Budding Star

by Annie Dalton

  “Yes,” he said hastily. “I realise that.”

  Jessica fixed us with her beautiful-but-alarming long-distance eyes. “If all goes well, you will get to experience that miraculous moment when the soul accepts your help, and of its own free will, decides to move on to the next stage of existence.”

  She went to stand by a door that I totally hadn’t noticed until now. “And now for the fun part of the course,” she smiled. “Behind this door is a simulation chamber designed to replicate the type of conditions you can expect to find in Limbo dimensions!”

  Promise not to laugh, but when I first got here, I thought “limbo” was the name of that embarrassing dance my step-dad tried to do one Christmas when he’d had a few too many Bacardi Breezers!! I couldn’t understand why our teachers kept banging on about it! Then I flicked to the back of the Angel Handbook and discovered that “limbo” is also the name of the cosmic no-man’s-land that exists between the human world of Time and Space and the shimmery light fields of the Afterlife.

  I can’t stand angels who talk shop, so I’m not going to burble on about our experiences at Rose Hall. But I will just say that Jessica Lightpath is a truly inspiring teacher. Which is also exactly what Tanya said when she presented her with a big bunch of flowers at the end of the course. Jessica was so surprised and touched she actually had tears in her eyes.

  I felt quite emotional myself. After a weekend playing “agents and souls”, I’d become really close to everyone on the course in a way that’s hard to explain. When I first became an angel trainee, working in a team was a major challenge; now it was the thing about my work I loved the most. And I was on the verge of giving it all up to teach baby angels.

  Going home on the bus, everyone was exchanging phone numbers. Indigo leaned over my seat, and gave me his special smile. “How does it feel to be the class butterfly magnet, Melanie?”

  I tried to smile back. “Makes it quite tricky to take notes.”

  “I can lend you mine, if you want to write it up,” he offered/

  “Oh, thanks. Actually, I don’t know if -”

  “You can copy my notes,” Reuben said in my ear, “if you can read my spidery handwriting.”

  “Thanks, Sweetpea,” I said, feeling like a lying monster.

  I still hadn’t told him about my new career plans. I pretended it was because the Soul-retrieval course was so full-on, but I was really just being a wuss.

  On the long journey home, I felt more confused than ever. Don’t get me wrong, I still thought that teaching baby angels was a v. worthwhile career. I just couldn’t help thinking it might be a teensy bit samey, when you had to do it day after day after day. How was I going to feel, really, when the highlight of my week was teaching baby angels the actions to “Five Fat Sausages”?

  I stared out of the window at the moonlit landscape, remembering how I’d felt when I walked into the portal, and suddenly found I couldn’t breathe.

  I told myself there was nothing to be ashamed of. What was so cool about constantly exposing yourself to the Powers of Darkness? What was so wonderful about taking constant cosmic risks?

  I was getting that hot-potato feeling in my chest, a sign Helix is getting twitchy. Helix is what I call my inner angel. In the past, she’s given me heaps of helpful angelic info, and the Mel Beeby part of me has often benefited from her wit and wisdom. However, at this moment, I had no intention of asking for Helix’s advice, because it would almost certainly contain really ugly keywords like “PODS”, “SCARED”, “WUSS” and “FIGHT BACK”. As in, “Admit it, babe, you’re SCARED. It finally hit you that the PODS want to destroy every celestial agent in existence, and you’re too much of a WUSS to face up to them and FIGHT BACK.”

  I shut my eyes, trying to stop tears leaking from under my lashes.

  Mel Beeby, I thought miserably, you are one crazy mixed-up angel.

  Chapter Three

  Careful what you ask for… the Universe is listening,” Miss Dove constantly warns her class.

  This has to be true, because let me tell you, after I came back from the soul-retrieval course I got EXACTLY what I’d been asking for. No dangerous field trips, no urgent midnight summons from the Agency. Everything trundled along as smoothly as my nan’s tea trolley.

  I went to school and did my assignments. I helped out at the nursery. I had a LOT of early nights. Oh, and one time Lola and I went shopping.

