slip! I strike my serene pose to cover.

Lacey laughs. "You are—without a doubt—the weirdest chick I've ever met."

"Yeah," Tara agrees. "But we love ya anyway."

* * *

Lacey clutches the fat folder she had in the car this morning as Tara and I follow her up the metal ramp to the bleachers, which clatters with the sounds of our feet as we file into the football stadium for today's pep rally. Behind us, I overhear humans saying, _Did you see it?_ And, _Hysterical!_ And, _Who do you think did that?_

Lacey and Tara both giggle and I'm sure that I know the _who,_ even if I don't know the _what_ yet.

The air hangs heavy over the stadium, nothing like the cool breeze I felt on my flight with Victor. But even with the heat and humidity, the atmosphere is energized.

"Let's go up. We'll see it better from there," Lacey hugs the folder to her chest.

The band is on the field, backs to us, and the song they're playing is muffled until the trumpets spin, then the tubas, then the drums and then suddenly the entire band is facing our side of the field and the music is much louder.

Unfortunately, louder doesn't mean better. Gabriel might haul out his flaming sword if he heard that brass section.

We take our seats in the top row that Victor and I flew over last night. The band marches into a huge 'V' and the Devils, led by Coach Vaughn, run through it and over to the benches. Most of them have on some type of strange, demonic headgear, but Tara explained the mascot thing to me and it's just a name. They all look enormously strong with huge shoulders. It's so bizarre. I haven't seen any big guys like this around the school before.

"Where's Victor?" I ask. He must use angelic growth powers if he's one of the better players like Lacey said, because these guys look like they could smite him.

"Number seven." Tara points at a player with huge shoulders standing near the bench. "There. See?"

Sure enough, number 7 with the name Angelo turns to us, almost like he heard our comment. Through the weird mask, I can clearly see Victor's eyes with black smudges underneath them.

"That's Cody right next to him." Tara unwraps a piece of gum and pops it in her mouth. Gum, I've learned, is a human food you chew and never swallow. Tara explained it to me on my third piece the other day. She nudges me. "Look. I think Victor's waving at you."

Sure enough, his enlarged-shouldered self is greeting me. How big would his wings need to be to lift off with all that extra weight, especially if he was cradling me? Like last night. _I flew here. And he took me up... there!_ I gaze at the sky, but the gentle starlight is replaced by the nearly midday sun beating down. It's blinding and hot.

"Want some?" Tara interrupts my déjà vu moment, holding out the box of gum.

"Sorry. Yeah." I rub the glory bumps that have popped out on my bare arms despite the heat and take a piece.

My Mission is soaring along. It's a good Friday, indeed. Better than the first two, anyway. Here I sit with Tara, like I'm part of her parish. One week ago, I was changing a tire for my Mission. Two weeks ago, my Assignment shunned me by leaving me at home to watch TV with her parents. Three weeks ago, I didn't even have a Mission. It's definitely getting better. Even Lacey is here and we're not shoplifting or joyriding.

Thanks, Big Daddy!

Except I still don't know what they were doing when Victor and I almost crashed and burned on their heads.

As the band marches off, parts of the field don't look right. Some spots are lighter green; others look yellow and sick. There are even spots of dry, dead brown grass. Lacey is excited, shaking Tara's arm so hard she could rip it off. I'm not _in_ on this escapade _._

Slowly, as the band marches, the first word peeks out—COACH. It's in ten-foot-tall letters of sick and dying grass. The band continues to file off and the second word comes into view—TACKLES. This one is almost entirely brown and very easy to read from our top row seats. The players seem clueless. They can't read this at the bottom _._

Other humans sitting high in the stands chatter and twitter. A few have gone down to drag others up to read the message. Now the band turns and marches along the edge of the field toward the big metal "U" on a post, and the last line is revealed—MS. SANDS.

Coach tackles Ms. Sands.

Oh, no. Their semi-secret romance isn't secret anymore.

Ms. Sands' name echoes through the stands like some freaky bird call while I try to find her. Finally, I spot her sitting below us in the second row. Another teacher I don't recognize motions for her to come up and is pointing at the message. Now students are sprinting up the steps.

One of them jostles Ms. Sands because she's going too slow, laughing and waving at faces she knows. But when she gets to the top a few feet from us and sees the field, she claps a hand over her mouth. I watch her weave her way down the bleachers, hand still over her mouth, head down.

"That was awesome," Lacey says, but Tara is quiet. She's watching Ms. Sands too.

I want to follow and comfort her but know I shouldn't leave my Assignment. I glance over the backside of the bleachers and when I see Ms. Sands scoot into the women's room, I decide to try to help. In the blink of an eye, I bi-locate.

* * *

In the bathroom, Ms. Sands props herself in front of the sink and splashes water on her face. She pulls a scratchy brown towel from the dispenser then wipes her face and the back of her neck under her shoulder-length hair.

"Are you okay, Ms. Sands?" I ask.

Her eyes, puffy and red, stare in my direction. It's like she doesn't see me. Then recognition creeps into her eyes. "Oh, Grace." It's all she says, leaving a huge pause.

"Are you?" I ask again.

In my mind, I hear Lacey say, "Take one and pass it down." Something else is going on in the stands, but I can't return there...yet.

Ms. Sands wipes her chin with the towel and tosses it into a trashcan. She glances quickly in the mirror, brushes her cheek lightly then faces me. "I will be. Thanks for asking. You know...I can't understand how anyone could think that's funny. I'm so worried about Paul—I mean, Coach Vaughn." She smacks her hand against her forehead and rubs it. "And Cody. Oh my God, Cody!"

Why is she worried about Cody?

Before I can ask, Ms. Sands mutters to herself, "I hope Paul told him." Then she looks at me. "This is not the way for him to find out."

If Cody doesn't know about them, what about Coach's wife? I'm almost afraid to ask, scared of the answer, scared I'm outside the boundary of my mission. I bite my lip and charge ahead. "What about Mrs. Vaughn?" I ask.

Alarm overwhelms Ms. Sands' face. "She lives in Atlanta. They're divorced. I would never..."

I think even though she knows _she would never_ , Ms. Sands just realized everyone else might not. She turns on the water again and splashes her face as the door of the bathroom slams open.

It's Aisha. There's fire in her eyes. She smiles and says through gritted teeth, "Hello Grace."

How inconvenient to have a bossy Angel show up when I'm working some protection magic. Before I can say 'hello,' Aisha freezes time.

"What are you doing? You're supposed to be with Tara!"

A triumphant smile swells. "I am. I'm bi-located." It's exalting to say this to Aisha in a mind-your-own-angelic-business way.

"I know that!" she practically yells, and my smile deflates a little. "You need to get back to your Assignment. And stop swaying—you're going to freak out Ms. Sands. Ready?"

She sets the bathroom back into motion and I think I was a hair out of place because Ms. Sands knits her brows and shrugs to herself when I say, "I'm sure everything will be okay. I've got to go. Just keep the faith." I walk past Aisha and out the bathroom door.

Scattered on the ground behind the bleachers and around the concession stand are slips of pastel paper. I pick up a pink one that reads _Coach Vaughn completes a forward pass._ Two steps later, I grab a pale yellow one: _Penalty Ms. Sands! Backfield in Motion_. _The light blue one says: Coach Vaughn uses Offensive Holding_. A tall, thin kid with a tuft of hair on his chin is laughing as he reads a green slip. I snatch it from him as I walk by and he says, 'Hey!' but I don't stop. This one reads: _Coach Sacks Ms. Sands_. I zoom back into my body at the top row.

The rabble in the stands is laughing, and at mid-field the cheerleaders point at the fried grass and talk behind their hands. Principal Sweeney is on the loudspeaker asking for _everyone's attention, please_. They haven't even started the pep rally yet.

Cody rips his helmet from his head, throws it on the ground and yells something at his Dad. Coach Vaughn puts his hands on Cody's shoulders, but Cody tears loose and stalks away. Victor stands down field by himself. He takes off his helmet and looks skyward. As far as I know, Ms. Sands is still in the bathroom. Aisha is climbing the bleachers' steps, headed our way with a grim expression.

Lacey created pandemonium. Chaos. Tara—my Assignment—is her collaborator. It seems like maybe the devil signs meant something after all. And, of course, that's when my cell phone rings.

**Chapter 15**

My tribulations grow to epic proportions when I check the cell and there's a message from Michael. "I need to speak with you about your Mission. Immediately."

Why couldn't he just berate me on a voicemail? Then I could listen at my leisure. Now I have to call him.

From midfield, Principal Sweeney is addressing the student body, trying to quell the pandemonium. _I need to get out of here!_ If only I could bi-locate without Aisha getting all bent out of shape.

"Excuse me, pardon me, 'scuse me." I work my way past knees and feet to the bleacher stairs and rush down them. A spot next to the concession stand looks private enough. As I duck behind a hedge and scroll through my contact list, my stomach tightens. Impending doom. I press send anyway.

On the wall next to me, two tan chameleons blend into the tan paint. They bob their heads at one another. "Tsk, tsk," the first says.

The second lizard's bright red dewlap protrudes under his chin as he says, "They can be so cruel to each other."

You've got that right, brother.

Suddenly, I connect with the Angel-in-Chief. "Finally, we speak."

Maybe this isn't all bad. Keep cool. Chin up. Angelic poise and calm. "Um...hi."

"Grace Lightbourne, Angel-in-Training." Michael's voice is so angry it could bring on the apocalypse. "You have made one bad decision after another since you've been on Earth."

This isn't going to be good.

"And those decisions have led us to this point. Starting on your second day with the Miracle of the Clover. If you hadn't done that, you wouldn't have had to kill it, and that's how Lacey developed her football field message. "

Oh crap. I gave her the idea?

"This is a perfect example of why He put this rule in place."

"I understand."

"You were given signs you chose to ignore. You attempted to thwart Free Will at CVS. And, lest you forget, you revealed to the young Human Finn that you're an Angel."

The list of my sins sounds worse when he says them all together like that. Much worse.

"After that one, I let you know you'd violated the #1 rule. Then what did you do? You decided it would be a good idea to fly around with Victor. At a very low altitude, I'd add. You have _no_ idea how close you came to being caught by the humans Lacey and Tara, who I hope I don't have to remind you is _your_ Assignment!"

_Oh, God!_ Can't I do anything without Michel knowing about it?

"Which brings me to another bad decision—"

I guess not.

"—though it's not technically a rule violation. You chose to abandon your Mission when invited to accompany your Assignment after the Spirit Week meeting. And you are still not doing your homework! The Good Guy knows if you'd done this, we'd never have ended up here."

"So, let's recap, shall we: in three weeks, you have violated _every_ rule."

It wasn't every rule, was it? Oh, I guess it was.

Michael's voice hits a crescendo. "I'll never understand what He was thinking when He allowed you to train in this manner. Gabriel was right—you are better suited to an assignment in the choir. I will be meeting with Him and hope to able to convince Him to have you re-ascended for transfer. What do you think about that?"

"I'd like to stay and. . . fix things," I manage.

"That is doubtful. But if you do stay on your Mission, I'll be watching you like a hawk." I can almost hear the flap of his enormous wings in the background. "And for the moment, you are on Probation. If you don't know the policy on that, read _My Life as a Guardian_. It's all outlined there. Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

_Sorry_ doesn't seem to cover it. _I'll do better?_ He won't believe that. So I say, "Um, not right now, but can I call you back if I think of the right thing?"

There is a pause that stretches on and on and on. Finally Michael says, "Please do."

Another long pause. Is he done?

Then, in a calmer voice, Michael says, "Remember Grace, your Mission is about Tara. Dig into your studying, and don't interfere with Victor's and Aisha's Assignments. We'll speak again soon." He hangs up. No _goodbye_ or _good luck_ or _take care_.

I'm on autopilot as I join the throng of students filing back into school. Of course, I can't be a pilot 'cause no wings, right? But that's beside the point. Ahead, I recognize a pair of shoulders and weave through the pack to catch-up with Victor. As I fall in step, he looks straight ahead. Lips tight, no eye sparkle, no half smile.

"Hey!" I say in a faint voice. "I just talked to Michael. I'm on Probation." _Probation?_ Whatever that means in this case. I'm still getting used to the idea.

We take at least five more steps before Victor says, "I have to call him too. Right now I need to find Cody. Moral support, you know? You should find Aisha first, then Tara. We'll talk later."

Find Aisha? And why is he looking for Cody? What about me? I need moral support right now.

"They're probably all together. If I know Aisha, and _believe_ me, I do, she'll be with her Assignment."

All my thoughts are a swarm, like the students piling through the side doors and making their way to class. "Who's her Assignment?" I ask.

Victor gives me a how-clueless-are-you look. "Lacey," he says and then turns into the main hall, raising his arm. "Hey, Cody! Wait up."

_Lacey?_ "Thanks," I yell to Victor's back. "I'll call you later. Or you call me?"

Victor looks over his shoulder but keeps moving away. "Yeah." he says, preoccupied. It's like I could have said "I'll fly over later" and he still would have said, _yeah_. Same tone and everything. Is this the same guy who flew me around?

And Omigod! Aisha is Lacey's Guardian! Why didn't I figure it out before? Because I was so sure it was Victor. This news bothers me—I can't say _exactly_ why—but it does.

* * *

I get a hitch in my voice when I find Aisha in the main hall and tell her Michael might re-assign me to the choir _._

Surprisingly, she's nice. "We should pick a spot where we can talk openly. Can you come to The Enclave?"

Even though it's only a few minutes from the Murphy's by car, it's too far to walk. I don't have wings, and bi-location seems to be off-limits. I shake my head.

"How about the River of Grass Rec Center, where we first met? Do you remember it?"

Of course I do. I'm not totally stupid. Just not a great student. "Yeah. That'll work," I say.

The rest of the day is this out-of-celestial-body blur. Ms. Sands isn't in English. The sub has asked us to quietly read from Dante's Inferno, but I can't concentrate because I keep replaying my conversation with Michael and thinking things like, _At least it'll be nice to see Mercy again,_ or, _Can I fast-forward through the bad parts?_ The only class I even try to focus in is choir because, well, if I have to do that, I might as well not suck.

Finally, it's almost time to meet Aisha. Before heading to the park, I haul _My Life as a Guardian_ by Wilhelm out of the black briefcase. The words swim in front of me. _Where's the part about Probation?_ It's not in the Table of Contents or the Index. I flip to the last page—394. If I have to read this whole book, my head might explode.

It's hard not to obsess on the walk to the rec center, so I do. Probation. Re-ascension. The horror of a being a Wingless One.

