Angels in Training

by Karen McCombie

  Hurrying silently after the angels, I wonder what’s coming next.

  We enter a loft room that’s as blue as the sky in summer, with fat white duvets floating cloudlike on the three low, white-painted beds.

  Once again I spend a few moments trying to figure out how this space can look more than double the size it was when my old friend Tia lived here.

  ‘Close the door,’ Kitt orders me firmly. I do, and I can’t help letting my eyes settle on the chart by the light switch.

  ‘What – what do Mr and Mrs Angelo think this is?’ I ask, getting round to one of the questions that’s been locked in my head this past couple of weeks.

  Down one side, the chart has the girls’ names; along the top there are the initials of all the skills. There are ticks and crosses and blank boxes yet to be filled. Pearl’s line has the most crosses, always.

  ‘They don’t see it like you do,’ Kitt says, as I watch her grab a pillow from the bed and toss it on the white-painted floorboards.

  What does she mean? What do Mr and Mrs Angelo see? I spin my head back round to the chart – and gasp.

  It’s transformed into a hand-drawn poster. Pretty mismatching letters in various felt-pen colours spell out the cheery message, Welcome to our home sweet home!

  I blink – and the chart is back.

  I blink again – it’s the ‘home sweet home’ poster.

  Blink, chart; blink, poster.

  Disbelieving, I do it a few times more, till Kitt grabs my attention.

  ‘Coming?’

  Kitt, Sunshine and Pearl are all in the middle of the loft room, kneeling on pillows. And there’s one spare pillow – for me, I guess.

  ‘Riley, we helped you just now,’ says Sunshine, as I crouch down and join them. ‘And it’s your turn to help us, if that’s all right.’

  Oh, so Kitt wasn’t fibbing when she said as much to Mr and Mrs Angelo a minute ago.

  What’s this all about? The three girls are holding hands, with Kitt and Pearl reaching out for me to complete the circle.

  ‘Sure … how?’ I say nervously, feeling Kitt’s cool, firm grasp versus Pearl’s delicate warm fingers.

  ‘It’s about the girl Marnie.’

  At Sunshine’s words, I feel a lurch of disappointment again, thinking about the party I won’t be going to. But how can I let myself waste time over that? Specially when the angels are about to let me be part of something special, amazing, magical – I hope.

  ‘At school, when we’ve been reaching out for Marnie, something is getting in the way,’ Sunshine carries on. ‘Some kind of interference.’

  ‘Is it the red writing?’ I suggest, feeling a little shiver.

  ‘We don’t know what it is. We only know we need to separate the strands; then we might be able to see more clearly,’ Sunshine says.

  ‘Tonight, we’re going to try to seek Marnie’s strand,’ Kitt adds. ‘If we can sense why she’s fading, maybe we can begin to help her at the party on Saturday.’

  ‘Do you understand?’ asks Sunshine.

  ‘Not really,’ I say, wondering why we’re in this linked circle. ‘But what can I do?’

  ‘Somehow the three of us aren’t strong enough at the moment,’ Kitt says, her eyes on Pearl.

  Pearl bites her lip, unable to meet Kitt’s eyes. Is she failing badly? But, even if Pearl’s skills aren’t strong, what can I possibly do?

  ‘We’d like to use your energy, Riley,’ says Sunshine. ‘If you’re all right with that?’

  I find myself nodding stupidly, words slipping away – I’m so excited at the prospect of being a part of the angels’ magic and not just someone for them to practise on.

  ‘You are only human,’ Kitt informs me, as if I didn’t know. ‘It might not work.’

  ‘You’re going to feel exhausted afterwards,’ Pearl gently warns me.

  ‘It’s – it’s OK, let’s try,’ I say, thrilled to think that I might be getting a close-up glimpse of the world through the angels’ eyes.

  ‘Are you ready?’ Sunshine asks.

  ‘I’m ready,’ I say, taking a deep breath, and not feeling remotely ready.

  ‘Then let’s reach for Marnie.’

  For a second, I’m just a nervous girl, kneeling on a pillow in a bright blue room.

  But suddenly the pillow, the floor, the walls fall softly away, and my stomach lurches … till all is calm.

  I’m weightless, warm and light, and floating in a blaze of brightness, connected to no one I can see, but by a vibration where both my hands should be.

