Looking into Michael’s eyes, Phaedra could tell he wasn’t being dramatic or exaggerating. Looking into her heart, she knew he was telling the truth. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, something was happening to her, something unforeseen, and it was preventing her from helping him. “What do you mean, the second time?”
Michael recounted his fight with Nakano in the swimming pool the first day of the winter semester and then last night’s encounter. He emphasized that both times Ronan came to his rescue so there was no real harm done, but he couldn’t stop himself from reminding her of what she told him. “You said you were still here for me.”
“I am!” Phaedra cried, sounding as if she were trying to convince herself even more than Michael. “I’m sure if there was any real danger, I would have heard you.”
“Well, I didn’t realize I was in any real danger until, you know, my head was being bashed into the ground,” Michael said with a heavy dose of sarcasm. “And by then I figured it would just be better to take my chances and fight back instead of waiting for the cavalry.”
Stunned, Phaedra could barely respond. “I’m sorry, Michael,” she stammered. “I had no idea.”
Now that Michael had said what he wanted to say, albeit with a lot more aggression than he had expected, he felt bad seeing Phaedra so upset, truth was she had helped him survive many other perilous situations. “Clearly our communication skills suck,” Michael said, trying to lighten the tone of the conversation. “Why don’t we come up with a code word? Something super specific that’s just between the two of us so there’s no way you won’t know it’s me.” Michael thought for a moment and then exclaimed, “Something like Mykonos, where you said you were born!”
Phaedra was only half listening to what Michael was saying, she was too busy hearing her own voice berate her, call her things like selfish, embarrassing, dishonorable. The only reason she existed was to protect, and if she couldn’t do that properly, well, then maybe she should leave, return. But no, she didn’t want to think about that; she was definitely enjoying her time here on earth. She had forgotten how many exciting adventures this planet had to offer and she had never inhabited the body of a teenage girl before. It was a good fit. No, she wanted this to work. “That sounds like an excellent plan,” she said finally. “Our own private code word. I’m sure that will solve everything.”
“Perfect,” Michael said, glad that Phaedra was so agreeable and that his harsh words didn’t put a permanent kink into their friendship. And then again, not so perfect. Doubt breached his confidence. If Phaedra couldn’t hear his panicked pleas, what made him think she would hear some lame code word? He knew that made sense, but maybe all she needed was a reminder, make her remember that the main reason she was here was to keep him safe. Even if it was very clear that she had other things on her mind. “So, um, how are things between you and Fritz?” Michael asked.
From one controversial topic to another. Despite that, Phaedra couldn’t hide her smile. “Things between us are okay.”
Not exactly the exciting bit of gossip Michael was hoping to hear. “Just okay?”
“Well, you know boys,” Phaedra joked, stretching the word into three syllables. “It’s sometimes hard to know what they’re thinking.”
Michael knew all about that. He had spent the first sixteen years of his life keeping his thoughts to himself. Yes, boys could be a mystery, even boys who seemed pretty easy to read, like Fritz. “You know, I haven’t known Fritz very long, but I have noticed a change in him lately,” he said. “I think it’s all because of you.”
Phaedra hoped so, but hoped for what exactly? What could she possibly expect to hope would happen, that she and Fritz would become a couple and live happily ever after? There were no guarantees in her world. No matter how badly she wanted to stay, the decision wasn’t up to her. At any time she could be called to return to the Holding Place to await someone else’s prayers. But no, until then I’m here. Pushing away all disagreeable thoughts, she ran her hand through a clump of curls and confessed, “I was hoping to get to see him today, though. It’s not every day that I get to have lunch here, you know, on the boys side of town.”
During the winter months, the restrictions about commingling were loosened. If a St. Anne’s student had a class near St. Martha’s before or after her lunch period, she could eat here instead of walking all the way over to St. Leo’s, the girls cafeteria on the far end of campus. Sister Mary Elizabeth made the change a few years ago when she realized, despite the long-standing rule separating the sexes, most of her students were sneaking into St. Martha’s anyway. “I hear the food over at St. Leo’s isn’t nearly as good as over here,” Michael commented, then caught a glimpse of his abandoned, yet full, plate. “Not that I would really know the difference anymore.”