When I get there, I park on a bench to wait for Aisha. The park is almost deserted, nothing like the first day I was here. Inside the fenced area, a young girl, maybe four, is being pushed on the swing by her mom. Legs tucked under on the backswing and as she soars forward her hair flies behind her. There's an expression of joy on her face—one that resembles Angels, even if she isn't.

Is that what I'll look like when I get them?

After they pack up to leave, I wander to the playground, sinking into a swing and dangle my feet in the sand. I want to feel like her—head thrown back, hair flying, legs extended to the sky. But I don't know which motions will create the sensation of flying, and I end up only twisting and rocking. Grounded.

When I try to picture flying around with Victor even that feels as far away as Heaven.

As I sway, Aisha appears. _Oh, sure._ She _can bi-locate._

Aisha sits in the swing next to me. "So Michael was pissed?" she asks without even saying hello.

"Uh-huh. Seriously. You could say that."

A smile skims across Aisha's face. It makes me crazy.

"You're glad I got in trouble, aren't you? You're just waiting to see me fail."

Aisha's braids jostle as she shakes her head. "I wouldn't be here if I wanted to see you fail. Don't be dense."

RRrrrr!

"I'm not as stupid as you think. I know you're Lacey's Guardian—"

"I don't think you're stupid," she interrupts. "You just need to study."

Her smugness is so colossal and so annoying. Colossally annoying. "Really? Do you think that's helpful?" _How did she ever get her friggin' wings?_

"C'mon, Grace. We're Guardians. _Help_ is such an ambiguous word."

Ding, ding, ding. The bell goes off in my head. This is what bothers me about finding out that Aisha is Lacey's Guardian.

"Look. Lacey is the biggest obstacle in my mission. She keeps pulling Tara down and the situation is getting worse. You must have a different goal than me, or you're working against me. Or...you're totally incompetent, because there's no way possible you are helping my situation get better."

Aisha's eyes flare. "You are seeing this through Earthly eyes. Try to see it from Heaven's point of view."

_Heaven's point of view? This is my point of view._ "That's some majestic BS."

The spark in Aisha's eyes turns to a blaze. "It's not. Look. Lacey is one of the most difficult Assignments I've ever had. I've worked on this for two years. You want everything fixed in two months! You don't understand her situation. It's complex. I wish I could explain it to you."

_Liar!_ "Try me. Like I said, I'm not as stupid as you think."

"I'm not supposed to talk about it. Do you know what it's like to get contacted daily for Mission updates?"

_Michael daily?_ Wow. That is _harsh._

For one zillionth of a second I'm sympathetic, until she adds, "And it doesn't help that I'm responsible for guarding you at the same time." The glow in her eyes fades away.

_What?_ I have a Guardian? Lightning flashes behind dark clouds gathering to the north, and there's a distant rumble of thunder. "You're . . . you're lying." I get up from the swing and pace. She can't be my Guardian.

Aisha follows me anxiously. "Michael thought you could use one, and He agreed."

"Michael thought? He agreed? What about my opinion?" I yell.

"Grace, please calm down." Aisha has plastered a fake angelically serene expression on her face, which pisses me off even more. The sky above us grows darker; the sun has disappeared.

I whack the mini-merry-go-round, spinning it faster and faster. "How can you even be my Guardian? Victor's the only one who helped me. He showed me bi-location and size shifting. He helped me change the tire when I couldn't get the stupid nuts loose. He even gave me his cell number in case I needed help."

Aisha loses it over the cell phone. A streak of lightning flashes. "Yeah, flying you around helped a lot, didn't it? By the way, your little midnight flight—oh yeah, I heard all about it—got him Probation too. You totally messed with his Mission."

Deeper, close thunder. I grab the merry-go-round handle and stop it from spinning. It's a good thing I don't have super strength or don't know how to use it because I probably would have ripped the thing from the ground.

"Grace, please listen to me. I've been helping you even when you didn't see it—"

" _How?_ " Lightening crashes nearby.

"Remember at CVS when you fell into the cosmetics? I tripped you." Aisha stretches her leg to twenty feet long, like Victor's shape-shifting move with his arm. She pulls it back to normal length. "I did it quickly—faster than the blink of an eye."

The sky above is so dark, it's practically night time. "Making me look stupid helps me?"

"You were about to violate Tara's Free Will, so I violated yours. Who do you think Michael contacted?"

I'm stunned. _The Free Will rule?_ I can't believe all of this has been going on behind my back.

Another band of jagged lightening streaks across the sky as Aisha says, "Basically, I took a bullet for you. I want you to succeed. _Everyone_ wants you to succeed. But you need to do your homework and not let yourself be distracted by Victor."

New anger erupts. "What does he have to do with it?" I smack the merry-go-round and it fractures at the foundation.

Aisha sighs. "Now look what you've done. That probably means a visit from Michael. Why can't you just do what you're supposed to do? Just study, okay? I want what's best for you. I'm your stupid Guardian."

I can't take anymore. I whack the mini-merry go-round a final time and take off.

Aisha calls after me, "You could have bi-located, you know?"

Oh sure. Now she tells me? She totally sucks as a Guardian. With each step, I get madder and madder. The clouds above boil and churn.

She thinks she better than me because she's my Guardian. And because she has her wings.

Something happened with her and Victor and she's not telling. She's jealous because he likes me.

A thunderclap; the lightening hits behind me. My anger shifts to Michael.

How dare he! Giving me a Guardian only made my Mission more difficult. Aisha was wrong—he wants to see me fail because it will prove he was right.

Crack! That time, it sounded like it was on top of my head. The hair on my neck stands on end. Then, and for the first time, I'm angry with Him.

_He didn't trust me. He never really meant it when He said,_ _"Okay, you can be a Guardian."_ _I'm some kind of weird experiment to amuse Him._

The skies open up and rain starts to pour. By the time I reach the house, my fury is stretched like a slingshot ready to launch. Woe to those who would cross the path of this Angel-in-Training. I may be small and puny like David, but I feel like I could take on Goliath.

I slam the front door.

Finn is sprawled on the floor and Mrs. Murphy is curled up on the couch, legs tucked under her. " _Angel Stories_ is coming on," she calls as I storm past. "Grace! What happened? You're soaked."

Finn scrambles up off the floor and follows me to my room. "What's wrong?" His blue eyes widen.

"It's not a good time, Finn. Take off." I bash the revolting black briefcase against my bed.

He leans away from me as his eyes widen. "Is it something about your Mission?"

Closing my eyes, looking inward for patience, I say, "Yeah, it is. Listen. I need to make an important call."

But Finn doesn't take the hint. He plops down on my bed and sticks his thumb in his mouth. "I already know."

I don't have time to deal with him. My hands shake as I dial Victor. Wait until he hears about Aisha. There's no way he'll think that's cool. He'll know what to do. He's more like my Guardian anyway.

He answers. "Grace?"

I spill everything: Michael's threat to re-ascend me, the rec center with Aisha.

"Poor Grace." There's amusement in his voice.

"You, you, think this is funny?" I look over and Finn smiles at me. _What is wrong with everybody?_

"What's the big deal?" Victor asks.

"Aisha. My Guardian. Duh."

"Yeah—so? You didn't actually think God or Michael would let you come without one, did you? You don't have your wings yet. I thought you'd have figured that out."

There's a spark in my chest. It spreads north. My face catches fire as the anger turns on myself.

Confession: I'm so stupid. Stupid for thinking this would be easy. Stupid for thinking Victor would help. Stupid for thinking I was already one of them—a Guardian.

Victor laughs. "That's funny. You thought you were solo, huh? That's one of the things I love about you, Grace."

"Oh, yeah. Ha, ha." I force a laugh. "Pretty dorky of me. It's like I keep forgetting." Enough about me. "So, are things better with your Mission?"

"Nah. Totally screwed up. I shouldn't have taken you flying, but whatever—it'll pass. It always does."

Sure, sure. This too shall pass—one of those clichés. Except it might mean I'm singing in the choir. I'm definitely grounded _._

"Sorry," I croak. And I am sorry I screwed up his Mission and my life. My mind spins like the merry-go-round and I just want to get off the phone with him. "Play good tonight. See ya later."

When I hang up, Finn bounces off the bed, his thumb firmly lodged in his mouth. "Don't be sad. You're an angel." He spreads his arms like wings and pretends to zoom around my room.

"Stop, Finn! Just stop it!"

He pauses mid-flight; a hurt expression appears on his face and he pops his thumb into his mouth.

"Stop that too!" I snarl. "No more."

He stares at me and his eyes well up. Head down, he slouches for my door and then yells, "You're a bad angel!"

**Chapter 16**

I should go after Finn, but I can't bring myself to do it. Instead, I crash on my bed and stare at the ceiling. How could I have done that? Yelled at him. I open the laptop to write to Mercy, but there's already A-mail in my Inbox from her.

From: mbeamkind@halo.hvn

To: glightbourne@halo.hvn

Subject: Are you okay?

My Dear, dear Grace,

Oh, my! I've been worried that things were not going well on Earth and tonight's episode of The Wackiest, Craziest, Zaniest Angel Bloopers confirmed my fears. Half the show was devoted to you!

It showed your clover miracle and when you had to kill it. Next, it showed when you flew around with Victor (he is very cute!) and after you left, how your assignment made the message. It's so horrible that they got the idea when you tried to fix your mistake!

Then the show went Live—to the event with the band playing the music. (They aren't very good, that band, are they? Gabriel probably had a fit if he was watching!) And when they stopped we saw the message and the reaction of all the humans. Poor Ms. Sands. The camera zoomed in for a close-up of you and you looked so unhappy. It broke my heart.

Well, after the show, Faith said you got what you deserved and I gave her a piece of my mind (several pieces, in fact), and now we're not even speaking to each other. But I have to say that sometimes I wish you wouldn't take so many crazy risks. Why don't you try to play it safer, like me? I know you know what a popular show this is—but don't want you to worry. I bet by the time you come back from your successful Mission, everyone will have forgotten.

I hope you're not upset. Please don't be upset.

I still believe in you.

♥-broken,

Your friend,

Mercy

Virtue-in-Training

Oh, Hell. Of all things—Angel Bloopers.

Confession: I used to like this show but don't anymore. All the other Angels look down on humans and this is just one more way for them to feel high and mighty.

Humans _and_ Guardians. They look down on both of us.

Well, that's it. My wings are out of reach and I refuse to return to Heaven to be mocked. I wonder what it's like to live as a Wingless One. Do they hang out together? Or do they keep it a secret from everyone?

Finn was right—I'm a bad angel.

Totally lousy.

Except I'm not an angel yet. Never was, probably never will be.

**Chapter 17**

I'm stuck in Purgatory. Or is it Limbo? I can never remember the difference and besides, it's always seemed like the same place to me.

Anyway...I can't go back to Heaven and face the _tsk-tsk_ from Seraphim, the scorn from Dominions or the pity from Virtues. Everything here is a mess, and I don't even know if I'm going to be allowed to continue my Mission. The Kick-Off Classic game was cancelled tonight due to an "unexpected" violent tropical storm that's moving through. Imagine that.

Mrs. Murphy told Tara, "You're not going anywhere tonight. The TV is advising everyone to stay inside until this passes."

So I've decided to try to study, because that's what everyone keeps telling me do. Besides, ending up wingless is not how I want to spend the rest of my life.

On the bed, belly-down, I open to the Table of Contents in _My Life As A Guardian:_ _Chapter One—Getting to Earth; Chapter Two—Thinking Critically About Your Mission._ Skip ahead, skip ahead. I already did all this. The chapters titled _Powers_ _, Solving Your Mission_ and _Beyond the First Assignment_ look interesting. I'll avoid the chapter on _The Most Common Guardian Problems_ because it doesn't sound like good news and if I haven't already had the problem—most likely, I did—why on Earth would I want to know it's a possibility?

I've never been any good at this whole focus-and-study-thingy. Maybe I should ask Him to set me in the right direction. I flip the pages, say a quick prayer, stick my finger into a random spot, open the book and read:

The list of powers angels possess is staggering.But with these powers comes tremendous responsibility.

Cool. I was interested in this chapter.

Most powers are revealed and manifestat a time and place when the Angel has reached or achieved proper development. Occasionally,though, Angels become aware of their powers prematurely.

Did this happen to me? With Victor?

But for the purposes of discussion, we should assume you will receive your powers at the appropriate time. How, then, to best use them?It's important to apply the critical thinking techniques you mastered in Chapter Two.

That was a chapter I wanted to skip, right? I'm critical. I've thought. What else is there to know?

For example, one power that's generally acquired early is the ability to bend and re-shape time.This power, though very fundamental, can have startling ramifications and should only be used in the pursuit of Mission fulfillment.

_Whew!_ Seems like it's okay that I've done that _._

I flash back to the first day of school when Victor and Aisha showed it to me. Then I replay how they treated each other on that first day of school, trying to figure out exactly what their relationship is. That makes me think that I can't picture Victor flying Aisha around. I smile.

Victor was so warm in the cool air. How high did we go?

I look at the clock beside my bed. It's just after 8:00. How am I ever going to be able to study when I waste time daydreaming about him?

I re-read the passage on bending time and it makes me wonder: Were there other times I could have used it that I forgot about? Like when Finn wanted to listen in as I talked to Victor? Would it have been "in pursuit of my Mission" if I used it to cool off? Or to keep him from overhearing my conversation?

Victor tried to use it at the Jukebox and Aisha stopped him. It makes sense now. But why did he bend the rules? _Wait a minute!_ Or maybe many minutes _._ What if I wanted to freeze time until I caught up on my studying? Or to just squeeze an extra couple of hours into the day to hit the books?

It's already been the longest day of my life. Starting with the whole confusion over Tara and Lacey being Guardian Angels, to Team Oz, to the pep rally to Michael's call, to fighting with Aisha and starting the storm that got me stuck inside tonight studying. What's a little more time at this point?

I freeze time at 8:10 but can't tell if it worked until I knock on Tara's door and there's no answer. When I open it a crack, Tara is frozen on her cell phone, probably talking to Lacey.

Yessssss!

Up until now, I've been winging it. Which is not really a good idea, especially when I don't even have the right equipment. But now I have a plan. Study until I can't study anymore.

I read for a couple of hours, getting up and pacing around the room after a chapter that needs more thought. Wilhelm keeps using the phrase _fools rush in_. He insists that Guardians should reflect before action.

Confession: I don't do this.

My stomach growls and when I check the clock it still reads 8:10. _How long have I been doing this? I need a snack._ When I open my door, the Murphy's are post-modern statues. If Michelangelo was an artist today, would his sculptures be people with their feet propped up on an ottoman?