  ‘Marnie …’ I hear the distant whisper of Sunshine’s voice.

  ‘Marnie …’ Kitt echoes.

  I wait for a third voice, but it doesn’t come.

  Instead, mismatching images begin to swirl around me. They’re like the frantic colours painted on a waltzer car at the funfair one second, then it’s as if I’m staring at a giant, translucent computer screen, endlessly scrolling through web page after web page.

  Snatches of crowded classrooms, of teachers talking, of home, the sofa, Dad, of Woody with his wide grin, of red writing here, there, everywhere, of Dot in stripes, of Mum in a tea dress, of lorries thundering, car fumes on Meadow Lane, fresh air and breezes on Folly Hill, of Pearl scanning my face, searching, trying to understand me.

  Of Pearl trying to get me to understand her.

  Pearl.

  She’s in my head. Now.

  ‘They’re wrong; it’s not her …’ she’s whispering.

  The shock of it makes my eyes flip open, even though I didn’t realize they were shut. I’m back in the loft, with my knees on the pillow, pins and needles prickling my legs.

  Just for this second, I’m on my own here on the floor; the angels are beside me but still lost in their other world, eyes wide, blazing silver-white.

  And in that second, as my heart thunders with wonder and confusion at what just happened and where I’ve been, I see a small something.

  It’s so ordinary that it doesn’t seem right here.

  It’s a marble.

  A glass marble, glinting from under Pearl’s bed.

  I might not have spotted it if the room wasn’t filled with celestial light, so bright that it’s making the marble seem to … to pulse with a metallic glow. But now the light is easing, fading, as the girls come back, their hands firm and still in mine. And, glancing quickly again under Pearl’s bed, I see just a tiny, dark, round blob in the shadows.

  Was it just a silly trinket she picked up and kept? Pearl is especially full of wonder at anything new. Only last week she danced and twirled in the fog that swooped in on Folly Hill. She and Dot ran around, trying to grab it, stuck out their tongues to taste it.

  Yes, the marble is nothing.

  Unless it’s something …

  ‘It didn’t work, but thank you anyway,’ Sunshine says to me, a gentle smile on her face. ‘I’m sorry if we tired you out, Riley.’

  As soon as she speaks, it hits me – a wave of exhaustion. I haven’t felt this way – this worn out – since I had the flu or did forty lengths for that charity swim-a-thon at my primary school.

  ‘I’d better get home,’ I say, struggling to my feet, legs heavy and wobbly, treacle in my veins.

  Kitt lets my hand go easily.

  Pearl’s clings a little longer.

  Pearl.

  As I stand up, I say quiet words of my own, even though I’m no angel.

  Find a way to talk to me, I think in the privacy of my head, hoping she gets the message, impossible as that is.

  Pearl smiles shyly, gratefully.

  Hurray – I think she heard.

  Straight into something serious

  The usual rolling slideshow of bland school images is projected on the giant whiteboard suspended above the stage.

  No one is paying the slightest bit of attention to it, as:

  a) Friday morning assembly hasn’t officially started yet so everyone’s using it as chatting time, and

  b) everyo
ne’s seen it so often it’s beyond dull.

  Me: I’m not paying attention because I’m still exhausted by whatever-it-was the angels did to me on Wednesday night at their house. I don’t feel as bad as yesterday, though. Yesterday I was so tired I practically sleepwalked my way through classes. Thank goodness nothing tricky cropped up, like a test or something. And, hey, maybe the school spook was as tired as me; nothing weird went on for the first time this week. Maybe it’s gone for good?

  Then my sleepy head suddenly tunes into the whispering of girls behind me.

  ‘She’s a right snob.’

  ‘I know she is.’

  ‘But her party’s going to be amazing, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yeah – can’t wait to see her house. It’s supposed to be pretty immense.’

  ‘I heard it’s so huge that as well as a living room there’s this sort of games room with a snooker table in it and one of those TVs nearly as big as the wall.’

  ‘I heard that too. And someone said it’s so posh it’s got a separate flat where her granny lives.’

  ‘That’s probably why she’s a snob.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  I can see Marnie Reynolds’s shiny, dark bob in the second row of chairs, close to the stage. Wonder what she’d think if she could hear the girls’ conversation going on in the row right in front of me?

