by Scott Speer
“Maddy,” Gwen said sternly. “Don’t you realize you guys just had the moment?”
“The moment?” Maddy asked.
“Of course,” Gwen said, explaining: “That’s when a boy sees you in the perfect outfit, and the light is falling on you just right, and you’re laughing or smiling, and everything about the moment is so perfect that he falls in love with you. I mean, he’s seen you at the diner, of course, but he hasn’t seen you-seen you until right now!”
Maddy looked down at her jeans and hoodie. “Gwen, I barely said anything to him,” she protested. Besides, what was up with Kyle giving her that wink? Gwen hadn’t seemed to see it, thankfully.
“Trust me,” Gwen said with a knowing smile. “You guys just had your moment.”
Maddy looked down the hall in the direction Ethan had walked. He’d always been totally friendly when they’d interacted at the diner, but she couldn’t remember having felt, like, sparks. Still, he was definitely nice-looking.
“Maddy,” Gwen said, her tone suddenly pleading, “You’ve never had a boyfriend; you’ve never even been on a real date. Please, you can’t let me down now.”
Maddy looked into Gwen’s eyes and sighed. This wasn’t a battle she was going to win today.
“Okay,” she said, “I’ll think about it.”
“Perf!” Gwen squealed.
Maddy turned back to her locker—and froze. She stood there, trying to figure out why her mood had suddenly flipped to a feeling of suffocating dread. She glanced down the hallway. Next to her, Gwen typed away on her phone, not seeming to notice that anything was wrong. But to Maddy the corridor seemed gaping and haunted. Distorted sounds echoed through it. Maddy had experienced this before—a bad feeling coming out of nowhere—but never this strong. Never this vivid. She forced herself to take a deep breath and closed her eyes. When she reopened them, the hallway was once again normal. The banks of lockers, the scuffed linoleum, the yellowed ceiling tiles—it was all as it should be. She shook the lingering feelings away.
The bell rang, a nasal monotone drone, and students scrambled into their classrooms. Gwen gave Maddy a hug, then skipped away down the hall. Maddy affectionately watched her go and wondered what it must feel like to be so bubbly and blissfully happy all the time. Then she grabbed her backpack and closed her locker with a metallic click.
CHAPTER THREE
Jackson Godspeed was still asleep when his maid, Lola, came into the room.
“Time to get up, Jackson,” she said in her warm Latin accent. “Breakfast will be served in five minutes.”
Half-unconscious under the sheets, Jacks reached a hand out and fumbled for the remote on the nightstand. His fingers found the thing and powered on a sixty-inch plasma television, which descended from the ceiling. The sounds of Angel Television, or A!, as it was simply known, came over the speakers. Tara Reeves, the morning anchor who always wore spaghetti-strap minidresses and too much makeup, was unusually energized as she announced the day’s top story.
“Brace yourselves, ladies, this is the week you’ve all been waiting for! Angel superstar Jackson Godspeed will be Commissioned as a Guardian this Friday, making history as the youngest, and some say hottest, Guardian Angel ever! That’s right, it’s Commissioning Week in Angel City, and we will have your live, breaking coverage of all the Angels right here!”
Groggily, Jacks began to wake up. He’d had his final Guardian test the day before and afterward had gone out to celebrate with his best friend, Mitch. Lola went to the window and pulled back the curtains, revealing a panoramic view of Angel City, downtown Los Angeles, and the ocean beyond. She went to the closet and laid out Jackson’s clothes for the day: a Calvin Klein suit, YSL shoes, and Ray-Ban sunglasses. Meanwhile, Tara continued excitedly on the plasma.
“Of course the questions on everyone’s mind are, will Jacks be able to live up to the pressure at his age? Can he step into the shoes of the glamorous Godspeed Guardians? And maybe most important of all, who will be Jackson’s first Protection? Guesses include presidential daughters, pop stars, and even Bill Gates’s oldest daughter. Thousands of girls across the nation will undoubtedly be hoping—or maybe just wishing—that it will be them, and who can blame them? Who wouldn’t want to wake up in Jackson Godspeed’s arms as his first save?!”