Quietly, with a weird feeling of not wanting to disturb them, I head for the kitchen to make a peanut butter sandwich. At the last minute, I snatch a banana and sit at the kitchen table to eat because Mrs. Murphy doesn't like it when we bring food to our rooms. But it feels strange with them frozen within view and so I sneak the snack back to my room.

Eat. Study. Eyes droop. Nap. Shower, blow-dry my hair and study. Eat some ice cream. Study. Listen to music and dance around. Study. Apply fake eyelashes. Eyes droop. Is it the eyelashes? I remove them, but my eyes still won't stay open. Nap. Shower. Study and paint my toenails while I ponder why Wilhelm, the author of _My Life as a Guardian_ , called his Mission a _person_ instead of a _human_. Stretch. I admire my toenails. Pretty.

And study.

The sky outside my room is still dark and I've lost all sense of reality. I'm lonely. This is such an isolated way to live, but I'm catching up. I've read the first nine chapters of _My Life as a Guardian_ and have taken notes that fill half a spiral. I'm heading for another meal and decide maybe I should check on the Murphy's condition. I unfreeze time and walk into the family room. The Murphys don't say anything, don't move.

Have I done something to them?

But then Mrs. Murphy laughs at something on TV. She mutes the volume and holds out the remote. "It's too bad about the game. Did you want to watch something?"

"I'm getting a lot of studying done and don't want to lose my place."

"Okay." Mrs. Murphy says. "Just let us know when you want to take a break."

As I close my door, I overhear Mrs. Murphy say to her husband, "Things must be so different in Montana. Can you imagine Tara studying on a Friday night?"

It's weird that it's still Friday. I check on Tara and she's on the phone with Lacey—still. She hollers, "Check it out!" and points to her TV, which shows images of the insane lightning event from earlier.

I say, "Yeah. Fierce," then close her door and re-freeze time. Time for _Chapter 11—Repercussions_.

Repercussions are the effects of bad judgment by Guardians. Think of dominoes aligned with precision.With one push, they begin to drop onto each other.The aftermath is a chain of fallen pieces. This is typically how a Mission ends with Repercussions. Let us examine one of the most well-known cases. In May of 1937, the Hindenburg was readying for its return flight. . .

Uh-oh! Why didn't anyone warn me about this? If I'd done this like everyone else, I would have learned it in school before I ever went on a Mission. The chapter goes on to explain how the airship crashed and burned, killing passengers. It had no wings, but surely the Guardian did. Yeah, I need to read the rest of this chapter closely. _And_ take notes.

* * *

Some time later, with the clock reading 8:14, I finish the first textbook—even the Chapter on Guardian problems. I place the text into the black briefcase and glance at my notes, where I jotted:

Assignments get more challenging with seniority!!!

Really? Tara seems plenty tough to me. That means Victor and Aisha have more to deal with. I've been so focused on _my_ Mission and _my_ wings, I never thought about what they were going through. Aisha even said something about how difficult her Mission was this time. _How senior are they?_

She's stressed. I see it now. She's probably worried about Repercussions. And Victor is on Probation like me. At least I know why Michael put me on Probation. The book said there are several reasons for Probation that "stem from a demonstrated disregard for angelic behavior." Number one—consistent and repetitive breaking of the rules, _or_ number two—no remorse when breaking the rules or violating the _Angelic Code of Conduct_. Other mistakes are forgiven. Pretty sure I'm a number-one scenario. I haven't even seen the conduct code.

The only half-good thing I learned about Probation is that Wilhelm had been too. Twice. I don't feel good that _he_ was on Probation, but if he wrote the book and could still redeem himself, then there's hope for me.

I make a vow to Aisha, Mercy, Michael and even The Big Kahuna, "I promise to try harder and do my best." Wilhelm said, "That's usually enough to get the job done."

* * *

On Sunday morning, I tap lightly on Finn's door before opening it up a crack. "Hey," I whisper. "Can I visit?"

Finn turns his back to me but doesn't say no _,_ so I steal into the room and stand inside the door. I've seen his airplane room so many times, but it's the first time it hits me—Finn wants to fly. Like me. But today, he's lying on his bed, playing with his ratty stuffed Flying Ace Snoopy.

I walk over to the bookshelf and hold up one of the model planes. "Cool."

Finn looks at me, but doesn't answer. When I put it back on the shelf, I notice the Barbie with light brown hair. Angel Barbie. Me.

Guilt grips me.

Finn watches me as I pick up the doll. "You're like Tara and Lacey. You think I'm a baby and you don't want to be my friend anymore." He tilts his head down, sucking his thumb.

"That's not true." I ease next to him on the bed and give Snoopy a pat. "But I was mean. It didn't have anything to do with you. I was just feeling bad and sad and took it out on you. It wasn't fair. Or nice."

He raises his head a little and shifts closer but keeps his back to me.

"So, I tried to think of a way to make up." When I say _make up,_ Finn finally faces me. "And I think I can help you stop sucking your thumb."

His face grows red and angry. "See? That's what I mean! You think I'm a baby just like Tara."

"No. I never thought you were a baby. But I know you want to stop, right?"

Finn hesitates. "Right."

"I saw on the internet that mittens would help." I dig in the back pocket of my jean shorts. "I was pretty sure you didn't have any. I mean, when would you use them in Florida? But lucky for me, I brought one. Ta-da." I wave a fuzzy black glove at him.

Finn takes his thumb out of his mouth. "Did you make that with magic?"

In _My Life as a Guardian,_ Wilhelm explained the principles behind re-shaping matter. It's still a little hazy to me, but the important thing was I realized I'd already done it with the clover. It's pretty advanced. Like when Victor showed me bi-location and size shifting and I did them on the first try. I'm gifted at practical applications, even if I don't know all the theory behind it. And maybe that's why The Chief gave me a Mission. He already knew that about me.

It might even be why he gave me a Guardian. But I still don't understand why of all the possible Angels, it had to be Aisha with her bossy nature and her Victor-history and everything.

I hand the mitten to Finn. "Sort of," I say. "But this mitten isn't magic. You have to wear it. Go ahead. Put it on."

He takes it and wriggles fingers into it.

"Now, suck your thumb."

Finn makes a skeptical face, but sticks his thumb in his mouth, then coughs and thrusts his tongue out. There's a piece of black fuzz stuck to it and he wipes it with his gloveless hand.

I wasn't sure I should manifest this mitten for him out of the wool from my Catholic uniform knee socks. I mean, the last time I performed a miracle like this, it caused problems. Big problems. It seemed easy enough to do—just adding an extra piece—really very similar to the clover. But the idea of Repercussions made me squeamish. While I'd stared at the sock, I wondered, _Is this part of my Mission?_ _What if Tara sees Finn differently if he stops the thumb-sucking? What if she treats him differently?_ It was enough to convince me.

"What do you think of the gloves?" I ask Finn.

He beams a wide smile, teeth jutting every which way from the thumb-sucking. "It's good."

I smile too. Tears prick my eyes. This is the most angelic thing I've ever done.

Truly.

Interim Report

AIT: Grace Lightbourne Vocation: Guardian

Grading Scale

W = Wings: Performance at Full Angel level

T = Trainee: Performance at AIT level

C = Celestial Being: Performance below AIT level

O = Wingless One: Failure to perform

___________________________________

Category: Powers

Mastery of Basic: W

Performance of Advanced: W

Appropriate Usage: C

Notes: Exceptional power. Focus on usage. Several instances of misuse/abuse. Should avoid ANY creation of storms in the future!

Time bending in moderation ONLY!

___________________________________

Category : Vocation Specific

Mastery of Job Basics: C

Comprehension of Job Function: T

Application of the Rules: O

Notes: A greater respect for the rules will improve performance in all areas.

____________________________________

Category : Angelic Behavior

Study Habits: O+

Display of Virtues (patient, humble, compassionate):T

Desire, Drive : W

Notes: Recent improvement in study habits with completion of first textbook. Good job!

___________________________________

**Accomplishments** : Grace has made progress in an unusual classroom setting.

**Areas of Concern:** Grace is on Probation for rule violations. She needs to use greater discretion at ALL times. Recent Infraction: Phone conversation in front of the Human Finn. Power Misuse and Abuse Infractions: Using time bending to catch-up on studies. Despite the favorable outcome, it's a misuse of power. Creation of violent storm in anger. Bi-location to comfort a Human not part of the Mission.

**Report by:** Archangel Michael

**Chapter 18**

The interim report was a shocker. Michael made it clear that I'm still an AIT, just studying in a different way. Off-campus or home schooling. Whatever you want to call it, I'm still learning. But, feeling saintly after giving Finn the mitten, I decided to study. Without even freezing time. That report card won't pull me down.

I've already read three chapters when Tara and Finn appear in my doorway, I'm sitting on the bed, knees propped up. _Understanding Humans_ by Sophia rests against my thighs.

"Time for a break." Tara waves a DVD case at me. "Here's the famous movie you've never heard of."

Ever so discreetly, I move the book to the side of the bed farthest from the door. To hide the title. "What is it?"

Finn smiles broadly. " _The Wizard of Oz_. It's our favorite."

Tara is smiling too. "Okay. Here's the deal. It's retro and so dorky that it's cool. But I couldn't believe when you didn't even know about it. Living in Montana must be like living in a cave." She smiles, and I know she's only teasing. "You're on Team Oz, so you gotta see it. Besides, I always thought there was some kind of law that you have to watch this movie."

It's not on my list of rules, but doesn't break any either. "Sounds good," I say.

So, I curl up on the couch while Tara makes popcorn and Finn drags the beanbag for two into the den. When she walks in from the kitchen, Finn pats the beanbag. "Sit here, Tara."

She's staring at his mitten. "What's that on your hand?"

"Grace gave it to me. It makes me not suck my thumb."

"Finn! I'm so proud of you! Here, Grace, you sit next to Finn." She lies down on the carpet next to us and we hand the popcorn back and forth as the movie starts.

When it gets to the part where Dorothy sings "Somewhere over the Rainbow," Tara sings along in a voice like crystal, clear and bright.

When the song finishes, I place my hand on my heart. "Your voice is incredible. How come you don't take chorus?"

"That would damn me to Eternal Geekdom."

I want to tell her there are worse places you could end up, but just laugh. "Hey! I'm in that class."

"Sorry. But that's you. Besides, everyone expects exchange students to be a little off."

She must really love to sing. Otherwise she wouldn't have done it. But she's not afraid of impressing us or afraid that we'll make fun of her. "Don't you know that when you're meant to do something, it's wrong—I mean, _wrong_ — _not_ to do it?"

Tara snorts, then pauses. "Really? You think it's wrong?"

My own words echo in my head. Like all the time I spent avoiding homework. Like Aisha being my Guardian, even though I don't want her to be. She has to do it.

I nod. "I think probably."

Then Tara confesses, "I've never sung in front of Lacey. I've always been afraid she'd think it was stupid...or think I was stupid."

"Well, I think it's beautiful."

* * *

On the TV screen, Dorothy is swept away by a tornado that has nothing on the storm I created the night Aisha and I fought. Then she's plopped into a strange and wonderful place and tells her little doggy, "I don't think we're in Kansas anymore."

Kinda like me.

Finn passes me the popcorn and asks me, "Is that how you got here—a flying house?"

Tara ruffles his hair. "C'mon, Finn. You know better. She took a plane, like all that flying stuff in your room."

Finn smiles broadly and then makes a zip-his-lips motion with the mitten. As a glowing orb floats across the screen, growing larger and larger, he shakes my arm like crazy with his wooly hand. "Watch this! Watch this part! Get it?" He looks at me with an earnest expression. A woman in a very puffy-ish dress emerges. It seems like now he might think that's how I got here.

Awwww. I remind him of the good witch?

We watch the rest of the movie. Every corny, thrilling, scary moment of it. I have to admit, I feel a little bad for the Wicked Witch of the West, even though she's mean and ugly. I mean, Dorothy did kill her sister and everything. Yes, I get it was an accident. She should have forgiven Dorothy. But shouldn't someone forgive her grief and the fact that she wanted her sister's shoes? They were extremely cool shoes; anybody would want them. And then, when she left the message with the broom, she didn't even say _You are so_ dead or anything _._ Just, _Surrender Dorothy._

Still, the part of the movie that really sticks with me is how everyone wants _something_. Brains. A heart. Like the way I want my damn—pardon my language—wings.

* * *

Ever since The Miracle of The Mitten— _why do I always perform miracles for Finn?_ —and our home movie date with _The Wizard of Oz_ , I feel like I finally started my journey on the Yellow Brick Road. Today is one more point of interest on the journey when Victor takes charge at the first meeting for Team Oz.

It might be because he's a natural leader with that quarterback-thing. Or it might be that his taking charge is part of some divine plan.

But most likely it's because he's so incredibly good-looking.

He mesmerizes us. Because, well, more than three quarters of our team is female.

To start the meeting, he sits on top of the teacher's desk and smiles at the twenty or so of us who have taken desks around the room. "Okay. The activities this year are hall decoration, float, Skit Night and Field Day. Let's divide up and put someone in charge of each. I'm good at athletics, so I'll take Field Day." He pauses on my face long enough to give me an extra eye twinkle.

Everyone nods _good idea_ , especially the girls. _Especially_ Lacey.

See, but here's the thing. I refuse to twinkle back at him, even if he does look really nice in those plaid shorts and a washed-out yellow tee that brings out the sun-flecks in his hair and make his tan and brown eyes look even richer. Because he blew me off and never talked to me about Probation. He thought Aisha was no big deal.

I may not be tossing lightning bolts around, but I'm still holding it against him. A little. I smile tenderly at him sans twinkle.

He sits back, looking perplexed, and raps his pencil on the notepad. "Next. Do we have anyone even a little bit—" Victor holds his forefinger a miniscule space from his thumb, "artistic?"

Definitely not me. Truly. I'm not even trying to wiggle out of this. Artistic didn't appear on my strengths list from Michael. I breathe a sigh of relief when a tall girl at the back of the room raises her hand. "I'm in AP art, so I guess I'm pretty good."

"Great. What's your name?

"Madison."

Victor writes this onto a yellow pad. "Thanks Madison. Anyone else?"

No one speaks up.

"Madison is now officially in charge of design for hall and float. Can we build the float at your house?"

She starts to respond. I mean, really, she's just opening her mouth, but before she can speak, Lacey interrupts. "I volunteer my house. We have a huge three-car garage and the ceiling is..." She waves a hand high over her head.

"Vaulted," Tara says.

"Right. Vaulted." Lacey gives her hair the trademark flip. "I know my parents would be cool with it...unless, I mean, unless you really wanted to build it at your house?" She gives Madison a huge, toothy smile that's as fake as my eyelashes from CVS.

"No. That's fine. I was going to say we'd need to find another place," Madison replies.