  ‘What’re you going to wear?’

  ‘I am so going to wear my black skinny jeans, even though I can’t, y’know, sit down in them.’

  ‘Well, on Saturday morning I’m going to get this top I’ve seen – it’s got this skull on it but made out of a pattern of flowers.’

  ‘Nice. What are you doing with your hair?’

  ‘I thought I could wear my hair up, in two little buns.’

  ‘What – like that girl Kitt?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘What, like Kitt who is sitting right behind us?’

  The girl in the row of seats in front spins round and bursts into giggles of embarrassment when she sees the four of us.

  ‘Shame!’ says the friend who’s pointed out how close Kitt is.

  Wow, these girls are airheads. I’m glad I’m not going to a party that has guests like them.

  ‘Morning, everyone!’ booms Mr Thomlinson, the deputy head, as he comes striding into the hall and walks up a set of steps that lead on to the stage.

  I’m about to pay attention (like we’re all supposed to) when I hear a whisper in my ear.

  ‘Riley …’

  It’s Kitt, who’s sitting right beside me.

  ‘Why do you care?’ she asks silently, switching to quiet words.

  ‘About what?’ I ask out loud.

  Miss Dunbar from the music department throws me a look that says Shush!

  Out of all the angels, Kitt is the one who freaks me out the most, I think to myself (not for the first time) and hope she can’t read that particular thought.

  Pearl – and her ditziness – has always been the easiest to like, and I’m liking her more by the minute. And when Sunshine smiles my way it’s as if something lights up inside me. But Kitt’s long, scrutinizing stares, her blunt way of talking … both of those can make a girl feel a little weirded-out.

  The thing is, I know she’s my friend. She might seem super-strict when it comes to skills, but on the trip to Wildwoods Theme Park it was Kitt who flipped out and lost her temper with Lauren Mayhew when she was being horrible to me. It was Kitt who let fly with the errant magic on the Haunted House ride, earning herself a big black cross on the chart in the loft of the house next door.

  But that doesn’t mean it’s always easy being friends with her. Especially the last week or so; she’s been the most serious I’ve ever seen her. Maybe she needs to take smile lessons from Sunshine.

  ‘Why do you care about not coming to the party?’ she asks me now, her voice in my head.

  From snatches of conversation I’ve heard in corridors and classrooms, it seems like half of Year 7 have been invited to Marnie Reynolds’s house. How do I explain to Kitt what it feels like when you’re in the half that hasn’t been invited? That even if you’re not that keen on the person whose party it is, it still makes you feel left out? That’s probably way too girlishly complicated for a clear-thinking angel to understand.

  And I’ll miss watching Sunshine, Kitt and Pearl working their magic with Marnie. Well, maybe not Pearl, going by the strange psychic message she sent me on Wednesday night.

  Uh-oh … Miss Dunbar is making warning eyes at me and pointing towards the stage.

  ‘It’s nothing. It doesn’t matter,’ I mutter to Kitt, as I turn to focus on Mr Thomlinson, who’s now at the lectern. A huge version of the Hillcrest Academy logo appears on the whiteboard above his head – a stylized image of Folly Hill with the Angel on top.

  ‘Seems like it does,’ I suddenly hear Kitt murmur wordlessly back.

  I don’t have any time to figure out what she’s on about; Mr Thomlinson is talking. And he’s not starting off with his usual cheerful, welcome-to-assembly chat. He’s fired straight into something serious.

  ‘Well, this has been a very trying week so far, and I think we all know why,’ he begins. ‘There’s been some extraordinary silliness going on around school, hasn’t there?’

  Rumbles and mumbles ripple along the rows, with everyone pretty sure what he’s on about.

  ‘These messages that have been appearing on toilet mirrors, by the fire alarm, out of the maths-block printer … they are not only ridiculous, they are wasting school time and resources, AND they’re distressing some people.’

  I automatically drop my gaze and look at the back of Marnie Reynolds’s head, thinking of the asthma attack she had on Tuesday. Is she thinking of it too? She’s scratching her head, ruffling up her neat hairdo. Maybe she’s agitated at the memory. Or maybe – I grin to myself, thinking of Dot – she’s got nits.