Jacks sat up in bed, his broad chest and chiseled midsection framed in the shaft of light from the window. With flawless model-like features and pale blue eyes, Jacks was the image of perfection, Angel or otherwise. Reaching out his arms, he spread his wings in a sudden, dramatic motion, stretching after a night of deep sleep. Not the fluffy white wings of Renaissance paintings, Jackson’s wings were sleek and muscular, with feathers sharp enough to cut. A warm blue glow lingered around them, a glow that grew astonishing at night. No other Angel had wings with this luminescence. Each Angel was born with his or her own signature wings, with special features and marks. But nothing like this. The wings were just as famous as his face. Many breathless commentators said they marked Jacks out for something even more special than just being the youngest Angel ever to reach Guardian status. The mania surrounding Jacks’s Commissioning had all but drowned out the coverage of the other Angels unfortunate enough to have to share the spotlight this year with the Jackson Godspeed as they were commissioned too.
“So keep it locked to A! all week long as we bring you exclusive coverage of the parties and events, the glamorous red carpet, and the ceremony itself as Jackson Godspeed and nineteen other Immortals become Guardian Angels this Friday! And don’t forget to follow all your favorite Angels online at Aonline .com or on Twitter at AngelcrazyA!”
Jacks yawned and retracted his wings. They disappeared into his bare back, leaving only two small marks below his shoulder blades. The marks were graceful spirals, almost like tattoos that glowed supernaturally. These were his Immortal Marks—the mark of every Angel—which indicated Jacks was not human.
As he brushed his teeth, Jacks tuned out the stock footage of girls camped out outside his house, screaming for him at events, and running after his custom red Ferrari in the street. This was the biggest week of his life, and he needed to focus. Lola was making his bed when he emerged from the bathroom, fully dressed. He picked up the Calvin Klein jacket, looked at it, and threw it over a chair back. Instead he opted for a vintage-looking—but obviously new—Led Zeppelin T-shirt, J Brand jeans, and Converse. He kept the glasses.
“Thanks, Lola,” he said, giving her a kiss on the cheek, and headed out the door and into the hall.
The Godspeed mansion was breathtaking. A neoclassical, Italian palazzo–style villa, it contained vaulted ceilings, dramatic marble staircases, and a sleek, modern interior design. The house had been featured in numerous architecture and design magazines over the years, but to Jacks, it was just home. He headed down the stairs, pausing when he reached the bottom to look at the full wall of framed magazine covers that stood across from the landing. They were his covers and went all the way back to when he was little, the boy Angel wonder of the famous Godspeed line. He reread some of the captions, from “SUPER TOT!” and “ANGEL IN WAITING!” in his early years to “HOLY HOTTIE!” and “HALO HUNK!” as he got older. The most recent covers depicted Jackson as a heroic Angel with smoldering eyes and an increasingly unbuttoned shirt, his signature wings often spread just behind him. It suddenly occurred to Jacks that he had grown up on these covers, and the world had watched. Now they would be watching as he took the final step—the step he had been working toward for so long—and became a Guardian Angel.
Jackson’s entrance into the kitchen went unnoticed by his stepfather, who was scanning a work report on his laptop. Jacks thought he glimpsed the letters HDF on the screen in the report as he passed by to kiss his mother, Kris, who brightened at the sight of her only son.
“Morning, honey,” she said. Even in her bathrobe, Kris radiated the refined beauty for which she was famous. Before she had children, she’d been one of the most popular Guardians. Now she helpe
d administer the largest Angel charity and was always running from one fund-raising event to another across Angel City. “Ready for your big week?”
“He better be.” Mark folded his laptop screen down. “He’s been waiting for this his whole life. Haven’t you, son?”
“Absolutely, Mark,” Jacks said, trying to sound confident.
“Ready to make that first save?” Mark asked.
It was a loaded question coming from his stepfather. Mark had been one of the most famous Guardian Angels of all time, and his first save had been brilliant. He had gone on to become one of the most famous and powerful Archangels, though he still handled a few select Protections—in fact, apparently, he’d come home late from one the night before, although Jacks hadn’t seen any media coverage of it yet. Most of Mark’s time, though, was taken up being the lead Archangel in charge of disciplinary issues, making the tough decision when a Guardian should have his wings removed after a failed save, which was a rare but painful ordeal for the Angel community. Gabriel and the entire Council of Twelve had nothing but faith in Jackson’s stepfather, and his achievements were a lot to live up to.