Victor makes another note on his pad. "Thank you, Lacey, and I think we can probably find a spot here at school to work on the hall decorations, which just leave Skit Night. I nominate Dude Cody Vaughn to be in charge of that."

Nobody objects or anything, and Cody turns about five shades of red.

Then, Victor splits everyone up, pointing as he speaks. "That corner will be for hall and float with Lacey and Madison. Up here by me for Field Day. Cody, you take that area for Skit Night."

A part of me would like to go with Victor. My special abilities did say I'm athletic, but the other part knows I need to stay with my Mission. Bi-location is completely out of the question. Tara is already headed over to claim the spot on the right side of Lacey, so I join her. We seem to have the biggest group of kids...about ten, including me and Aisha. _Can't I get away from her?_ I'm just thankful Victor didn't put me in charge of anything.

Madison throws out her first idea for the hall, where we make the floor look like the yellow brick road...even I could have come up with that design, and I spy Victor out of the corner of my eye heading over.

Finally. He's going to ask me to move to his Field Day group, where I belong. But instead, he taps Tara on the shoulder. "Hey! Could you help out on Skit Night? Cody needs one more."

_I could have sworn he was going to ask me_.

Tara picks up her purse, makes a sad face at Lacey and then taps me on the shoulder. "Let me know how the rest of this one goes."

My gaze follows her as she walks over to Cody's small group across the room. When she sits down, Cody smiles at Tara, and it's not his usual sweet one. It's got a little of Victor's mischief in it. _He's flirting with her. That's so cute!_

My thoughts are interrupted by Aisha saying, "Right, Grace?"

"Huh?" Everyone is looking at me waiting for an answer.

Aisha shakes her head, her braids swaying. She gives a hearty har-har fake-friendly shoulda-been-on-pirate-team laugh. "I was just saying you and I would team up to get the supplies. Madison is keeping a list of what we'll need."

Why hast thou forsaken me in my hour of need?

Running errands with Aisha was not what I'd been praying for. In truth, most of my prayers had involved avoiding Aisha for the rest of my existence. _Lord, please._

A few of my prayers went like this:

"Help me find a successful way to help Tara (without interfering with Victor or Aisha) so that I may avoid reascension and choir duty, because that is not is not my will. Also, and if it is Your will, help me find a way to reconcile with Victor, because I have carved out a special place for him in my heart and he did not mean to cause problems by flying me around. He was only trying to please me. And so I hope You have forgiven him and that he's released from Probation quickly—if not already, because I realize we hardly speak anymore and I may not know it. I think that covers everything. Oh...and help me to perform my duties in a way that's consistent with Your desire and helps me to avoid my Guardian's oversight—yeah, I know I keep mentioning the Aisha thing, but I don't want to spend time with her. Truly. Yours in service now and forever. Amen."

See, even when I worked Aisha into this prayer He didn't listen, because now Aisha and I are "supply buddies."

Could things get any worse?

Um, on second thought, they probably could. But still, it's like He wants me to suffer.

Confession: I never wanted to be a saint. This whole go-to-Earth-thing was just so I could get my wings.

**Chapter 19**

When I open the Murphy's front door, I look past Aisha's shoulder at the rusted out, spluttering car—if you can call it that—in the driveway.

" _That's_ our ride?"

I'd suggested to Aisha that we bi-locate to shop, but she explained that we couldn't exactly bi-locate the supplies. So we've ended up with the Earthly version of teen transportation. And a disappointing one, at that. It's not like I expected a limo, but air conditioning would have been nice.

Aisha gives me a pissy look. "Our chariot awaits," she says with sarcasm and, without a word, turns on her heel and strolls to the car in her typical superior-serene way.

Actually—and I hate to admit this—she's pretty good at the angel walk.

I resign myself to more torment and climb into the backseat. Our driver is an elderly dark-skinned man with short, silvery hair and long, elegant fingers that never leave the steering wheel.

"Hello, Grace." He smiles gently.

Aisha starts to introduce us and I wave her off. "Look, I know he's an Angel playing your dad or grandpop, and he knows I'm an Angel, so can we just dispense with all formalities and get this over with?"

Aisha's jaw drops and she stares at Angel-driver, giving him a can-you-believe-her? look.

He laughs, puts the car in reverse and says, "We're off to see the Wizard," which is pretty funny.

With the windows rolled down, the wind whips my hair around more violently than on the flight with Victor. As we cruise toward wherever it is that you buy float stuff, the old man sings along with the songs playing on the car stereo. It's actually a decent one, the stereo that is, considering the clunker shape of the rest of the car. The songs are an eclectic mix. Motown—Aretha Franklin. Rock—U2. Standards—Frank Sinatra. He knows every word, hits every note.

While I twiddle with a piece of stuffing that pokes through a tear in the upholstery, I admire his voice. "I'm surprised Gabriel let you get away," I say.

He laughs and then sings along to Led Zeppelin.

Finally, with an embarrassing backfire, we pull into the shopping center and he snags a spot right up front. The sign over the store reads Michael's Crafts.

Perfect. Wouldn't you know it? "Is this...I mean...it's his store, right?"

The head turns slowly and smiles at me again. "No. It's just a coincidence. This is named after another Michael."

"Thank God," I mutter.

The man in the front seat smiles, shimmers a bit and says, "You're welcome."

* * *

He's long since putt-putted away when I say to Aisha, "You knew!"

She grabs one of the carts. "I tried to tell you, but you interrupted."

She's right. I should probably cut her a little slack. The funniest thing about this? I'd just been laying it on with the whole how-could-you-forsake-me?-bit, and then He shows up as a chauffeur. How does He do that?

I take a cart and follow Aisha back to an aisle stacked with large rolls of brown paper. "Wouldn't it have been a lot easier to manifest this stuff?"

Aisha rolls her eyes. "So, you changed a three-leaf clover to four leaves and a wool sock to a mitten. Not too complicated, huh? What do you suggest we use?"

She makes me crazy. "Um. Maybe stuff in the Murphys' recycle bin."

When Aisha laughs, it's annoying, like when those fake eyelashes flopped around. "Right. Good idea. What should we change the plastic milk container into?"

No idea. I shrug. She's tossing little cans of powdered paint into her cart: blue, emerald green, and yellow, yellow, yellow for the road.

Aisha holds a tube of red glitter. "What do you think? Ruby Slippers?"

Apparently I'm the last one on Earth to know the movie.

"It's perfect," I tell her in a chagrined way. "I watched it with Tara and Finn over the weekend." Aisha gives me an appraising look. "Tara sang along with Dorothy on that rainbow song. She has a beautiful voice. But it's weird—she's been hiding it."

Aisha tosses the glitter into my cart. "I know what you mean. That happened to me too. I was on hand when Grandma Moses started painting and she was in her seventies, so it's not like Tara's singing has been buried that long." Aisha stops and scratches her head. "It's funny, Victor and I crossed paths on that Mission too. He was guarding the art collector who discovered her painting in a drugstore window." She pushes the cart to the next aisle and starts loading up on packages of every colored tissue paper.

"Is that when you got to know him?"

Aisha laughs. "Heavens, no! Victor and I were trainees together...eons ago."

_Is she exaggerating? Or was it_ really _eons?_

I load up my cart with tissue paper. "What's this for?"

"Float flowers."

Piling the packages into my cart is hypnotizing; there's a zoned-out, dreamy feel. I'm comfortable with Aisha for the first time and what's really weird is we're both silent. It's almost like I'm not in control when I say, "I know it bothers you that Victor's been nice to me. That he..."

_Likes me better than you?_ I'm totally at a loss for the right words.

"Well, I _am_ your Guardian."

"Yeah, but that shouldn't get in the way of, I mean..." I hesitate. "I can understand if you feel jealous. I know we're not supposed to feel that, but hey, it bothers me that my roomie Mercy has a new friend. We're all flawed, except Dad, right?"

Aisha laughs and shakes her head no, no, no. "Me? I'm not jealous!"

Huh? "You said you'd seen Victor act like this before. I know you two have a history."

"Right. We have a history, but not _that_ kind of history. I keep forgetting you haven't done all your training. No special attachments—not Angels or humans—for Full Angels. It's forbidden."

"It is? Why? It wasn't on my list of rules."

" _Angelic Code of Conduct_. It's part of the second-semester training. See, this is why skipping made it harder for you. But that doesn't really answer your question, does it?" Aisha pauses. "The reason attachments—Angel or human—are off-limits is that they get in the way of doing your job. You already know that Missions can sometimes overlap, but most of the time they don't. It's not just Guardians—it's all Angels. And I'm _sure_ you can see how attachments could be a distraction."

I can see her point. It could cause a disaster if a Virtue was supposed to keep planets from colliding and suddenly she got sidetracked by daydreaming about her boyfriend. But how could I be so wrong about their history? "So what did you mean when you said Victor had acted like this before?"

"You're right that Victor and I have known each other a long time, but there's never been anything between us. It was with my roomie. Her name's Cherish. We were all Angels in Training together, and Victor and Cherish were..." It seems like Aisha's not going to say anymore but then she blurts, "Anyway, Victor's biggest flaw has always been his fascination with the sensory. He immerses himself in all of it: taste, touch, scent. I could never believe when He allowed Victor to become a Guardian because it put all that temptation in reach."

I love all of those things too. Will that be a problem for me?

"The three of us were on our first mission and Cherish..." As Aisha begins this part of her story, an image forms in my mind. It's like watching a movie, like Aisha is showing me her memory.

It's a busy street bazaar with vendors of spices, fruit, silk, pots and pans. A goat trots right between two of them. _She's right. This was eons ago_. Victor looks at Cherish like he's hungry. She looks a little like me, with light brown curls. "Meet me later," he says and dashes away. Aisha pleads with Cherish, "Don't. Don't go," and then the memory fast-forwards to a room where Cherish is sobbing. Her chest heaves and she sounds wounded. Aisha hugs her tightly and rocks her back and forth. "It will be fine. He forgives," she says over and over.

"It was all too much for Cherish." Aisha's eyes tear up. "She decided she couldn't be faced with the temptation of Victor all the time. She asked for reassignment as a Principality and usually works as a Muse. But she would have made a really good Guardian. She was a lot like you."

It's painful to think about Mercy having that kind of heartache. I never saw Aisha as a friend, but now I can see that she'd be a good one. "You think I'll be a good Guardian?" I ask in a small voice.

Aisha smiles, and there's not a glimmer of spite in it. "Yes, I think you will. Actually, I can't believe how well you've done in such a short time. Even when you weren't studying, you were still picking things up quickly."

A huge weight lifts from my shoulders. "Really? Because I've been a little worried."

"About?"

"Messing up the Mission worse than I already have. The chapter on Repercussions in _My Life as a Guardian_ freaked me out a little. What if something horrible happened to Tara? Or worse, Finn? I couldn't stand it."

"Oh. Yeah. That chapter on Repercussions is pretty scary. But you shouldn't lose sleep over it. It's really rare. A lot of things have to happen for the blame to rest entirely on the Guardian. The fact that you're worried about Repercussions is a good sign." Aisha shrugs. "You should be fine."

"So you don't think I'll end up as a Wingless One?"

"Heaven forbid! You need to . . . be careful . . . with Victor. You know what I mean?"

All of this—Repercussions, Wingless Ones and no Angel attachments—is _way_ more than I ever considered when I thought about skipping school. "I think I do. You're actually a pretty good Guardian."

Aisha laughs. "Thanks. And you will be too. But you should know—as an Assignment—that you're a major pain in the butt!"

Confession: It's true. I'm a pain.

"Anyway, I hope I never have to be your Guardian again." She hesitates. "And by the way, it still bugs me that you got a cell. He moves in mysterious ways, huh?"

Even though it's not very funny, it makes me laugh. "See? You are jealous of me! Did you ever ask him for a cell?"

Aisha scrunches up her forehead and then her eyes fly open.

"Try that," I say.

* * *

We lug the bags of stuff to the trunk of the car. There's a different driver this time, but it's the same clunker. As I settle into the backseat, I ask, "Are you? Nah, you're not Him, right?"

"Does it matter?"

This cracks me up. Of course it matters. I'm practically slapping my thigh with the side-splitting thought of it until I notice both he and Aisha are straight-faced.

"Ha, ha . . . .ah, ah . . .ah . . ." I stop. On second thought, I guess it doesn't matter. Everything would work out so much better if we treated everyone like they were The Big Guy.

* * *

Armed with all this newfound wisdom, I don't know what to make of Victor's sudden appearance next to my study carrel in the library the next afternoon. I'd picked an out-of-the-way alcove to help me stay focused. Should I be cautious after hearing about Cherish? I think so. Still, Victor looks mighty nice in those jeans.

But I should treat him with love and respect and reverence.

I revere those jeans _. Stop it, now!_ I wrestle with my own mind, uncertain which side is winning.

He smiles and lays his backpack on the shelf of the carrel that faces me. "I heard you and Aisha reconciled."

"We're good." I twiddle my pencil. "She's, um, different than I thought."

He pulls the chair out to sit down. "Yeah. She's all right. A little serious, but all right."

As Victor makes slow, feline movements, stretching and then pulling books from his bag, I bury my nose in the American History book and try to focus on the details about The Underground Railroad. _This will be so distracting. Help me!_

Harriet Tubman had a top-notch Guardian, I'm sure, though I probably can't put that into the essay for Gindi. He thinks eliminating God from government is the separation of church and state. Doesn't he know that can't be done? Omnipresence and all that. I mean, that's what Powers do all day long—help governments and leaders. It's like Gindi wants to eliminate an entire class of Angels. Victor was so dead-on when he called him a wanker.

Victor peeks over at me. "How's Tara?"

"I'm making progress. Thanks for asking." I concentrate on the book. _At its height, 1850 to 1860, some estimates of 100,000 slaves escaped._ Wow! She helped so many out of hell.

"Cody's getting used to the idea of his dad dating Ms. Sands. He really wanted his parents to get back together." Victor's brown eyes soften. "Hard to find out that wasn't going to happen in front of the whole school."

Great. Now why'd he have to say that? Caution just flew out the window.

"I'm so sorry I abandoned my Mission and it messed with yours." I clasp my hands like I'm praying. "I'm glad it's going to work out. Are you off Probation?"

"As of yesterday. How 'bout you?"

"Michael released me after Aisha and I went to Michael's. Ha! I know the name seems more than coincidental, but I have it on very good Authority that the store has nothing to do with him."

"Then we should celebrate our return to Favor." A smile eases onto Victor's face.

"Okay, how about a strawberry shake at the Jukebox?" I have dreams about those.