  Actually that was weird. I almost bought heaps of things. Like, I almost bought a bag. Ohh, heavenly bags are just divine. This one had a really subtle camouflage design, but was way more girly than that sounds. Inside were all these cool little pockets, making it ideal for field trips. Then, with a strange little pang, I remembered there wouldn’t be any more field trips, and quickly put the bag back on the display.

  Know what I bought in the end? One measly CD! When I got it back to my room, the guy had given me a CD of traditional Japanese harp music by mistake!

  The Universe was setting me up, big time, but I didn’t notice.

  I felt really weird that week, too, in a way that’s hard to describe; as if part of me was listening out for sounds or voices just beyond my normal range. It made me feel v. slightly deranged.

  It’s a good thing you’re not going to be an agent, Melanie, I thought gloomily. When it comes to promoting Peace on Earth, a nutty angel is not your first choice of personnel.

  I’m embarrassed to tell you that I still hadn’t told my mates about my decision. They knew something was off, obviously. They’re my mates. I think maybe they didn’t like to hassle me.

  That night Lola and I had arranged to hook up. I’d mentioned that Indigo had recommended FEATHERS, and she was keen to check it out. She turned up looking completely angelicious in a gauzy fairy dress with clumpy boots, that shouldn’t go, but actually totally did!

  Me? I was wrapped in a glamorous Angel Academy towel. Water dripped pathetically from my hair. “I’m late, aren’t I?” I said guiltily.

  Lola gave me the look we call her La Sanchez look. “This is getting to be a habit, angel girl. Being late, leaving early, cancelling at the last minute.”

  “I’m really sorry, Lollie. I just got, you know, held up.”

  “Yeah, in your bathroom,” she said in a sour voice.

  I desperately tried to fake some party sparkle. “No, I swear, I’ve been looking forward to this for days!”

  “Oh, I know.” she said insincerely. “What’s that B-thing you’re always saying? The best buzz about being an angel, is boogying with buddies who just saved your booty’? Funny,” she added. “I don’t think I’ve heard you say that in a while.”

  She knows, I thought.

  I took a shaky breath. “I really didn’t mean to tell you like this, but I don’t think I’m actually cut out to be that kind of angel.”

  I’d like to tell you that my soul-mate was v.v. understanding.

  She wasn’t. She was unbelievably hurt, and when Lola feels hurt she always has to hide it by blowing her top. We had a hugely distressing conversation, in which I never once managed to say how I really felt. It was only after Lola had stormed out, that I realised what I should have said. “I can’t be your kind of angel, because I can’t bear to see anyone get hurt EVER, like the PODS hurt you in Jamaica.” Now it was too late.

  This wasn’t the first time we’d had a big fight. But that night it truly felt as if it was the last.

  I was so upset that I actually did what they tell you in advice columns. I lit a LOT of scented candles, ran a hot bath, squirted in my fave rose bath essence, and climbed in for a good cry.

  I’d deliberately put my stereo on continuous play. Unfortunately I’d left the Japanese harp CD in. I was up to my ears in bubbles by the time I realised, so I just let the atmospheric sounds wash over me. Actually it was kind of soothing, so when I went to bed, I left it on; and fell asleep with Japanese harps plinking in my ear.

  When the phone rang I was so deeply asleep I couldn’t find the handset
for ages, then when I did pick it up I was still so groggy that I immediately dropped it again. “Melanie speaking,” I mumbled. “Oh, hi, Michael! I thought you were away.”

  “I was,” said the familiar deep voice, “until an hour ago. Something came up and I had to come back.”

  I don’t know your headmaster, obviously, but I’m fairly sure that Michael isn’t like any headmaster you’ve ever come across on Earth. That’s probably because he’s an archangel, one of the major powers behind the Agency. Michael also has special responsibilities for Earth, so he’s constantly zooming off to historical hot spots.

  He sounded very tired, and unusually worried. “I’ll get straight to the point. We need two volunteers for an urgent soul-retrieval.”

  My inner angel sighed with relief. So that’s what was going on!

  “Jessica Lightpath suggested I approach you,” Michael was saying. “She was impressed with your performance on her course.”

  If I’d been properly awake, I’d have launched straight into my sad story about giving up trouble-shooting. But Helix just jumped in with both feet. “Have you asked Reuben?”