Giggling, Phaedra nodded. “I don’t think Leo would either; he was a big proponent of fasting.”
“Was that before or after he sampled the cuisine?” Michael asked.
While laughing at his own joke, Michael tried to inconspicuously look around the room and then at his watch. He thought for sure that Fritz would be somewhere in the cafeteria; this was his lunch period too. But then again, maybe he got another detention. “Maybe he’s avoiding me,” Phaedra suggested.
“Avoiding you? That’s ridiculous,” Michael countered. “Have you seen the way he looks at you?”
“Well, yes,” Phaedra admitted, but she was still unsure. “I know I don’t have a lot of experience, but things seem to be moving a bit slowly.”
Slowly? Michael couldn’t imagine Fritz moving slowly, taking his time getting to know Phaedra. He thought for sure he’d be trying to get as close to her as quickly as possible. Then again, his mother did once tell him that things and people aren’t always what they seem. Maybe Fritz was really shy when it came to girls. That would be ironic. “Maybe that’s for the best,” Michael declared. “It’ll give you time to get used to the whole boy-meets-girl thing, especially since in your case it’s really boy-meets-girl-who’s-really-an-efemera sort of thing.”
No wonder Ronan fell in love with him so completely, she thought; he finds joy in the most unexpected places. And most unexpectedly, Phaedra saw something that brought her joy as well. “Let’s keep that efemera thing under wraps for now,” she whispered. “Fritz and company at two o’clock.”
When he reached the table, Phaedra saw that Fritz’s expression was not really what could be described as joyful. In contrast, Ciaran, sliding onto the bench next to Michael, wore a smile that was a marked improvement over his typical serious countenance. “Behold a gift from beyond the grave,” Ciaran announced theatrically, his hands unfurling to gesture the small box Fritz was holding.
“I told you that isn’t funny, you twit!” Fritz barked.
It also didn’t sound like Ciaran, Michael thought. He guessed that making first string on the swim team had turned Ciaran the Serious into Ciaran the Cheerful.
Whatever reason for the change, he held his ground. “You, Mr. Ulrich, need to lighten up and accept the fact that inside that box is something quite wonderful.”
Dropping the box on the table, Fritz looked quite the opposite, as if it contained hideous secrets that could harm mankind if they were unleashed on the world. Grunting something unintelligible, he plopped down next to Phaedra, forcing her to scoot over quickly or risk being used as a seat cushion. This is what I was hoping for, Phaedra thought, to share some time with a grouchy boy? “Fritz,” Phaedra started, “is there, um, anything wrong?”
Fritz heard her, but his eyes didn’t move from the box. “No.”
Phaedra and Michael looked at Ciaran, who obviously knew what was in the box and therefore the cause of Fritz’s funk and tried to get him to tell them what was going on without actually asking him. After a moment, it was clear that Ciaran’s communication skills also sucked. “Ciaran!” Michael said. “Are you going to tell us?”
“Tell you what?” he innocently responded.
�
��Why this one’s face is scraping the floor,” Phaedra declared, pointing her thumb in Fritz’s direction.
“Do you mind, mate?” Ciaran asked. In response, Fritz barely shrugged his shoulders, which Ciaran took as a yes. When he spoke, it was once again as if he were standing center stage. “This ordinary box that you see before you contains none other than a gift from the other side, from Penry.” Finally, communication was no longer a problem. They both understood why Fritz was looking so dour. He was upset thinking about his friend. Reaching into the box, Ciaran took out what looked like a stack of magazines and handed one to each of them. “Gather round, folks, and take a look. I give you comic books, from the creative team of Poltke and Ulrich.”
Fascinated, Michael examined the cover of the handmade comic book he was holding, a colorful and fairly accurate depiction of Archangel Academy. The twisted metal of the front gate seemed almost lifelike, the dimensions of the headmaster’s office slightly more askew, and the selection of colors, orangey reds and purple-blues, definitely personal choices and not meant to be natural depictions. And right there in the bottom right corner of the page was Penry’s name. Dear Penry. Even though he was no longer with them, he still made Michael smile. Just seeing his familiar curvy handwriting delighted him because this was something about Penry he never knew before. He wrote a comic book, and according to Ciaran, he wrote it with Fritz, though he had to take his friend’s word for it because the signature that appeared about an inch lower than Penry’s was barely legible.