Victor's smile lingers. "I was thinking of something bigger. Like... let's experience autumn. The leaves have changed. We could cozy up in front of a woodsy-smelling bonfire and sip tangy apple cider with a comforter thrown across our laps." Victor's face changes as he describes our retreat. He looks tranced out.

"I don't think that happens in Florida," I tease.

"We'd bi-locate to the Smoky Mountains or maybe Vermont. We could go now, leave a part of you behind to study and come home later tonight. I love walking through pumpkin patches." His face gets dreamy again. "The air this time of year is..." He kisses his fingers.

_Tempting_.

This is an understatement.

Spending any time at all with Victor is wonderful, but what he's just described sounds exquisite. I think of Cherish. And Aisha's story about them. And, in the end, it's Victor's out-of-this-world expression that snaps me back to my world of the library and books and homework and divine Missions. "I really need to stick close to Tara and keep studying. I mean, I'm still training and everything."

Victor's smile and his dreamy look fade. His voice is resigned. "Okay, Grace. That's probably wise."

_Oh. Did I hurt his feelings?_ "Maybe another time."

He runs a hand through his hair and his smile flickers. "Let me fly you over the ocean before you go back. Remember, I promised you. Don't make me go back on my word."

I'm cornered. It would be a huge transgression if Victor did that. "We'll go," I agree in a soft voice. With that, I've just given my word, too.

**Chapter 20**

From: glightbourne@halo.hvn

To: mbeamkind@halo.hvn

Subject: I'm still here

My Dearest Mercy,

After your last letter, I wondered if I'd ever find the courage to write you again, but things are getting better. So, thanks for thinking of me.

My assignment Tara and I are involved in this Earthly high school activity called Spirit Week. Which has a completely different meaning from what we'd expect. But none of that is really important. What is important is that Tara will perform in a skit and she'll be in the starring role. She will finally be out of Lacey's shadow. And the girl can sing. Like, she could be in Gabriel's choir or something. Seriously.

On top of that, she's cooking up a little romance with this kid named Cody. He's in charge of the skit and he's Victor's mission and he's the coach's son of this game they play here called football. So that's given her some confidence too.

PLUS, I've been studying. Hard. I've even gone to the library. The other night, Victor tried to tempt me to goof off, the little devil, but I just stuck my nose back into my books! You'd be proud of the new me.

Anyway...that's what I've been up to. You'd almost think I'm training to be an Angel or something—Haha! Get It?

Well, gotta fly. I know that's your joke. And yes, it's only an expression, but I do feel closer. Just a flap or two away.

Yours in Bliss,

Grace Lightbourne

Angel in Training

PS. Have you and Faith made up yet? I hope so! Reconciliation is awesome and even though you were sticking up for me, she was partially right. But only partially.

**Chapter 21**

Time flies when I'm not freezing it.

Except Aisha keeps reminding me we _don't really freeze it._ "The Earth and everything on it keeps moving at its same speed, we just move closer to the speed of light."

It's a lot of scientific mumbo-jumbo if you ask me. I'm sure Mercy, with all her Virtue training, would get it. But it still feels like a time freeze and the point is, I haven't done it at all for the past couple weeks as we accelerate toward Spirit Week. _Busy, busy_. Today is float-building.

When Mr. Murphy pulls in front of Lacey's house, her circular driveway is filled with cars parked every which way.

"It looks like you're late," Mr. Murphy says a split second before Victor and Cody emerge from the garage. Shirtless. Victor is wearing my favorite jeans and Cody has on aqua and orange board shorts.

"I hope they're not sleeping over," Mr. Murphy deadpans.

"Dad! I told you. We're building the float and then hanging out, and then the girls can stay over if they want." Tara slips her backpack over her shoulder and opens the car door.

Victor strides toward the car, Cody trailing slightly behind him. "It's about time!" He holds a hammer overhead, which makes his arms look, well, nice.

Tara grins at me and raises one eyebrow.

"Have fun," Mr. Murphy says and then adds out his window to our backs, "and be good."

Tara gives him a we'll-be-fine wave, and Victor jogs over to his window and rests his hands on the car roof.

"It's nice to meet you, sir. I'm Victor Angelo." He _actually_ shakes Mr. Murphy's hand.

"Oh! So you're Victor! That was quite a game last week. You really pulled it out in the end with that pass."

"Thank you, sir, but the whole team played well."

Why is it that human guys and Angel guys are so obsessed with sports?

Tara, Cody and I leave Victor to discuss the finer points and walk to the super-sized garage, where there are a half-dozen people at work on the frame of the float. Most of them are shirtless guys. All of them—unless you count Victor, who's walking this way—are sweaty. Lacey is leaning against the fridge, sipping a Propel, dressed in a tank and short shorts. "C'mon." She waves us toward the house. "It's hotter than hell out here."

The angel-breath AC hits us as soon as Lacey opens the door. Her house is incredible. The ceilings are two stories high, with drapes that hang to the floor. An elaborate design in tumbled marble accents the foyer. A polished wooden staircase curves off to the left of the entrance. Everything overlooks a huge patio with a pool, spa and lake.

It's not as grand as the Hall of Records or the Temple, but comes close.

"I can't believe your parents let you have everyone over when they're not here," Tara says.

"It's all in the timing." Lacey does the hair-flip thing. "When they tell me they have to do something with Ethan and then put on droopy faces, I put on the same face and ask for something. Clothes. A favor. Whatever. It works every time."

Near the base of the stairs are glass shelves filled with framed pictures. I stop to study them. Almost every picture has Lacey's brother Ethan. One has the whole family, but the way Lacey's standing makes her look separate. I can tell from the innocent expression on her brother's broad face, from the almond shape of his eyes, from the course black hair so different from Lacey's silky blond that this family has been blessed.

"Is this Ethan?" I ask.

Lacey purses her lips. "The one and only."

"He's a Special Soul," I say.

Lacey grits her teeth and one lip curls, reminding me of a growling dog. " _Special?_ " she says in the most sarcastic tone ever. "What does _that_ mean?"

"Pure," I say, incredulous that she doesn't recognize this.

"Pure?" She snorts. "Is that what they call it in Montana? We call it something different here—mentally deficient." Lacey sneers as she says those words.

In _Understanding Humans,_ Sophia says that it's important not to reveal a Truth until the subject is open to it. So right now, I should bite my tongue because Lacey isn't in the right frame of mind. But I can't help myself and blurt, "You know, the Knowledge Apple is what caused all the problems in the first place."

This cracks Lacey up. After she finishes with a hiccup, she says, "I've got to get to Montana someday to see if everyone is like you." She leads Tara and me upstairs to her room. It's so large we could practically build the float in there.

"I love this room," I say.

A soft pink quilt with these fuzzy powder puffs covers her double bed, and all the other sheets and pillows have this pattern of interlocking dots and circles in shades of pink and purple.

When and if I get back to Heaven, I'm going to do this. On a smaller scale of course. But it's a room that suits both Mercy and me.

"It's sweet of you to say that, Grace. I'm kinda sick of it, and my mom said I could re-decorate. So if you want, I could ship this stuff to you when you get home."

"Thanks." Although I'm quite sure When-it-absolutely-positively-has-to-be-there-overnight doesn't have coverage where I live.

Lacey points to a corner where she wants us to stash our backpacks. As I set mine down, a gray tabby kitten with black stripes pokes its teeny nose out from under her bed, batting a paw left and right like it's trying to make sure the ground is solid enough to venture out.

"That's Mr. Toughie," Lacey says. "He's Ethan's."

_Awwww._ My heart melts.

He peers out and spies Tara and me. "Crap," he says in a deep, scratchy voice. "Not more people!" And with that, he ducks back under the bed.

His name is perfect! I crack up. Tara and Lacey stare, stare, stare hard.

"He said . . . "

And then I remember: People can't communicate with animals. It blew me away when I read that in _Understanding Humans._ I always assumed they could. It's weird the way you can get something in your mind, and then it's hard to get it out and you have to be reminded again and again.

Lacey snorts. "Wow. Too weird. Ethan thinks Mr. Toughie talks and he laughs at him just like that."

Do I need to cover? Tara and Lacey aren't staring at me or anything. I guess it doesn't matter. Much. I guess they've accepted me.

But how weird is it that Ethan can hear Mr. Toughie? Really weird, I know. And then, it dawns on me. In the Garden of Eden, everything could communicate. Probably still can if you could get in. Except, it's totally off-limits for humans and Angels. Anyway, speaking with animals is just one _more_ thing that went away with the apple.

* * *

There's a mountain of yellow tissue paper flowers beside me. I have a stack of flat sheets in front of me and pull off three or four. Fold, flip, fold, flip in what Tara called _accordion-style_. Twist; tie the middle. Fluff. I toss the newly made flower to the pile. Everyone's working inside, except our team's Michelangelo, Madison, who's sketching hall designs.

My shoulders and neck stiffen. I roll my head from side to side and get off the floor to loosen up. Then, I pick up my pile of flowers.

Lacey says to the group, "Almost time for Peppermint Patties and Brain Erasers. We've earned it."

A horrified look flits across Aisha's face. _What's wrong?_ And she's been so mellow until now; I almost enjoy having her around. I wander away to let her deal with her crisis- _du-jour_ and when I pass the shelves with all the pictures, I notice Ethan's are now missing—every single one. In a weird way, this piece of furniture looks lonely with all those gaps where Ethan belongs.

Out in the garage, the float is coming together. The front is Dorothy's Kansas farmhouse with a twister behind it. When I walk around and look from the other direction, it's the beginning of the Yellow Brick Road, which leads to the Emerald City. The back of the twister from this angle is the Wizard's castle. Cool. Madison must have a really awesome Muse.

"Here's some of the road." I drop the tissue flowers onto the floor of the garage at the feet of Cody and Tara—our official flower-attachers. They nod at me without missing a beat. "Oh! Lacey said it's almost time for Peppermint Patties—just so you guys know."

They exchange a quick grin, stop working and head for the house. Victor's eyes widen, his hammer hovers above his head and he moans, "Time to go to work."

* * *

Inside, Lacey has this tray with cute teeny, tiny glasses and everyone is crowded around her. "These are the Peppermint Patties—" she points to a milky tan glass, "—and these are the Brain Erasers." She points to a drink with layers. I reach for a Peppermint Patty and Aisha swats my hand.

"No, Grace," she mouths.

Then time freezes. Lacey looks regally sculpted with the tray in front of her. Some kids are frozen, hands out, mid-reach for the drinks. Others already have their head thrown back.

"I didn't freeze it. I swear," I say to Aisha.

Aisha just sighs. "Good thinking," she says to Victor. "Now, how do we stop this without violating free will?"

He scratches his temple. "Distractions always work."

Aisha smirks. "What are you going to do? Set a fire?"

"Nothing destructive. The lesser of two evils?" It's a statement and a question at the same time. "I'll create a diversion, and you get rid of the alcohol."

_Huh?_ I yell, "Hold on a minute! Will someone tell me what is going on?"

Aisha shakes her head and sighs. "They're drinking alcohol. They're underage. It's illegal and someone could get in trouble, or hurt."

"Not every time," Victor explains.

"But they could." Aisha finishes the sentence for him. "Okay—motion." The scene unfreezes, and the sound of laughter fills the air. Victor claps his hands three times and says in a booming voice, "Team Oz. It's time for a game."

Aisha grabs the tray from Lacey. "Give me that, girlfriend," and scurries toward the kitchen.

"Hey! Where are you going with that?" Lacey follows a step or two behind Aisha.

"Don't want anything to happen to this floor. Your parents would be pissed," Aisha yells over her shoulder.

Everyone else has gathered around Victor and he says, "What are we gonna play?"

There are shouts of _football_ and groans, _Truth or Dare?_ and shrieks, _Spin the Bottle_ and giggling.

Finally, Tara hollers, "Seven Minutes in Heaven."

I don't know about everyone else, but the other options sounded like a lot more fun.

"Dorky," comes a reply.

"So middle school!" another shouts.

"Yeah. But fun, right?" Tara giggles then blushes crimson at least three shades darker than her hair, her eyes glued on Cody.

Victor laughs and declares, "Ding. Ding. Ding. We have a winner!" and everyone laughs.

I don't get it. Seriously. I've spent more than seven minutes in Heaven and I can tell you it's not a big deal.

Everyone is shifting around in an awkward way. Cody and Tara won't take their eyes off each other until Victor volunteers. "I'll go first. Grace, would you like to join me?"

I shrug. "Okay." It's their party and I get that this is part of my Guardian duty, but even if Victor and I pop back home for a few, how will the other kids get there? We could kill them, but that doesn't seem very Guardian-like.

Victor takes my hand and leads me to a large closet near the front door.

_Ah-ha! A portal._ But that doesn't make sense either, because when I arrived I was at the River of Grass Rec Center, and why would a portal be placed in Lacey's entryway?

Victor opens the door, a slight smirk on his face. "After you." He places his palm on the small of my back. We step in, he closes the door and the darkness engulfs us. Except for a dull sliver at the bottom of the door, there's no light at all. It's warm and musty. There's a faint outline of Victor. Close. It's more that I sense him than actually see him.

"I could extend the seven minutes." There's a tease in his voice.

"When do we get to Heaven?" I ask.

Victor rests his palm on the side of my neck. It's comforting. So why is my heart beating faster?

"Rules for Angels are so hard sometimes, especially for Guardians when we're away from home." Victor's hand glides on my neck. "You remind me of someone."

Cherish? Does he still miss her?

"I've never met anyone like you," I say.

Victor's hand stops. "Yeah. I think that scares me."

My eyes have adjusted to the dark and I have a better sense of where he is now. Even though I can't see his face, I can tell his form is easing toward me. Suddenly, it's even warmer. He's very close and I want him closer. He exhales; I inhale. This game is not exactly what I thought. Victor places his hand on my waist and pulls me against him.

The door flies open.

Bright light streams in and I shield my eyes from the glare—both the light and Aisha's. Aisha flaps her arms around and stuffs her hands onto her hips. "You know better! No hanky-panky!"

Behind her, everyone is frozen. A few statues seem to stare at the door. Victor's face is red. " _Hanky-panky_ is so last century, Ish. You need to keep up with the times." Victor pulls against the door, but Aisha stubbornly wedges her foot and holds it open.

"Doesn't matter what it's called. It's still off-limits. Didn't you learn from the last time? How long was that Probation?"

Victor tips his chin up. "It was worth every second."

Aisha practically growls. "She's trying to earn her wings." Then, Aisha looks at me with soft eyes. "Grace," she sighs. "You know better too."

I'm not sure if she means Cherish or the whole forbidden thing. Victor's face is close; his hands are still wrapped around me. It feels right. And wrong.

Confession: While a part of me is glad she came to the rescue, another part just wants to close the door.