  Though my grin vanishes when I realize what Mr Thomlinson says next.

  ‘It’s the work of something supernatural: a poltergeist, perhaps.’

  More mumbles and rumbles erupt around the hall, with many shocked gasps and thrilled ‘Yes!’s too. (I’m sure I heard Woody whoop. He would.)

  I can tell everyone’s taken aback, me included, by what our deputy head has just said. I turn round to gauge the angels’ reactions, and see that they’re sitting perfectly still, showing no emotion.

  But I know their minds will be whirring, tuning in, seeking.

  ‘That is what some frightened students are telling their teachers,’ Mr Thomlinson carries on quickly, realizing the effect his words have just had. ‘Of course that’s absolutely, categorically not the case. I can assure you one hundred per cent that there are no supernatural powers at work in Hillcrest Academy.’

  Mr Thomlinson holds his fingers up to indicate quote marks as he says the word ‘supernatural’, showing how ridiculous the very idea is. But it’s too late for some of the audience, I can tell; they’ve only listened to the more dramatic part of his speech and are now whispering frantically, like a nestful of agitated wasps.

  And, personally, I’m not completely reassured either.

  Not when I’m sitting beside three people whose amazing abilities would blow everyone’s minds.

  ‘It is plainly the work of one hoaxer, or a group of hoaxers,’ Mr Thomlinson now booms, holding his hands up for calm, for quiet. Taking his lead, the teachers sitting round the edges of the hall start urging everyone to shut up and listen. (It’s not really working.)

  ‘This has to stop. NOW.’

  Our deputy head pauses for dramatic effect – and the whole place erupts.

  Wow.

  He has no idea what’s just happened.

  Everyone in the hall is roaring, in either shock or excitement or both.

  Cos projected directly above Mr Thomlinson’s head – in metre-high red, dripping letters – are five heart-stopping words:

  TOLD YOU I WAS WATCHING …

  The angels hav
e been very quiet all the way home.

  The angels are exhausted.

  Ever since assembly, through every lesson, through break and lunchtime, they’ve scanned and searched, tried to tune in, tried to find truths, but nothing is clear.

  ‘It’s all static and noise,’ Kitt grumbles, as we turn into Chestnut Crescent, far enough away from the prying ears of other Hillcrest students to talk openly.

  ‘The strands were already tangled and hard to read,’ Sunshine adds, shadows of tiredness under her eyes. ‘Now everyone’s nervous energy is like a wall to us.’

  ‘But do you think there is some kind of … force occurring at Hillcrest?’ I ask, not really sure what I’m asking, or if I want to know the answer.

  ‘We weren’t strong enough to find out today,’ Kitt says glumly, staring down at the pavement as she trudges along.

  ‘Should we ask for help?’ Pearl suggests, bending to curl her fingers in the fluffy down of Bee’s head as he pads beside us.

  ‘From me?’ I say, assuming – with a sudden twist of excitement in my tummy – that Sunshine, Kitt and Pearl might want to try channelling my feeble energy again. Not that it helped them on Wednesday evening.

  ‘No!’ Kitt says sharply, making me jump.

  Eek … is Kitt cross with me, or Pearl? OK, it’s Pearl. I can tell by the glare Kitt’s throwing at her.

  ‘We need to do this on our own,’ says Sunshine, softening the sudden tension of the moment with one of her soothing smiles.

  ‘Yes, but how?’ Kitt asks irritably, showing a hint of the temper I know she has.

  ‘We rest. We start again tomorrow,’ Sunshine tells her, as she tosses trails of red-gold hair over her shoulder. ‘We use the party to concentrate on Marnie. The rest … the rest we deal with on Monday.’

  Breaking things down, taking it step by step; it’s the way Dad taught me to do my maths homework in primary school, when the fractions and decimals got all muddled and confused in my head.

  Seems that piece of advice works whether you’re a Year 6 pupil or a trainee angel.

  ‘Riley! RILEY! Wait!’ yells someone behind us.

  We turn and see a grinning Woody, hurrying away from his Year 8 mates. A few of them call out stuff like, ‘Oooo-OOOO-ooo – is that your girlfriend, Woodster?’ and another takes a casual swing at Woody’s head with a schoolbag. (It misses, luckily for Woody.)