Jacks’s gaze drifted down to Mark’s Divine Ring. It was the ring worn by every Guardian, a symbol of responsibility and power. It was all Jacks had ever wanted, ever since he could remember, and Mark had been an encouraging—and demanding—taskmaster on the path to getting it. Jacks watched it glint in the sunlight. Then he looked up at Mark.
“Well, I do feel unprepared,” he admitted. “I wish I had a better idea who the Archangels were putting under my protection.”
Mark gave his stepson a sly smile but said nothing, and returned to his laptop.
The side door to the kitchen swung open and the family chef, Juan, guided in a silver breakfast cart piled with pastries, fresh fruit, juice, and coffee. It had always been this way for the Godspeeds, every morning, as long as Jacks could remember. He would have been impressed, except he had never known anything else. Mark took a cup of coffee for himself and handed a glass of orange juice to Jacks.
“Jacks, you know I’m not going to say a word about your Commissioning,” Mark said. “You’re my son, and I love you, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to treat you any different than any other young Guardian out there.”
“I know that, Mark—”
“And I’m not going to take it easy on you this year, either,” Mark went on, grabbing a plate and loading it with pastries. “You’ll have to prove yourself to me like any other Angel.”
“Mark—”
“And Jackson . . .”
Jacks looked up from his own plate and met his stepfather’s gaze.
“I like it when you call me Dad.”
“I won’t let you down . . . Dad,” Jacks said.
Mark nodded. “I know you won’t.”
Kris cleared her throat, flashing her husband a pointed glance. “Mark. Can we please have a nice breakfast as a family and put work talk aside for a minute?”
“Sure, honey. Of course,” Mark said, but he held Jacks’s gaze a moment longer before heading to the table. He meant what he said. Jacks leaned against the kitchen island and took a bite of pastry. He knew his stepfather was right. He thought about his training, in which he’d broken records and shocked his teachers with his prowess. He’d gotten early Angel endorsements, even as young as fourteen. And now he would be taking his place as the latest Godspeed Guardian. The eyes of the entire world would be on him this week, and on that first save. His time to perform had come.
Footsteps echoed down the stairs as Jacks’s younger sister, Chloe, burst into the kitchen. The full-blooded child of Mark and Kris, Chloe had much more the look of her father: sharp, almost severe features, a kind of beauty so intense it was almost cold. As usual, she had her head buried in her BlackBerry.
“Oh my God, did you see these pictures from yesterday?” she announced. “They actually came in to the store with me and were, like, hiding behind stuff, trying to see what I was buying.” She wrinkled her nose. “I hate the paparazzi; they are so annoying. That shirt looks really cute on me, though,” she said, showing her BlackBerry to Kris.
“You look great, sweetheart,” Kris said lovingly.
“I know, right? Dad, can’t we sue them or something?”
“Well, it depends,” Mark said, chuckling. His cell phone rang and he rose to take the call, walking over by the window to talk in an undertone.
Chloe’s fingers flew over the keypad as she went to different blog sites, looking at the different pictures the paparazzi had gotten of her and reading the comments. She walked over to the breakfast cart and, with her free hand, poured a glass of orange juice.
“Hey, Jacks, ready for this week?” she said without looking up.
Jacks smiled at his baby sister. “I didn’t know A! paid you all to interview me over breakfast.”
Chloe rolled her eyes. “You better be ready. Don’t let the family name down.” She took a swig from her juice and made a face. “Ew. Juan!” she yelled, letting her voice carry through the kitchen as she continued to surf her Berry. Juan’s sweating face appeared in the doorway. “This juice tastes funny. I think something’s wrong with it.”
“My apologies, Ms. Chloe,” Juan said. “I squeezed it fresh this morning.”
“Well, it tastes funny to me,” Chloe said. “Make it again, okay?” Looking confused, Juan obediently took the jug of juice away.
“. . . destructive addiction that must be dealt with!” Mark snapped, startling his family. “I want to meet with you at ten to discuss this.” He ended the call and returned to the table. “Not to worry,” he said calmly, sitting back down and pouring more coffee.