* * *

I tiptoe through the bodies sprawled across the floor. There's a pile of tissue paper flowers by the far wall and a few of those tiny glasses scattered around the room. _We didn't stop all of it_. Next to the kitchen, Lacey lays in the exact same position as last night when she fell asleep. I put my hand in front of her mouth. Her breath is warm and it's good she's alive. At least Aisha is doing something right.

Tara and Cody are covered in separate blankets over by the TV. They didn't drink anything. A small victory? I think so.

We all worked on the float until the wee hours. Then Victor and I kept talking—on guard duty—until they both fell asleep. I'm pretty sure nothing "forbidden" went on, either, unless you count their Seven Minutes in Heaven, when Tara's hair got very mussed. She didn't even try to smooth it out. Weird. Just kept tugging on the bottom of her tank top.

In the kitchen I pour myself a glass of orange juice and when I open the French doors to the patio, the gray kitten skitters past me and bounds outside.

"I don't know if you're supposed to be out here," I say to him.

"Can you get me some water, hon?" His deep, scratchy voice doesn't fit the sweet face. "My bowl's inside and it's empty."

"In a minute?" I settle myself at on the edge of the elevated spa, dip my toes in the water and sip my OJ.

"Yeah," he growls. "But don't wait too long. Last time I was this thirsty, I tried to drink from the big white bowl and fell in."

_What a wise guy!_ I get up and go back to the kitchen, fill his water bowl and return to the peaceful patio with it. Mr. Toughie is on top of the table about to lick the inside of a kitten-sized glass that looks like it's coated with Peppermint Patty. I snatch it away with the same quick motion Aisha used last night.

Mr. Toughie bats a paw at the glass. "Killjoy!"

I place the bowl on the ground and he leaps off the table with only a slight skid upon landing. He'll be totally graceful when he's fully grown.

I sit back on the spa bench and watch as he bats a stray tissue flower through the legs of the lounge chairs, amusing himself. He loses interest quickly and pads over my way. "You're not one of them. You're different."

Mr. Toughie really didn't need to point that out to me. I'm fully aware that I belong to neither world right now. Not Earth—where I'll work, and my nature will keep me separate from those that surround me. Not in Heaven, either. Even when I get my wings—if I get my wings—I'll still be coming back here.

The tabby begins to stalk a tissue flower, prowling around it, hunching his shoulders. "She's planning something big." His gruff voice belongs to a much bigger cat. Or maybe a dog. Truly.

"Who?" I ask.

"Blondie," he replies. And then, he pounces.

**Chapter 22**

On the Saturday before Spirit Week, Lacey, Tara and I sprawl out on the floor of the Social Studies Hall over huge sheets of cardboard printed to look like The Yellow Brick Road. It's just a bunch of interlocking rectangles.

Thank you. I probably can't screw that up.

Victor and Aisha are down at the end of the hall, hoisting an Emerald City display into place. Lacey and Tara are chatting while they paint, but it's hard for me to concentrate because I'm bi-located for the first time since the pep rally. With Aisha's Guardian Seal of Approval, of course.

An announcement crackles over the PA and everyone stops working to listen. "Remember, tonight is Spirit Week Family Night. Bring everyone out to view the halls, while judging takes place from six to eight."

Lacey smirks and dips her brush into the can of gold paint to fill in her section of the road. When she whispers, "Listen girls. I have a new idea," I stop painting and focus.

* * *

Aisha 2 and Victor 2 are sitting on a teeter-totter at the Rec Center playground. Victor pushes up hard and Aisha crashes to the Earth. Momentarily, he's airborn. I almost expect him to sprout wings.

"You're such a jerk!" Aisha steps off her end, causing Victor to smash into the ground.

He laughs.

They went through training? I take a seat on the edge of the merry-go-round. It's still messed up from my temper tantrum. Angel anger. Not a good thing. "Have you guys figured anything out, or are you just playing around?"

They shake their heads; Aisha's beaded braids clack against each other. "I don't have a plan yet," she says, "but I _do_ know Tara is key. She's the link because she's dating Cody _and_ she's Lacey's best friend. If we can solve your Mission, ours might fall into place."

What's that saying on the poster on Ms. Sands' wall? A chain's only as strong as its weakest link? It's probably one of Michael's _signs_. Great. Their success depends on me. And I'm still training.

I hear Lacey's voice in my head. "Listen, girls. I have a new idea."

* * *

"What?" Tara asks, paintbrush poised inches from the road.

"We should do graffiti on one of the halls. Did you see the pirate hall? It's like you've walked onto a huge ship. We could put funny notes on the inside of the ship, like _Arr. Where's me booty?_ "

What will Tara say? I'm mostly here trying to keep an eye on her, but there's still a piece of me at River of Grass.

"Oh, Lace. They've worked so hard on that hall. I don't want to ruin it."

"What if we put just one thing on every hall, like _Beam Me Up_ on the alien hall? It's like we'll leave our signature everywhere. We can even put _We're Not in Montana Anymore_ on our hall, so they won't get that it's us."

"If we put _Montana_ they'll probably figure it out—it's _Kansas_ , Lacey. We're not in Kansas anymore."

Lacey glares at Tara. "You've changed now that you're the big star for Skit Night."

"I'm not a _big star._ "

Lacey soaks her paintbrush and smears it around on the paper. "Everyone says you're going to win Best Actress."

"It's just talk, y'know?" Tara blushes.

It's true. Everyone keeps talking about Tara's singing. And it hasn't turned her into a geek like she feared.

"Don't forget who your friends are," Lacey says with a flick of the brush.

"You're my best friend," Tara says.

"Yeah, whatever," Lacey says. "So you're in, right? Tonight—after Family Night."

* * *

"Earth to Grace," Aisha says.

"I'm here. I got distracted. Lacey's planning another prank."

Aisha rolls her eyes. "What now?"

"Graffiti on Spirit Week halls."

Aisha looks caged. "There are times when I long for the old days when we could just send someone to Hell." She laughs. "Not really, but she's so infuriating, and she's been my Assignment for nearly two years now. When will it all end?"

I didn't realize Lacey made Aisha crazy. I guess she's good at keeping her cool. It makes me respect her more.

"Is Tara playing?" Victor asks.

"Not yet. Oh! Maybe I need to go back. We could do this another time."

"This week's going to be crazy. There won't be another good time. So you mentioned that you heard something at the float party? Is it this graffiti thing?"

"I don't exactly know. Mr. Toughie just said _big_."

Victor raised one eyebrow. "Mr. Toughie?"

Aisha's braids clack as she swivels her head to shoot him an eye dart. "It's Lacey's kitten," she huffs. "Ethan named him that because of his voice."

Victor hoots. "Oh. That makes sense now."

If I had my wings, I'd flap them around to get their attention because, I mean, who cares how Mr. Toughie got his name? We have a crisis looming. But I have nothing to flap, so I bellow, "Hey!"

They stop goofing and look at me, eyes wide.

I feel the heat rise to my face. "Sorry," I pause. "Anyway. I hate to say this, but the graffiti thing doesn't sound _big_ to me."

Aisha rubs the center of her forehead, like it aches. "No. Definitely not _big_ —not for Lacey."

Then I hear Lacey back at school say, "So you're in, right? Tonight—after Family Night."

* * *

Finn holds both mine and Tara's hands as he _oohs_ and _aahs_ at the hall decorations. We lift him and swing him back and forth until he giggles wildly. Tara smiles gently at the top of his tousled red head.

If it wasn't for Lacey, I guarantee I'd be hearing the ten, nine, eight countdown to launch my first flight.

When we walk up a gangplank into the pirate hall, Finn points a finger. "Lookit that!" His mouth hangs open.

Even Mr. Murphy seems impressed. "There was nothing like this when we were in high school."

A kid from Team Pirate hands Finn an eye patch. Tara stretches the elastic over his head and adjusts it.

"No. Not even close," Mrs. Murphy replies to her husband.

We stroll around and I admire the work that went into creating this hall. Everything, from the way the ropes and sails are painted to another ship in the distance, leaves me with the sense that I'm standing on the deck of a ship.

Finn flips the patch up and beams at Tara. "Can we go see your hall now?"

"Yeah, we can, but promise not to be disappointed. It's not as good as this one."

On the way off the ship we run into Mrs. Fitzsimmons, who's holding the hand of a grinning Ethan. Lacey is walking a good five paces behind them.

"Wait until you see the pirate hall!" Finn tells Ethan.

Ethan claps his hands and Lacey rolls her eyes. He's exactly like his pictures—pure and open.

"Sounds like fun, huh?" Mrs. Fitzsimmons clasps Ethan's hand and says to Finn, "Ethan's really enjoying all of this. How about you?"

Finn fidgets with his eye patch. Up. Down. Up, down. "Me and Tara and Grace are having a blast." He flips the patch up and leaves it against his forehead. "Is Lacey having fun too?"

"I'm sure she is!" Mrs. Fitzsimmons says a little too brightly and heads toward the gangplank while Lacey hangs back.

Nothing about Lacey's expression says _fun_. More like _miserable_.

She waits to talk to us, and Tara says to her, "It's nice that your mom came tonight."

Lacey mutters to the floor, "Ethan wanted to come. So, of course, we did." Then her voice goes as loud and cheery and phony as that lady's red acrylic fingernails from my first day here. "Hey, Tara! You want to come over after Family Night?" She winks and tosses her hair. "Just meet me back here. Mom said it's okay. You too, Grace."

This is code for, _We will hide in the bathroom until this place has emptied out so we can scribble things on everyone else's hard work_.

Tara looks Lacey in the eye, never letting go of Finn's hand. "Sorry, I can't tonight. We're going to Coldstone after this."

Yessssss! Yes! Yes! Yes!

I feel a smile as wide and open as the Pearly Gates spread across my face, but then Lacey gives us a _look._ If her look were a word, it would be spelled D-O-O-M.

Doom. I'm doomed.

**Chapter 23**

From: mbeamkind@halo.hvn

To: glightbourne@halo.hvn

Subject: thinking of you

Hi Grace!

I'm glad to hear things have improved for you! I thought they might because I remember you every night in my prayers. Remember when we used to pray and ask for things for ourselves? I'd usually asked for help on a test and you'd usually want the test to be cancelled. Sheesh!

That was silly of us.

So, the other night I was watching an episode of Angelic Aid. Faith doesn't really care for it; she thinks it's too sappy, but you got me hooked. Anyway...I noticed that during the reenactment of a Mission, the Guardian asked Heaven for help. It got me thinking. And did you know in every single episode, the Guardian always asks for help?

You probably did. I just never thought of it before. It's why you'll be a great Guardian and I'm good at planets and stuff. Which, BTW, I'm loving. Hope to see you soon. I want to take you to Jupiter for a visit. And Venus will blow your mind.

All heart,

Mercy

Angel-in-Training

I sign out of A-mail, close the laptop and walk to Finn's room. Ruffling his hair, I ask, "Did you have fun tonight?"

Finn grins at me. It's a minor miracle. His teeth seem to be straightening themselves already.

"You fixed things. She likes me again." He reaches for my hand.

"Oh, Finn." Tears fill my eyes. "I don't think it's totally fixed. I'm still here, right?"

Finn's expression turns serious and he presses his palms together, fingers pointing skyward. "Dear God, please help Grace. I didn't mean it when I called her a bad angel. Amen."

"Thanks, buddy." I ruffle his hair again and kiss his forehead. Finn's prayer warms my heart and gives me a head start, but it's probably not quite enough.

Back in my room, I decide if it's good enough for full Guardians on _Angelic Aid_ and for Finn, it might work for me. On my knees at the edge of my bed, like when Mercy and I were little, I pray. "Help me to complete this mission. Help me to help Victor and Aisha in the best way that I can, because they've both been so good to me and it would be nice to return the favor.

"Help me to get along better with Michael. I know he's like Top Angel and everything—so he must be a good guy, or You wouldn't have given him that job.

"And help me to be a good Angel too. One who will be worthy of wings."

I pause for a moment.

"I wish I could tell You that the wings don't matter to me, but You know my every thought, so You'd know I was lying if I said _that_."

I pause again.

"I think that's it. No—wait! Sorry I was so rude to You in the car. Truly. Hope You'll forgive me. You're supposed to, You know, so please don't get too busy and forget. Amen."

**Chapter 24**

Victor, Aisha and I stride all Guardian-esque into the Spirit Week Dance. We're like some kind of Holy Trinity. Except younger and more stylish.

Confession: I've been a little kooky this week.

Every little thing has set me off. Like on Field Day, I froze time when Tara climbed to the top the "castle" the Fairy Tale Team had constructed. Or during Skit Night, while Tara sang, I froze time again.

" _What are you doing?_ " Aisha asked in that bossy tone she gets sometimes.

"I don't know," I confessed. "It just seems like something is going to happen right now."

"Well, keep it in motion until you see _something_."

I can't even remember what made me freeze time during the parade and the football game. But I did.

So to say _my senses are heightened_ would be an understatement. More like, I can see ultraviolet and hear the dog-whistle frequency. Okay, an exaggeration, but you get my drift.

After the dinner _,_ Victor asked me to slow dance.

"Maybe later," I said. Talk about kooky. See what I mean?

Halfway through the dance, the DJ hands Ms. Sands the mic. It took a little while, but eventually everyone got over the pep rally prank. Ms. Sands is a really great teacher and a super nice person, so that made it Angel-fast.

"What a way to end Spirit Week!" she says to clapping and a few hoots around the room. "Hasn't this week been great? It's time for Spirit Week Superlatives," she continues to more whoops and clapping. "The first award will go to the team with the Best Hall Decorations." She opens an envelope, which is really only needed for...suspense purposes. "Team Pirate!"

A cute senior guy dons an eye patch with his tux, and I see others around the room do the same. One guy from his team yells, "Arr, Mateys" as he makes his way to the stage.

"Congratulations!" Ms. Sands hands Pirate Guy a trophy. He smiles and pretends to slash the air with a sword. Ms. Sands motions for him to please step back to a place on the stage behind her. "Up next—" Ms. Sands picks up another envelope, "—we have Field Day."

Victor is already making his way to the stage because it was, like, no contest. I'm not sure we won it fair and square. Is it cheating to have three athletic angels on your team?

"Team Oz!" Ms. Sands exclaims as Victor arrives at the front of the stage. Instead of climbing the steps, he swings his arms and leaps directly onto the stage. Ms. Sands laughs. "I think we can see why Team Oz won."

Victor kisses Ms. Sands on the cheek, takes the trophy from her and holds it overhead while we cheer like mad. He takes his place next to Pirate Guy and they fist-bump.