  “Reuben’s next on my list,” said Michael.

  “Then tell him I’m in,” I said briskly.

  Having kicked me out of my nice warm bed, Helix was now making me hunt through my cupboards. I balanced the phone in the crook of my neck, while I hunted for the well-worn combats I thought I’d hung up forever. “So whose soul are we meant to be retrieving?”

  “Her name is Tsubomi.” Michael pronounced it Sue-bo-mee.

  “She sounds Japanese.” I was trying to climb into my combats without putting the phone down.

  “Yes, she’s from twenty-first century Japan.”

  “So what’s the cosmic protocol? Do we go to Japan first, or buzz directly to Limbo or what?”

  But my inner angel was moving too fast even for Michael.

  “Melanie, I think I should warn you that Tsubomi’s situation is not as straightforward as the scenarios you practised on the course.”

  Helix and I had finally succeeded in zipping up my trousers one-handed. “OK, you’ve warned me. So what is the situation exactly?”

  There was a weird silence on the other end, then Michael said, “This girl isn’t actually dead.”

  There were four of us in the viewing suite. Me, Reuben, Michael and Sam, Michael’s assistant. The lights were off, so I didn’t see Reuben’s expression when Tsubomi’s face flashed up on the screen; I just heard him catch his breath.

  Tsubomi was one of the most beautiful girls I have ever seen, but her face was shockingly empty. The mysterious inner light that made Tsubomi “Tsubomi”, had gone.

  A forest of wires and tubes connected her to the beeping gurgling machines that were keeping her body alive.

  I swallowed hard. You see, I knew this girl. I can’t tell you where I knew Tsubomi from; like, if we’d both been temple dancers in a past life. I knew her, that’s all. I could feel invisible cosmic strings running from her struggling heart to mine, and it really upset me. Because things didn’t look good for Tsubomi; they didn’t look good at all.

  I was only thankful we weren’t at her bedside for real. Seeing it on-screen was distressing enough. This young girl was literally on the brink of death, and two furious women were arguing across her bed. They were squabbling, if you can believe this, about who was to blame for Tsubomi taking an accidental overdose. Don’t ask me how that was supposed to help.

  One of the women, who looked like she might possibly be Tsubomi’s mum, was practically spitting. “It’s obvious you’ve never had children! You should have given the tablets to me. I’d have made sure she took the correct dose.”

  The other woman wore clingy leather that probably cost a bomb, but made her look disturbingly like Cat Woman. She was so angry you could hear her jewellery rattling. “The girl was exhausted, you stupid COW. We’d signed a million-dollar contract. She couldn’t do the fashion shoot with freaking great shadows under her eyes.”

  “LOOK at her!” shrieked Tsubomi’s mum. “Does my daughter look like she can do a fashion shoot to you! Three weeks she’s been lying here like a zombie. THREE WEEKS.”

  A nurse rushed in. “Mrs Hoshi,” she said reproachfully, “this kind of behaviour will not help your daughter’s recovery.”

  “The only thing that can help her is a miracle!” Tsubomi’s mum snapped.

  “Miracles happen. I have witnessed several here in this room,” the nurse insisted.

  Mrs Hoshi looked contemptuous. “This is life, not TV. My daughter is not going to be ‘touched by an angel’. She’s probably going to be a vegetable for the rest of her days.”

  The nurse looked shocked. She took a deep breath. “I’m sure the doctor told you that when someone is in a deep coma, their hearing is unusually acute. Please don’t let your daughter hear you saying these negative things. Tell her you love her, that you want her to get better. Play her favourite songs.”

  “You just don’t get it!” Mrs Hoshi raged. “This stupid girl had the world at her feet, but she was weak just like her father, and she just threw it all away!”

  “Mrs Hoshi, you are speaking about your child!” The nurse made an effort to control her temper. “Why don’t you go and get some coffee.”

  She slid a disk into the CD player on Tsubomi’s bedside table. A sunny, boppy, totally forgettable pop song filled the room.

  “Play something else,” a voice pleaded. For the first time I noticed the man slumped in the corner. His eyes were red from weeping. He looked like he hadn’t slept for weeks.

  “That must be her dad,” I murmured to Reuben. “So who’s Cat Woman, do you reckon?”