“I see your penmanship hasn’t improved,” Phaedra commented.
For the first time since he sat down, Fritz looked away from the box and into Phaedra’s eyes. “Penry was the artist. I just came up with the jokes,” Fritz informed them. “And the title.”
Tales of the Double A, Phaedra said, reading from the issue she was holding. “What a cute title!” Oh, come on, Phaedra, what teenage boy wants to be cute? “It’s, you know, really great,” she corrected. “And, um, very mysterious.”
“Intrigued me enough to read every issue,” Ciaran announced. “And you all know how much I hate to read anything other than a science textbook.”
“So when did you two do all this?” Michael asked.
Fritz explained that it was something they created for an assignment in art class as freshmen. They enjoyed working together and of course making fun of their fellow students and teachers in the name of art, so they had continued, spending most of last summer whipping out one issue after the other. “Penry’s twin sister, Ruby, sent them to me,” Fritz said, his voice suddenly much more subdued. “She thought I should have them.”
“That was very thoughtful of her,” Phaedra said. “It’s a wonderful gift.”
“You know what would be even more wonderful?” Michael asked rhetorically. “If you write more issues, you know, to maintain Penry’s legacy.” Silence was the first reaction to Michael’s suggestion and then one by one they all agreed. Ciaran thought it would be a proper memorial, Phaedra thought it would be a lovely way to keep Penry’s spirit alive, Fritz was just impressed. “Once again, Nebraska, I owe ya one.”
The next few minutes were spent discussing some possible story lines for the new issues. Fritz’s suggestions of a zombie infestation, werewolf attacks, and an alien invasion made Michael and Phaedra feel quite normal. Ciaran’s idea to make Penry a superhero to swoop in to save Double A from certain destruction was met with enthusiastic cheers, and Fritz immediately came up with his superhero name. “I’ll call him The Double P!” It was a silly name, but Penry Poltke knew the importance of being silly, so they all thought it was an ideal moniker.
Fritz admitted that he wasn’t as good an artist as Penry, but luckily he was taking another art class this semester, so he would have a chance to work on his technique. The text wouldn’t be a problem, though, since Fritz was, in his own words, a bloody amazing storyteller. “So much for humility,” Phaedra joked. Fritz blushed and was now staring at Phaedra with the same intensity he had formerly reserved for the box. Michael sensed it was time to give the couple some privacy.
“Ow!” Ciaran squealed. “Why’d you kick me?”
Seriously, Michael thought, Ciaran might be a borderline genius, but when it came to social skills, he was definitely coasting along at a remedial level. “We need to clock in some study time in the library.”
“Study?” Ciaran asked. “For what? The semester just started, you can’t possibly be behind in your homework already.”
Make that pre-remedial. “Will you just come with me,” Michael snapped, stuffing the comic book into his backpack. “Fritz, I’ll give this back to you when I’m finished.”
Although Ciaran missed the reason for their hasty exit, Fritz and Phaedra understood what Michael was doing and were both appreciative. Now they could be alone. Sure, they were in a crowded lunchroom and there was activity all around them, but still, just sitting next to each other felt incredibly intimate. No wonder girls like to fall in love, Phaedra thought. It really is a wonderful experience.
“So, uh, how do you like your new classes?” Fritz asked, his fingers tracing the tight waves in his hair.
“They’re good,” Phaedra replied quickly, her fingers pulling at her own curls, making them longer, straighter. “Religion is interesting. Sister Mary Elizabeth has a crazy sense of humor.”
“Really?” Fritz said, tossing one of Michael’s leftover French fries into his mouth. “Would never have expected that.”
And a few months ago, Phaedra would never have expected to be sitting across from a boy, entranced by how he chewed his food. His lips pressed together, moving rapidly, his throat bulging, rising, then becoming calm once again. She wished she could say the same thing about her heart. “I’m finding that high school is bursting at the seams with the unexpected.”
Phaedra didn’t see Fritz’s lips part and form a huge smile. She had lost the courage to look at him and was focused on the plate of food. Suddenly, taking it slowly made total sense to her; it was much more fulfilling and much easier on her heart than some quick, messy physical connection.