"Our next prizes are for Best Actor and Actress Performances at Skit Night. The winners are Tara Murphy in the role of Dorothy—I'm sure it was the singing on this one—and Alex Rodriguez for his humorous alien."

Tara looks stunning in her Emerald City green dress as she makes her way to the stage. It shows off her fair complexion and flaming red hair. Cody can't take his eyes off her and pride swells in me too, because here's this girl who is taking the spotlight for all the right reasons.

She accepts the trophy from Ms. Sands and Victor gives her a hug as she goes to stand next to him. My nerves twitch. I scan the crowd. Where _is_ Aisha? My stomach flutters and it has nothing to do with Victor this time because he's not even nearby.

I'm foggy as Ms. Sands names the winner of the float competition—The Greek god's team for their depiction of Olympus. As a girl in a floaty dress takes the trophy, a dark shape stirs near the ceiling over the stage. My nerves notch higher, if that's even possible.

_Where's Lacey?_ I see her talking to a muscled guy I'm pretty sure was on the Greek God team near a corner of the stage. It seems like she's avoided us all night. She fidgets and keeps glancing up over the stage. _Does she see the shadow too?_

I move closer to the stage, weaving between the tables and across the empty dance floor, eyes never leaving the ceiling. What's up there? It's a net holding hundreds of balloons in our school colors. Nobody bends time, but everything around me moves slowly, like some freaky movie version of what we do. Lacey hugs Greek God guy. The net is released. The balloons fall. And, in a split second I know something is wrong.

I freeze time. Again.

"Graa-aaa-ace!" Victor and Aisha wail together.

I wave my arm. "Over here."

Aisha walks quickly toward me. The click-clack of her heels telegraphs her annoyance. "What is it this time?" she asks, all huffy.

I point up at the object suspended mid-air. "The balloons. Something's wrong. They're falling too fast."

For some reason, known only to Him, they believe me. In a flash, they both sprout wings and fly up to check on the balloons. Victor examines one. "They're filled with paint. Good call, Grace."

Aisha flits above me from one to another. "Yeah. It looks like all of them. Boy, she really did it up this time." She sighs. "I don't know what to do about her."

"I do," Victor says and flies one of the balloons to a spot directly above Lacey's head. "Justice."

"No way! That wouldn't be right," Aisha argues.

I tend to agree. I mean, Lacey was going to pull a really mean stunt. Even worse, on her best friend. But still, paint on her head? "Can't we keep it from happening without that?" I point at the balloon Victor moved.

"It can't just be thwarted." Victor repositions the balloon to a spot _near_ Lacey. "She needs a wake-up call." He zooms back and forth, arranging balloons in a semi-circle around her. Aisha must agree because she's pushing balloons through the air too.

"All of them?" Victor asks.

Aisha shakes her head and carries the remaining gently to the floor as though they had already landed.

"Won't this cause dissonance?" I ask.

"Big time." Victor lands on the floor next to me and his wing encircles my shoulder. "But they—" his arm sweeps across the room, "—will rationalize it all away. They always do."

Aisha touches down gracefully, which is no small feat. Truly. She's wearing three-inch-high sandals.

They both tuck their wings inside.

"Thanks guys." A lump rises in my throat. "I couldn't have protected her without you."

Aisha hugs me. "I think your Mission is almost done. I sure hope this works for mine."

Victor takes his place back on stage; Aisha and I go separate ways and then I put everything into motion.

The balloons fall, break and splatter Lacey's midnight blue gown with Emerald City green, Kansas twister gray and Brick Road yellow. She screams and jumps. A few kids gasp. But mostly, there's a huge abyss of silent shock.

"That's not what was supposed to happen!" she shrieks and points to the stage littered with full, unbroken balloons.

Every eye is on Lacey. Tara is open-mouthed. She notices a balloon near her toes and then stares at her best friend, comprehension dawning. Then, her face changes. Lacey's crying, and Tara starts toward her.

Again, I see the dark shape in the rafters. This time it moves so fast, it's a blur. Suddenly, an enormous balloon floats down slowly, slowly. directly above Lacey's head.

The bubble is five, no, ten times as large as the others and is an iridescent white instead of our school colors. Other students take notice and soon every head is turned to watch its descent. Tara stops to watch too.

It hovers for the briefest moment until Lacey looks up and gasps. "Oh, God!"

The bubble bursts, drenching her in clear water. Her hair and dress are soaked. She covers her face and weeps while Tara hugs her, swaying.

I look up again and amid the cables and spotlights, the shape moves into view. _Wings!_ And not just any wings—enormous, incredible, impressive wings. There's only one angel strong enough to carry the weight of those. Michael.

Thank God," I whisper, and then the wings are gone.

**Chapter 25**

After the dance, Aisha is missing. She took off after Lacey. Her Assignment needs her. Lacey that is—not me.

Victor and I, along with everyone else from the dance, hang outside the River of Grass Rec Center. He links his arm through mine. Cody and Tara are cuddled up next to us like they're slow-dancing or something while we wait for her parents to pick us up. Every so often, they can't help themselves and start kissing.

This place holds so many memories for me: marvel upon my arrival, anger during my fight with Aisha, unity when teaming up with her and Victor to finally get the job done.

So, that's it. I finished my Mission. Avoided Repercussions. Will it be enough to earn my wings?

Victor leans over, his lips inches from my forehead. What would they have felt like if Aisha had never opened the closet door? "Thanks again." I sigh.

He smiles. "You're welcome. And now, your promise?"

I spy the Murphys' car as it crawls forward through the line. My promise? How about my escape?

Time alone with Victor is like a math equation. Two-thirds scary plus one-third thrilling equals three thirds of confusion.

Confession: Math has never been my favorite subject.

When the car pulls up next to us, Mrs. Murphy powers down her window and says, "Did you have a good time, girls?"

Without looking at her Mom, Tara says "Uh-huh," gives Cody a twinkly look and climbs into the backseat.

I start to follow her, but Victor clasps my hand tightly and whispers, "Please wait." He makes a sound almost like a hiccup. "Trust me."

I want to, but I'm not sure I trust myself. When I nod, he links his arm with mine, leans into the car and says to Mr. Murphy, "So what did you think of the game last night?"

Do they ever think of anything but football?

"Well, the outcome was never in doubt," Mr. Murphy says. "You had total control."

It's so weird that this is how males bond. Victor's hand trails down my arm and reaches my wrist. "I thought so too, but you can never take a triumph for granted."

All of a sudden, it doesn't seem like Victor is talking about football.

Victor presses a finger against my palm and then laces his fingers with mine. "I'd like your permission, sir, to bring Grace home. I know she's heading back to Montana soon, and we won't have many chances to spend time together."

Mr. Murphy studies Victor's face, then looks at Mrs. Murphy and says, "I guess that'll be all right. She needs to be home no later than midnight."

Oh! It sounded blissful—flying over the ocean with Victor. But with that curfew, it's not meant to be. We have about an hour together.

Victor gives my hand a gentle squeeze. "Thank you, sir."

"Have fun, sweetie," Mrs. Murphy says. I lean forward to say thanks and Mrs. Murphy whispers, "I know no one says it, but he's a hunk."

She's got that right!

I give Tara a little wave. She grins at me from the backseat and then they drive away.

Victor wraps his arm around my shoulder, leading me away from the entrance toward the garden. "Ready to go see the sun rise?"

It's a crazy-romantic thing for him to say.

"Uh, my curfew is midnight."

"That won't stop us. We're Angels."

I nibble my lip. Victor just called me an Angel, which technically is _so_ not true, but it was a really nice thing for him to say. I smile. "Yeah, but we can't mess with God's creation. It's one of the rules Michael gave me. I bet it's one of yours too." We stop by the cluster of palms where I arrived the first day.

"Who said anything about messing with Earth?" And with that, Victor places his hand over my heart, there's a blink and...

* * *

We're standing at a spot on the beach under an identical cluster of coconut palms.

So, that's how I got here. Tree portals. It makes more sense than Lacey's hall closet.

It's breezy tonight. The fronds lift and blow west. The ocean churns. Waves roll and make crashing sounds. Not in a threatening way. The rhythm is almost like a lullaby. Or a heartbeat. Moonlight reflects off the sand and sea, so we sit and watch the stars.

Victor holds my hand, palm up and traces a line along each of my fingers. It's soft and nice and—a little unnerving. Then his hand barely hints at a touch along my cheek and jaw and neck and collarbone and ear. I tremble.

"It's been a long time since I've met an Angel like you," Victor says.

It's almost word for word what he said in the closet. _Is Cherish the last?_ The scene from Aisha's memory was practically ancient history. I blush, then blurt, "How long?"

"Too long . . . " Victor's voice trails off like he wanted to say more.

One thing about him has been bugging me and I'm afraid to ask, but I plunge ahead anyway. "You know, there have been times when you ignored me or blew me off or whatever, and I don't get it."

Victor eyes widen. "When?"

"When you gave out assignments for Team Oz—you moved Tara and not me. Or after the football field message, when you sent me to find Aisha and didn't really help me. Why?"

He smiles. "I had a Mission too, you know?"

Ohhhh . . . yeah. Duh.

"I've been doing this so long," he continues while running a finger along my arm, "that sometimes I forget what that first Mission is like—how alone you can feel. I didn't mean to leave you behind."

"I get it now. If it wasn't my first, I probably would have realized right away that you were at work."

"I think it's great that I met you before you even finished training. You remind me of how much fun it can be to be a Guardian. After a while, it all starts to feel the same. For a change, I've been able to see Earth and our job through your eyes. It's made everything...fresh."

My tongue feels like it's been tied to the roof of my mouth. I want to reply but can't.

Victor squeezes my hand. "Because I've done this so long, I also know you'll be re-ascended very soon. This might be our last chance . . ." His voice trails off again.

"Will you be going home too?" An almost-Angel can hope.

"Nah, I'm a senior, so I have to stay behind and keep my cover." He takes both of my hands into his. "I'll just have to suffer through some cheeseburgers at The Jukebox and the Worthy Idols concert. It's tough, but someone's got to do it," he says in a voice laced with pretend suffering.

I laugh. Staying behind with no Mission to worry about sounds heavenly, but if Victor is right about re-ascension, it won't be an option for me. "Who are you going to take to the concert?" I keep my voice playful, but really _do_ want to know.

He teases too. "Maybe Aisha if she's nice to me. Or Cody. I wanted to take you. A concert would make your heart race."

Thump, thump. You make my heart race.

"There'll be another time. Our Missions will overlap again. I'll make sure of it." Victor sounds convinced of this. He stands and holds his hand out to help me up, then brushes invisible sand from his pants. "So, sunrise?"

My smile feels lopsided. "Sure," I tease. "And how are you going to do that? Is this some power I don't know about yet?"

"Nope. You know about it. You just haven't thought of using it like this." He lightly outlines a circle on my forehead. Standing tall, he gazes skyward, and his wings sprout from his shoulders.

It takes my breath away. This is the third time he's done this—at the football field, at the dance and now. Don't think I'll ever get used to it. My hand reaches toward the wing on his right. "May I?"

Victor smirks and turns around, giving me the full effect of his span. I smooth each wing with flat palms from his shoulders to the tips which end near his knees. In- _splendid_ -credible. Soft, and yet you can feel the strength underneath the feathers.

He turns back around, and the smirk is gone. Now he's got a serene half-smile. It's the one that reminds me of Renaissance paintings. The Michelangelo version of Victor. Then, without a word, he wraps his arm around my waist, tucking me close, and we lift up and skim over the incoming waves.

He flies so low that the ocean mists my face. So fast that the movement of the swells in the water crawl toward the shore. Victor's cheek meets mine as we speed east.

"Don't let go," I say.

Because I won't.

The world around us stops—or at least appears to as we rush onward. This flight feels more like a race, less floaty and cozy. The wind as we fly whips my hair behind me _. Totally extreme._

We're moving so fast that the edge of the horizon curves slightly, dipping to an area right around the bend, and I notice the weirdest thing. The sky around us is lightening. It's less inky, and the stars have faded.

Then, without warning, it happens. The sun bursts out of the sea like a flower. It's fully risen in mere moments. Victor stops and does loop-de-loops, hovering. We must be almost to Europe.

"Now, how good is that?" His lips brush my ears as he whispers. "You got to see the sunrise with me, and all before your midnight curfew." He swoops as he says this, and I swoon.

"It's good," is all I can think to say.

We float around for a few more moments. Then Victor faces westward and we fly with all haste, the sun chasing but nowhere close to catching us. As the Florida coast creeps into view, Victor slows to something less than light speed and lands on the shore so gently, I hardly realize my feet are on the ground. I turn to face him and he embraces me.

"I'm going to miss you, but I did keep my promise, right?"

"Yeah, you did. And I'm going to miss you too." My eyes well. "I'm even going to miss Aisha." I chuff a laugh that's funny and painful.

Victor reaches over his shoulder, tugs, grimaces, then offers one of his feathers to me. It has a long quill with a beautiful, iridescent plume at the end. "Write to me, huh?"

Gently, I take this piece of Victor. "I'm not even good at writing A-mail," I say. "I, um, tend to procrastinate."

Victor laughs and envelops me. "You've gotten better about the procrastination thing. And if you don't feel like writing, just ring me up on the cell."

"Thanks—" I wave the plume like a fan, "—for this."

It's this horribly awkward moment, where neither of us knows what to say. Can we keep time like this? I'll never miss my curfew. I want so much to stay with him that I don't even care about my wings. My insides feel hollow, my eyes heavy. I nibble on my lip.

Victor leans in, bends over and kisses me, soft as one of his feathers.

* * *

Finn screams hysterically as we speed over bumps on a beat-up burlap bag, racing Tara and Cody down the super slide at St. Jude's Annual Carnival. He and I have gone on every single ride that simulates flying: swings that spin out at wild angles, chairs that lift you slowly and drop you to Earth, a huge Egyptian-looking boat that rockets to heights almost vertical if you sit in the back—and we did.

It's all been a blast, but none of it compares to my flight with Victor. The kiss: heavenly. Later, when I checked my cell, there was a message from Michael that had to come at the _exact_ moment of the kiss. "It's time for you to come home . . ." his tone wasn't angry like other calls, but it dripped with disappointment, ". . . before you can have any more distractions." Yeah. He was talking about Victor. How can something that feels right be wrong?

When we reach the bottom, I suggest to Finn, "Let's do something slower."

He grins, grabs my hand and we head over to the merry-go-round. This one is full-sized and unbroken. A toothless old carnie with spotlessly clean hands and nails smiles sweetly at me and then winks. Winks? _Hmm, is that?_

Just before the curve ahead of us, on two pink horses, are Coach Vaughn and Ms. Sands. They smile at each other and chat. As I boost Finn onto a blue horse, Tara and Cody walk by.

