Authors: Heather Terrell
Fallen Angel (2 page)
I forgot all about him over the next week of school. That was the little lie I told myself as I embarked on advanced English, history, chemistry, Spanish, and calculus, all of which had piled on their workload this year, supposedly to prepare us for college.
But the truth was, I was distracted. I looked for him everywhere. The relative smallness of the upper school—just a hundred students for the junior and senior grades—made his absence that much odder. It was almost like he was a figment of my imagination.
But I couldn’t really ask Ruth if she had seen him too. I’d never hear the end of it. For years I’d been proclaiming indifference and immunity to guys our age. I’d never really felt comfortable with them. They always seemed silly or self-important, and I never felt like I had any common ground with them. Or they with me.
But by lunch on Friday, I was scanning the tables and the cafeteria line for this guy. I could hear the buzz of voices around me, but my focus was elsewhere. It didn’t help that I was exhausted. My nightly dreams were getting more and more vivid, and I woke up feeling as if I’d been up all night. The details would get fuzzier as the day went on, but every night I’d be back in the sky, flying over the town.
“Ellie, are you listening to me?”
I turned to Ruth. “Sorry, what did you say?”
“I swear, you’re like a ghost these past few days. Where are you?”
I thought about how to answer that loaded question. Should I tell her about Missy and company’s suspicious continued attempts at friendliness and blame my distractedness on that? I knew that Ruth didn’t really care that much about their clique, but no one liked to be snubbed and they weren’t exactly seeking her out, even though Ruth and I were kind of a package deal. Or should I stick with the overwhelming schoolwork as the excuse for my preoccupation? I sure didn’t want to pin it on some mystery guy in the hallway. “I’m sorry, I guess the teachers’ constant harping about college has got me distracted. What were you saying?”
“I was actually talking about colleges. Geez, you really are somewhere else, aren’t you? There wasn’t some guy in Kenya this summer that you’ve been keeping to yourself, was there?”
Ruth’s suggestion was ridiculous given the stark reality of my summer in Kenya, and I almost laughed. Until I saw her face. She looked really hurt at the thought that I might keep something from her. I would have thought that my best friend of seven years—almost like the sister I didn’t have—would know better.
But Ruth was complicated. Anyone close to her could see that she was witty, smart, dependable, and intensely loyal, albeit the kind of loyal that occasionally bordered on possessiveness. But you had to get close to see all her wonderful qualities, which wasn’t easy. Ruth lost her mother to cancer when she was in first grade—only months before we met—and she was afraid to let people in, in case they left her, like her mom. To protect herself, she’d erected enormous barriers to friendship, and I was one of the only ones who’d managed to surmount those walls.
“No, I swear. I was up to my elbows in composting and African animal manure. It was hardly a glamorous atmosphere to meet a guy.”
Ruth laughed. “Gross. But knowing your parents, I’m not surprised.” Satisfied, she started talking about her wish list of colleges and the criteria for acceptance, who got in at what rates and all that stuff. I wished that Ruth didn’t worry so much; I knew she’d have her pick when the time came, even though she’d have to rely on scholarships and financial aid to pay her way. Her dad’s salary as a groundskeeper at the university didn’t go too far.
We bussed our trays and made plans to meet up at the coffee shop after school. I walked back to my locker to switch out my English textbooks for Spanish, hoping to avoid Missy and her friends if at all possible. Letting out a sigh of relief as I neared number twenty-four without Piper’s trademark auburn ponytail in sight, I saw him—standing by my locker.
He couldn’t be waiting there for me. It had to be a coincidence. Whatever his reason, I sure wished that I’d stopped in the bathroom after lunch and at least brushed my hair.
Up close, he was better-looking than I remembered, even though he was more striking than cute. But his eyes, so pale and green, unsettled me. Much as mine must unnerve people, I suddenly realized. It was the first time I’d seen anything like them on another person.
I almost couldn’t talk as I reached my locker. But I didn’t have to. Within seconds, he said, “You look different.”
I reminded myself that I’d never met this guy before. What did he mean, and who did he think he was, talking to me with such familiarity? “Different from what? I don’t know how I could possibly look ‘different,’ when we’ve never met before,” I said and buried myself in my locker.
“We have. Three summers ago. In Guatemala.”
That stopped me short. I had been in Guatemala then. As I took my time sorting through my books, I racked my brain. Three summers ago, I had tagged along with my parents’ university training program to a remote, rural area in Guatemala. My parents were college professors specializing in organic farming and, during the summers, they organized trips to destinations around the world, teaching local farmers’ methods to increase production in an earth-friendly manner. Not exactly the jet-setting world travel that Missy probably envisioned. I was expected to roll up my sleeves just like all the other professors, students, and local farmers, so I got to know everyone in the summer programs really well. But I had no recollection of this guy. And he was the kind of guy you’d remember.
This had to be some kind of prank. Maybe this was Missy’s backup humiliation plan because her attempts at faux friendship were failing. Why else would a cute, new senior be approaching me, claiming some nonexistent past acquaintance? Not that I thought I was without charm, mind you, but I was hardly the typical pick for a good-looking senior.
I would not be made a fool, especially by the jerks who thought of themselves as popular. As if that label meant anything in the scheme of life.
Slamming my locker door shut, I said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
As I started to walk away, I heard him say, “You don’t remember the University of Maine agricultural outreach program in Guatemala? Three summers ago? We were both there with our parents.”
The confusion in his voice sounded real. And so did his command of the details. No way Missy would have known all that. No way Piper would have remembered it from our few neighborly conversations. I turned around. He actually looked hurt.
I was about to risk further discussion, when Riley—one of the most popular senior guys and a star athlete—walked by and grabbed his arm. If this guy was friends with Riley, I definitely wasn’t his type. Assuming this wasn’t a joke, of course.