  “Miss Kinsho is Tsubomi’s agent,” Michael’s assistant murmured.

  I was gobsmacked. “Her agent! That’s Tsubomi singing?”

  “It’s the first track she ever recorded. It topped the charts for weeks.”

  “She called it ‘Bubble-gum Music’,” Tsubomi’s father was saying on-screen. “She told me once she wished every last copy could be melted down.” He fumbled in his jacket and brought out a disk. “I brought this. I thought it might bring back happy memories.”

  “Of you?” jeered Mrs Hoshi. “You were never there! You were always shut away in your stupid workshop.”

  Tsubomi’s father looked ashamed. “I run a small business, making traditional musical instruments,” he explained humbly to the nurse. “When Mi-chan was small, she liked to hear me play the koto.”

  “She doesn’t care about that! Do you always have to make such a fool of yourself?” Mrs Hoshi hissed at her husband.

  He gave her a pained smile, “You were a fool once yourself, Mariko, before you let this new love affair destroy our lives.”

  “Love affair!” She was outraged. “What are you babbling about?”

  Mr Hoshi’s voice was only just audible. “Your love affair with money.”

  “I’m not staying here to be insulted!” Mrs Hoshi stormed out and Miss Kinsho rushed after her. We could hear them yelling at each other in the corridor. The nurse shot out to calm things down.

  Mr Hoshi looked down at the beautiful empty face of his daughter.

  “Mi-chan, what have we done to you?” he asked in a broken voice. “I didn’t mean to let so much distance grow between us. I was just so busy and your mother seemed to - well, she gave me the impression you were both managing fine without me. But I should have realised…” Tsubomi’s dad was weeping openly now. He took his daughter’s limp hand and stroked it. “Come back, Mi-chan,” he whispered. “Give me a second chance.”

  I was stealthily blowing my nose, so it took me longer than it should have done to register the music drifting from the speakers.

  “I just bought this CD!” I gasped. “I was listening to it like, an hour ago!”

  “I don’t get it. Why would a beautiful, talented, fourteen year old try to kill herself?” Reuben sounded choked up.

  Sam slid a disk i
nto the DVD. “Technically speaking, this is classified cosmic material. But we thought you needed to see it.”

  He clicked a key and the hospital scene dissolved.

  The Agency had been making a documentary of Tsubomi’s life. They had film footage going back to when she was born. An MTV-type montage showed her growing up from a chubby baby, to a four-year-old tot in pyjamas, solemnly looking out at the night sky while her daddy sang and played some kind of Japanese harp, to a six-year-old cutie singing happily to herself, as she swung to and fro on a swing. Her mother watched from a doorway.

  There’s a look humans get when they get too close to the Dark Powers. You absolutely can’t mistake it.

  “They seemed like ideal parents for Tsubomi,” Michael said. “Yakusho Hoshi was a skilled craftsman and musician, who inspired his daughter with a love of music. His wife, Mariko, was a former singer who quickly recognised her daughter’s talent. Sadly, she saw Tsubomi’s gift as a means to grab money and power for herself.”

  On-screen, a stressed Mrs Hoshi was giving Tsubomi a singing lesson. “SMILE! SPARKLE!” she commanded. “Eyes and teeth, Mi-chan! Eyes and TEETH!”

  In the next clip we saw a ten-year-old Tsubomi being pushed on to a makeshift stage to sing to a room full of unimpressed OAPs. It was a dire song, and Tsubomi looked hugely uncomfortable. Yet even then you could see she was a star in the making.

  When Tsubomi was twelve years old, her mother entered her for a well-known TV talent show. Mrs Hoshi was determined to make the all-male judges sit up and take notice. And, oh boy, did they take notice!

  This sweet, fresh-faced twelve year old bounded in front of the cameras, dressed in the kind of school uniform that would get any real schoolgirl expelled on the spot. With her blouse knotted above her navel, and literally flashing her knickers, Tsubomi belted out a cheesy pop number, doing things with her pelvis that would have shocked my Nan to the core.

  “Is Mrs Hoshi NUTS?” I hissed to Reuben. “She shouldn’t be exploiting Tsubomi like this!”