"Victor just gave us his tickets to the Worthy Idols concert," Tara gushes. "Can you believe it? He said he had no one to take."

"It's totally miraculous, man." Cody shakes his head in disbelief.

Cody's right about the miracle. It is. Victor really wanted to see that concert. "Awesome," I say.

Tara climbs on a horse in front of me, and Cody stands beside her, his hand over hers on the pole.

_Hi, Grace_. I hear Victor's voice in my head and spy his glorious being out along the fence that circles the ride. All day I've seen him at a distance, usually with Cody, usually when I've been riding with Finn and can't reach him. He might be avoiding me or working on his mission. In a way, I've been avoiding him too. After he hooks my attention, he waves and then points at Tara and Cody.

Cody has his hand on Tara's back, but he's watching his dad and Ms. Sands. When his dad leans over to give Ms. Sands a peck on the cheek, Cody smiles and kisses Tara on the nose.

Victor's voice in my head whispers, _Missions complete_.

The carousel starts and we watch each other as he passes out of sight, but on the next time around he waves at me and my heart floats. Around again. He blows a kiss at me. I'm soaring. Truly. Around again, and he's gone.

* * *

There's no crowd this time at the River of Grass Rec Center. Only me and the Murphys waiting for my charter bus back to Heaven...oops, I mean Montana. Finn has brought Pilot Snoopy with him for comfort and he clutches it tightly against his chest. He's wearing his mitten too, for the first time in a couple of weeks. Tara is carrying a red and white gift bag with Emerald City green tissue paper flowers stuck into the top.

"I wish you didn't have to go back early. It stinks—you were supposed to be here through Christmas."

"The Old Man gets sentimental this time of year," I say.

Mrs. Murphy rests her hand on my shoulder. "It would have been nice to have you, Grace. But we understand how you're probably anxious to get home." Her hand is comforting. Moms are comforting. They really ought to consider having an _official_ Mom in Heaven.

"Here you go." Tara holds the bag out to me. "So you remember us."

In the bag is a set of Wizard of Oz Christmas tree ornaments and a DVD of the movie.

"It's perfect," I say, and my eyes fill up. Wilhelm never discussed goodbyes in the book.

Finn holds his worn Pilot Snoopy out to me. "I don't need him anymore. I want you to have him."

Now the tears spill over, and I hug Finn like I never want to let go.

"Are you sure?" I ask, and he only nods. "Well...thank you." _I wish I'd brought something for them._ Then it hits me. "Wait," I say, digging through the briefcase. "Here it is." I lay the four-leaf clover into Finn's hand. "Remember me, too."

He grins from ear to ear. "I'm lucky!"

Mrs. Murphy looks up. "I think we all were." She gives me a kiss and Mr. Murphy hugs me too.

Tara swipes at her own tears. "You'd better text me the minute you're home safe."

"I will," I say as the bus pulls into the loop. The big bi-fold door sighs as it opens, and you'd never believe who the white-haired guy is behind the wheel. Yep. He must really be into driving.

**Chapter 26**

It feels so strange to knock on my own door.

Mercy peeks out and jumps up and down, squealing. "Oh Grace! I'm so excited to see you!"

She hugs me tight, twirls around and then pulls me into the room. It's been expanded to hold three beds, three desks, three dressers. Faith is sprawled on her bed, reading a book called _Tips for Maintaining Order_. She doesn't look up.

"Hi. You must be Faith." I plunk the hideous black briefcase at my feet.

She glances at the case. " _That's_ your dresser, and _that's_ your desk," she says, pointing.

Well! Mercy said she was bossy, but I had no idea. At least this Mission has taught me to be the bigger person, to ignore the jibes. "You kept the room the same." I motion like a hostess from an Earthly game show.

"Yeah. Faith thought it was nice," Mercy smiles tightly at her replacement roommate. "And she said, what's the point of changing it if you like it?"

Faith looks up from her book. "I never understood why the two of you did that weekly."

"It keeps things exciting. It keeps you thinking about what to choose." I fall onto my bed to test the bounciness. Comfy. "It's so good to be home."

"It's good to see you too." Mercy sits next to me. "So you succeeded?"

"Yep. Hey, do you mind?" I wave at our surroundings again. "I got some cool ideas while I was on Earth."

Mercy grins. "I'd love a new décor, right, Faith? It'd be a nice way to welcome Grace and we've had this one for..." she exhales, "...a while."

Faith rolls her eyes and sticks her nose back into her Making-The-Most-Of-Her-Bossiness book.

It might be cool to do a Yellow Brick Road thing _. Maybe another day._ In the blink of an eye, the room shifts to an Eastern theme, like Wan's, complete with the _cling-ping_ melody playing softly in the background. On my desk is an enormous tank holding an angel fish that swims in circles.

Faith looks bored, but Mercy says, "It's so exotic. I love it!"

I take Victor's plume from the briefcase and lay it on the shelf over my desk. Next is Pilot Snoopy. I set him down by the feather. Finally, I take out Tara's gifts. I wave the DVD case in front of Mercy and say, "We have to watch this together."

Faith buries her nose deeper into the book.

"Okay," Mercy says, "But tell me about your Mission. I've been dying to hear how it ended."

If Faith weren't here, I'd probably just give it all to Mercy straight. But Faith's snootiness makes me feel like embellishing. "Well. See. It turns out I'm pretty good at this stuff. I guess the Big Guy knew what He was doing, because—"

I don't even get to finish bragging because there's a knock on the door. It's Aisha. I haven't seen her since she left the dance.

We give each other a huge been-to-Hell-and-back hug. "I was just telling Mercy about my Mission," I say. "You probably saved me from myself."

Aisha steps back and takes in my remodeling. "Cool room."

Faith—realizing a Full Angel has come into the room—lays down her book and turns suck-up-ish. "I've really admired you ever since we watched that episode of _Angel Bloopers_."

Oh, sure. Bring that up after I've only been home five minutes.

Confession: I'm not as good at ignoring her digs as I thought.

"Seeing as you were watching an Angel-in-Training, it's almost like you were a Dominion. Are you thinking of doing that someday? Because it seems like you'd be a natural," Faith continues. Kissy, kissy.

Ugh! How has Mercy put up with her? Although I did think Aisha could be a Dominion a couple of times.

Faith can't seem to help herself. "That's what I've chosen because, well, it just seems like the highest calling."

"Don't tell that to the Seraphim or the Cherubim." Aisha winks while Mercy and I crack up.

But Dominions are what they are. Faith holds up her book cover and points to the word _Order_. "Oversight is so important. Don't you think someone oversees Seraphim and Cherubim?" She tosses the book aside. "At the very least, it's a good thing she had oversight." With this, she points at me. "Otherwise, there'd be some human wallowing in despair."

Omigawd! She's a drama queen, too?

Aisha folds her arms in front of her chest and takes her superior tone—the one I know so well. "I really enjoyed every minute with Grace. In fact, I learned something important from her."

I blush. "Yeah, right. I didn't teach you anything."

Aisha shakes her head, braids clacking, and reaches into _her_ ugly black briefcase. They're standard issue I guess—the briefcases. I wonder if Michael would be open to feminizing the look for girl Guardians. Aisha pulls out a cell and wiggles it at me. "I just got it! Look—it even has holographic projection!"

"How'd you get it?"

"I took your advice. I asked. I couldn't believe when Michael gave it to me. And the best part is, I can let Michael go to voicemail. I mean, not all the time, but you know when there are those times you just want to postpone talking to him."

Oh boy, did I know. I nod, and Aisha laughs.

"I haven't figured out how to program it yet, but I want your number." She holds the phone out.

I enter my number and notice her _Contact_ list is really short. "Do you want Victor's number too?"

Aisha hesitates. "Sure. That would be great."

Glancing back and forth between my cell and Aisha's, I enter Victor's number and hand the phone back to her. "Have you seen him?"

"Every day at school. He's relishing each minute of Earthly existence without the obligations of Heaven. Totally goofing off." Aisha's expression looks resigned. "You know how he can be. But he did help me out the other day."

I take her hand. "How are things with Lacey?"

"Better. She's still angry about how she _thinks_ her life is, but she's not using and abusing her parents anymore. She hasn't pulled any pranks." Aisha brightens. "And last week, we went to the River of Grass Rec Center and she took Ethan to let him use the playground."

"Wow! That's progress."

Aisha's braids sway as she tips her head. "She still needs me."

"Well then, what are you doing _here_?" Faith asks. It's a mistake to use that tone.

Aisha's casualness evaporates, replaced with that indefinable, supremely confident Angel stance. Geez, I wish I had that kind of confidence. "We're _all_ here for The Ceremony tomorrow." Her voice echoes like she's made some kind of proclamation.

At The Ceremony all the AITs will move up a level or more and will be bestowed with gifts. It's the time and place where wings are handed out. I didn't realize it would be so soon after my return and I never knew Full Angels would be there.

Faith shrinks a bit.

Then, Aisha relaxes. "Victor's here too," she says to me. "I stopped by the Hall of Records on my way here and saw him up on the scaffold, hanging with Michelangelo."

It's cool that Victor wanted to meet Michelangelo. I might just have to stop by the Hall of Records and visit the old guy myself. Who knows who else I might run into?

Aisha continues. "I'll probably see Victor at The Ceremony. We sit in the same section since we were AITs together. Do you want me to tell him anything?"

"Tell him..." There's a part of me that wants to say, _If I get my wings, I'm going to soar around the stadium and touch down right by you._ "I said hi _,_ " I finish.

"I will," Aisha says. "And good luck tomorrow. I'll be rooting for you."

* * *

If you'd asked me if whether I'd get my wings today—four months ago, after my Declaration, I would have said, _no problem._ Two months ago, I'd have said, _no way._ Today, _no clue._

A flock of Celestial Beings circle above me. One by one, they spiral down into the arena for The Ceremony. Landing in the stadium seats that surround us, they give their feathered wings a final flap and fold them to rest against their shoulders. Halos float above each head, lit from within. It's totally impressive, but also a little like some kind of freaky migration.

I sit among all the other white-robed trainees in one of the golden chairs that are lined up over the full length of the field. The newest of us declared our Vocations three short months ago, but others have been at this much longer. On stage, Gabriel leads the choir until this place fills to overflowing. He signals for the singing to stop and reaches for his trumpet.

_Here comes the Head Honcho_.

He moves across the stage. Today, He's an old man—not Santa, not clunker chauffeur, not toothless carnie, not white-haired bus driver—but the elegantly embroidered robes Guy. _I guess that means this is a big deal for Him, too._

When He takes his place at the podium, no microphone is necessary; His voice booms and echoes. "Welcome—One and All. We are here to celebrate those who will serve."

There's a smattering of applause and the rustle of thousands upon thousands of wings.

"That is All. Thank you."

_No. Thank_ You _. Or, rather. . ._

Thank goodness He's a man of few words, because if it were Archangel Michael, this would go on for-e-ver. He floats to the back of the stage and sits in a high-backed throne surrounded by Archangels on either side. Seraphim make lazy eights over His head.

Then, Michael takes center stage. From the podium, he summons each Angel-in-Training. Aurora. Bliss, Bravery . . . As they move across the stage, some still need a little work on their angelic walk, but others have perfected it. When they reach Michael, he presents them with a gift. Some receive a sword; others get a scepter or scales. So lame. While they all look thrilled with those gifts, I really, really, _really_ want my wings.

There are times when he touches their forehead and mouth, and a halo appears, exquisitely resplendent. _That might be okay_. It seems like every fourth or fifth classmate is touched by Michael on their forehead, their mouth and heart and then—the miracle. Wings unfurl from their shoulders. Glorious! The feeling, I mean, not the AIT.

Please. Let me get mine.

Charity. Chastity. I don't know most of these trainees, but the names go on and on and on. Finally I rise, along with the two full rows of Graces. The line inches forward— _c'mon, c'mon_ —until I stand at the base of the steps. My stomach, heart and head are buzzing when Michael says my name, "Grace Lightbourne."

Through the internal noise, the only thing running through my mind is: _Will I get them? Will I get them?_

As I glide to Michael, I give him a teeny smile and I'm surprised to see a hint of one on his face too. I look into his eyes.

Confession: I've never noticed the kindness in Michael's eyes before. I've always been too distracted by the immensity of his wings.

And I realize something else. Michael is head of the Guardians. He's Top Angel, right? Maybe that means we're important after all.

I bow my head.

He lifts it gently, smiling serenely. "Chin up, Grace." I still don't have the knack of that composure thing. Michael places two fingers on my forehead and a soothing warmth forms at the crown of my head, while he whispers so only I can hear, "You did Good."

End of Book 1

Angel in Training Book 2

Grounded! More confessions of an Angel in Training

is now for sale.

Want to learn more about _Winging It!_? Here are some links to Extras:

Character Interviews

Character Pictures

**A Message from Shel Delisle**

Thank you for reading _Winging It!_ I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it. If so, please let a friend know about it or leave a review on Amazon. Word of mouth is an important way that people find my books.

If you'd like to receive e-mails about future releases, please sign up for my newsletter. http://eepurl.com/j29Vv

I'm a little bit of a slacker—like Grace—so you'll only hear from me a couple times a year, at most.

Finally, I love to connect with readers! So here are most of the places you can find me. I hope you hang out at one or more of them.

Website

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**Acknowledgements**

I'd like to thank the following people for being Guardian Angels during the writing and publishing of this book.

Thanks to my totally righteous publication team including: Rhonda Helms, editor, and Matt Delisle, cover artist.

Thanks to my Panera Posse, who are practically on the publication team, Kerry Cerra, Meredith McCardle, Jill MacKenzie, and Kristina Miranda. They are my wings.

Thanks to the Wednesday group who critiqued and helped this story to fly, especially Nicole Cabrera, David Case, Laen Ghiloni, Susan Safra, Jodi Wayne, Mindy Alysse Weiss and, of course, Joyce Sweeney.

I'm also grateful to SCBWI, for their conferences and training, and to the Kindle Boards, for providing a community made up of incredibly generous people. Thanks also to the following people for all kinds of support Larry Bloyd, J.D., Yoshika Green, and beta-reader Josh Wolf. All true angels.

Special thanks to my divine agent, Erica Rand Silverman, who was an early fan of this novel and has always been supportive.

Finally, to my saintly extended family, my boys and my hubby—thanks for being heavenly.

**About the Author**

Shel Delisle is the author of the bestselling teen novel _Dolphin Girl._ While she's no angel, she tries hard to be good and enjoy every minute of her Earthly existence, living in Florida with her hubby, three boys and a very hairy, very sweet dog.