Nakano, however, would disagree.
Nakano loved kissing Jean-Paul. He loved how the razor stubble on his older boyfriend’s chin grazed against his face, roughing it up a bit. He loved how he could run his fingers through Jean-Paul’s hair, watch the long, shiny brown locks extend, separate into smaller strands like the strings of a harp, then fall, quietly, gracefully, back against his cheek. And he really loved how Jean-Paul’s lips tasted, eager, hungry, the bitter taste of blood alive in every kiss. Ronan’s kisses hardly ever tasted like blood, only if they snogged right after he made a visit to that bloody Well of his. Who wanted to be a vampire if you could only feed once a month? Didn’t make any sense. Now this, this made sense, this felt right, Jean-Paul’s soft, lean body on top of him and the hard, concrete basement floor underneath.
“I’m glad you could sneak away,” Jean-Paul said, his mouth nuzzling against Nakano’s throat.
That tickled, but he forced himself not to laugh. “I didn’t sneak out so we could talk.”
Jean-Paul paused for a moment. His dark eyes glistened, contemplated like a snake’s, and he smiled at Nakano, a smile that was much more like a leer, and suddenly Nakano looked a lot older than sixteen. “Then why don’t you make me shut up.”
Feeling as if he had hit the jackpot and couldn’t spend his money fast enough, Nakano clutched the back of Jean-Paul’s head and pulled it close to him. Their mouths embraced, their tongues flickered passionately, nervously, and Nakano relaxed enough to allow his body to respond to Jean-Paul’s grinding movement. How in the world did he ever get so lucky? And why in the world did it have to end?
“Hello, boys.”
Nakano pushed Jean-Paul off of him so harshly that when he fell onto the floor, a small thud echoed throughout the hideout. Across the room, Brania was standing, visually eavesdropping on their private moment but feeling more like a guardian than a voye
ur. “Oh, please don’t stop on my account.”
“Could you maybe knock next time?” Nakano asked, his cheeks flushed.
The clicking of Brania’s heels reverberated throughout the dank room, little pieces of metal stabbing the concrete floor, as she walked toward the one table in the room and tossed several envelopes of mail onto its cold, smooth surface. “Come now, Kano, you know I hate to announce myself,” she reminded him. “I prefer simply to arrive.”
She really thinks she can do whatever she wants! “Well, in the future, could you arrive when we’re not here?”
Jean-Paul had tucked his shirt back into his trousers and smoothed the loose strands of his hair behind his ears, so he looked, once again, as crisp and clean as if he were standing next to his car, ready for duty. He touched Nakano’s shoulder as a way to silence him, but it didn’t work. “I don’t know what kind of crazy stuff you get into, but Jean-Paul and I prefer it to be just the two of us!”
How the times had changed. When Brania was a teenager, in years and not merely looks, rebellion was unheard of. She listened, she obeyed, and she hoped that her actions were deemed favorable, hoped that she had pleased and impressed her elders. Today, sadly, it was just the opposite. She watched Jean-Paul caress Nakano’s back, his slender fingers sliding up and down the space between his shoulder blades. She imagined his touch was soft but insistent as he tried to remind Nakano that he was in the presence of such an elder. That helped. At least someone in the room, someone other than herself, understood that she was more than what she appeared to be.
“Apologies, Brania,” Jean-Paul said. “You caught us, how do you say? Weeth our pants down.”
Two out of the three people in the room laughed. Remaining silent, Nakano rolled his eyes. No, our pants were not down; we were just kissing, just trying to feel some warmth during a free period so when I go back to that prison everybody likes to call a school, I won’t feel so miserable. But you two wouldn’t understand that, he thought. You two get to do pretty much whatever you want. Your lives aren’t controlled by school bells and class schedules and writing reports on subjects that have absolutely nothing to do with real life. Panting, Nakano didn’t notice that the laughter in the room had subsided. His mind, like his breathing, just kept racing, stopping only when he heard Brania speak. “I would never stand in the way of true love, or whatever is taking place between the two of you,” she said. “But a word of advice: My father is not as understanding. So please practice caution if not restraint.”
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