“If you say so, honey,” Kris replied, looking concerned. He leaned over to whisper in her ear.
Chloe grabbed the remote on the island and powered the downstairs TVs. Two flat screens in the breakfast room and one in the living room blinked to life, all set to A! The same breathless anchor, Tara Reeves, had moved on from headlines to photos.
“Hot photos! Vivian Holycross was spotted as she stepped out to do some shopping yesterday on Rodeo Drive. The Angel beauty picked up accessories from Fendi and Valentino while trying to avoid those pesky paps.”
The flat screen showed the image of Vivian running with shopping bags while trying to hide behind a pair of Chanel sunglasses.
“Her boots are so cute,” Chloe breathed, then glanced over at Jacks. “She is so hot, Jacks. You should have never broken up with her.” As if in agreement, Tara continued on-screen.
“But while she looks amazing as always, the question we really want to know is, are they or aren’t they? Is Vivian secretly back together with drool-worthy Jackson Godspeed?”
As she spoke, the footage cut to a photo of Vivian from an ad for her own fashion line. Her wings extended out behind her, displaying finely spun gold spirals that spread out in delicate patterns, glittering. They were considered by some to be the sexiest wings of all time. “Vivian’s publicist would neither confirm nor deny, but the rumors are swirling. Together or not, they remain, easily, the hottest Angel couple on the planet!”
The kitchen had gone quiet. Kris raised her eyebrows knowingly. Mark turned toward Jacks with a pregnant expression. Jacks sighed.
“We’re just friends,” he announced to the room. “We are not getting back together.”
“Well, we like her very much, son,” Mark said. “You know that.”
“Yes, that has been made abundantly clear to me,” Jacks said with a laugh.
“Jacks, we would so get along,” Chloe said pleadingly, coming around the kitchen island to pull on her half brother’s arm. “Now that I’m older, I can totally see her and me being best friends.”
“Let’s give the young Angel a break for now,” Mark said, winking at Jacks. “He’ll be seeing her this week.”
Feeling suddenly tired, Jacks put his glass in the sink. He went out to the foyer.
Keys hung on a rack under the se
curity camera monitor: Jacks’s Ferrari, Mark’s M7, Kris’s hybrid Lexus, and Chloe’s Porsche—which, Jacks thought, was a little ostentatious for such a young Angel. He grabbed his keys and returned to the kitchen, where he kissed his mother and snatched a final piece of toast off the cart before heading toward the door.
“Jackson?” Mark called after him.
Jacks turned in the doorway.
“Good luck this week,” Mark said.
“There’s no need for luck when there are Angels in the world,” Jacks replied.
“Who taught you that?”
Jacks smiled. “You did.”
With that and an approving nod from his stepfather, Jacks disappeared out the door and into the blinding southern California sunshine.
• • •
Jacks cruised down Sunset Boulevard in his cherry-red Ferrari, passing the famous boutiques, restaurants, and rock clubs of the Halo Strip. It was going to be a busy day, as usual. In an hour he was scheduled to make an appearance at the Angels Weekly style lounge, where he would share his thoughts about his Commissioning in an exclusive interview and then pose for pictures with lucky fans. He wasn’t a fan of the magazine—AW was one of the most notorious Angel gossip rags—but Darcy, his publicist, had more or less forced him to do it. Keep them happy, she had told him, keep them off your back.
From there he would make a quick stop at the Lexus Angel’s Flight VIP room, where he would do another interview and would most likely have to decline an offer for a free Lexus LF-A. Again. He had already told them—and it was the truth—that there just wasn’t any more room in the garage, but he knew that wouldn’t stop them from offering again. Maybe he could donate it to charity, he thought, and made a mental note to do so. Then he would rush over to the EA Saved! 2 video game launch party. The new version gave players the option of being Guardian Jackson Godspeed, and experts were predicting it would easily become the best-selling game of the year. As part of the endorsement deal, he would be giving ten awestruck contest winners the chance to play against him during his agreed-upon one-hour appearance. Finally, he would try and make it to his own Halo Magazine Pre-Commissioning party.