Before I could say anything, Riley started to drag him down the hallway. “Come on, Chase. We’ll be late for practice.”
“Do you remember a guy named Chase? From one of our summer trips?” I asked as casually as possible over dinner that night. I kept my eyes down and played with the pasta on my plate to avoid contact with my parents’ perceptive eyes. I wasn’t used to being coy with them; I’d never had anything of interest to hide. But saying the question aloud made me feel oddly exposed.
“Chase?” my mom asked.
I didn’t look up from my plate, but I swore I heard something like alarm in my mom’s usually serene voice. Normally, she was irritatingly unflappable, the tougher of the two. And infuriatingly beautiful, by the way, despite an avowed aversion to makeup or anything that resembled “fashion.” Only in the past two years had a few lines appeared on her totally natural face and a few grays in her chocolaty-colored hair. Of all their peers and friends, only my dad rivaled her in looks; it was annoying having such attractive parents.
“Yeah, Chase.”
“That doesn’t sound familiar,” she said.
My dad piped in, almost too casually. “I don’t remember a ‘Chase’ either. Why do you ask?”
“Because he introduced himself to me at school today. He’s new. He said he remembered me from the Guatemala trip.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my dad shoot a look at my mom. “Now that I think of it, the name does ring a bell. Chase, you said?”
“Yes.”
“Huh, I seem to recall a nice-looking couple and their son. I think the parents were ethnobiologists. Chase is their last name, if I’m not mistaken.”
I groaned. “Now I really feel like an idiot.”
“What do you mean?”
“When this Chase guy came up to me, I drew a complete blank.”
“Well, it was three years ago, and that team was unusually big. In fact, it was one of our biggest and busiest projects, so I’m not surprised that you don’t remember him,” my mom quickly interjected.
“Your mom’s right, Ellie,” my dad said as he got up from the table and started clearing plates.
“It’s just really strange that I have no memory of him at all, especially since there usually aren’t any kids my age on the trips. Do you remember his first name?” I asked.
“Michael, I think,” my dad answered. He cleared his throat and turned on the water in the sink. “Did this Michael—if that’s even the right name—say why his family moved to Tillinghast?”
“We didn’t get that far in the conversation. I felt embarrassed about not knowing who he was, even though he claimed we’d met, so I was a little rude. Really rude, actually.” I groaned again. “I feel awful now.”
“Don’t worry about it, dearest. You can always apologize.”
“True.” I stood up and began helping my dad with the dishes. As I handed him a rinsed plate for loading, my fingers brushed up against his arm, and it occurred to me that—for all the flashes I got when I touched people—I never got one when I touched my parents. But my thoughts quickly returned to Michael. “To answer your question, I bet his parents are working at the university. I mean, where else would they be working in Tillinghast as ethnobiologists?” Although Tillinghast used to have a bustling millinery industry back in the eighteen hundreds, it was now sort of a one-horse town in terms of employment. Nearly everyone served the university in some capacity or other—whether as professors or as store-owners or something in between.
“But I don’t think I saw their names on the roster of visiting professors. Did you see any Chases on the list, Hannah?” he asked my mom.
“No, Daniel, I didn’t.” She answered quietly, staying seated instead of getting up to help us clean the kitchen as she usually did.
Why was she acting so strange? I wondered. Was it really that weird that I’d asked about a boy? I kind of wished I’d never brought it up. Then again, maybe my parents were just being their normal awkward selves; they always seemed to be acting the role of parents, uncertainly searching around for the right line. I always chalked it up to their being academics through and through—not really entirely in this world.
“Oh, well, you’re probably right, Ellie. I’m sure the university brought them here. We’ll probably run into Michael’s parents in the halls before long,” my dad said.
“I’m sure we’ll run into the whole family soon enough,” my mom echoed, finally rising from the table. “It’s a small town, after all.”
As I continued to rinse off plates and pass them to my dad, I cringed inwardly thinking about my exchange with Michael. On one hand, I felt relieved that his claims to know me weren’t a hoax, but on the other, I knew I’d have to apologize next week.
The phone rang. My dad picked it up and made some small talk before handing it to me. “It’s Ruth, dearest.”
Before I could even say hello, Ruth launched in. “Where were you? I called your cell, I texted you—nothing. I finally just went home. Not cool, Ellie.”
“What do you mean?” I was genuinely mystified.
“The Daily Grind? After school?”
In my haze over Michael, I had forgotten about our plans to meet at the coffee shop. I wandered into the family room, so my parents couldn’t overhear our conversation. “Oh Ruth, I’m so sorry. It totally slipped my mind. Can you forgive me?” I felt terrible. Ruth’s early experience losing her mother made her worry about people’s welfare, among other things.
“Of course. Don’t be ridiculous. But you had me worried. You never forget things. What’s going on with you?”
“Can I chalk it up to jet lag? We got back less than a week ago.” I scrambled for an explanation, any explanation.
“Yes, but please promise to keep your cell on. Okay?”
It annoyed Ruth to no end that I routinely failed to turn on my phone. No one ever called me on it except Ruth and, in emergencies, my parents. “I promise.”
“Now, you’re not going to forget our plans to go to the movies tomorrow night, are you?”
I laughed in relief at the mock scolding in Ruth’s voice. “Of course not. Would I miss Audrey Tatou’s latest?” We both adored foreign movies, though for very different reasons, and went nearly every weekend. Ruth loved how different cultures told stories, while I was drawn to the exotic settings. Ruth could never understand why I didn’t get my fill of that over the summers. No amount of explaining on my part could make her understand that farming in rural Kenya or Guatemala bore absolutely no resemblance to the Parisian café culture.
“Good. I’ll see you at seven at the Odeon.”