by Speer, Scott
“. . . Guardian Angel,” Jacks finished for her. Out of the corner of his eye he gave her an incredulous look. “You really don’t follow Angels at all, do you?”
“Not really,” Maddy said, a little embarrassed.
“Why not?” Jacks asked, genuinely curious.
“I guess I just don’t really get it.”
Jacks seemed amused. “Well, I’ll fill you in. It’s pretty simple. I get Commissioned as a Guardian Angel, and then the Archangels assign me Protections.”
Maddy considered the words, then looked over at Jacks. “Why don’t you get to choose?”
Jacks’s brow knitted together. “What?”
“Why don’t you get to choose who you’re going to protect?”
Jacks paused. The thought had never really occurred to him before.
“I mean, why don’t you say, ‘Hey, I think . . .” She glanced out the window and saw a sign for Carlos’s Cleaners. “‘Carlos . . . is a pretty cool guy. I’m going to watch his back for him.’”
Jacks laughed. “Carlos?”
“Yeah, I mean, whoever. I’m just saying, why don’t you get to decide?”
Jacks frowned. “It just doesn’t work that way, Maddy. It’s not that easy. We can’t save everyone.”
Maddy opened her mouth to speak but then thought better of it. She leaned back and re-crossed her legs on the vibrating seat. It seemed perfectly simple to her.
“Were Angels always so . . . big?”
Jacks glanced at her seriously, as though really wanting to answer her question. “What do you mean? Like famous?”
“Yes, all the attention and everything.” The neon lights of West Angel City spiraled outside the window as Jacks downshifted the Ferrari.
“Well, at first our saves were publicized in the newspaper, you know, like ‘Extra! Extra! Angel saves Carnegie this afternoon!’ An edition with a Guardian save would sell out almost instantly. Then came silent films. My aunt Clara Godspeed, her saves were famous around the world in the twenties, when she was still a Guardian. They called her the ‘Immortal City Pearl.’ Now she lives out in Santa Barbara, but she could still kick my ass. Anyway, then radio came, then newsreels. You’d be surprised how many Angels got famous from radio. Once TV came around, they started televising saves, and pretty soon came the twenty-four-hour networks.”
Maddy thought about the nonstop ANN coverage on the TV at the diner, how even the non-Angel networks were dedicated to tons and tons of Angel reporting and shows like American Protection.
Jackson continued: “Now that we have SaveTube and the Angelcam, anyone anywhere can watch a save instantly. Cool, huh?”
Maddy’s eyes lit up in alarm. “Do you have an, uh, Angel . . .”
“Cam?” Jacks laughed gently. “No, not yet, they’re still testing them, and I’m not even Commissioned yet, remember?”
They took a right and the searchlights Maddy had seen earlier blazed up ahead of them now, getting closer. A horrible thought suddenly occurred to her. What if that was their destination? She realized, with an incredible surge of anxiety, that it probably was.
“Is that . . . ?” she said, sitting up and pointing.
“Oh. Yeah, probably,” Jacks said. Adrenaline bolted through Maddy’s veins. How had she been so naive? This wasn’t just going out. This wasn’t just a party. This was a celebration of Jackson Godspeed. It had to truly be an event.
Maddy watched the approaching scene with mounting panic. Metal barricades held back throngs of screaming fans all along the sidewalk. Men in suits with earpieces stood in the street directing a traffic jam of black limousines that were jockeying for position along the curb of sbe’s SLS Hotel. A red carpet jammed with photographers and journalists came into view. Everywhere, cameras flashed as one glorious Angel after another arrived. Maddy could see them now, beautiful and statuesque. Rows of spotlights lit the scene, so bright they made Maddy squint. Like the glowing gaze of some kind of hungry monster, she thought. A monster hungry for her.
The men with earpieces spotted the Ferrari and waved them in. A pretty woman wearing a headset and holding a clipboard pointed to an open stretch of curb right in front, and Jacks pulled effortlessly into it. The muted sound of screaming girls filled the Ferrari’s interior. Fans, photographers, and even other Angels had turned and waited expectantly for the car doors to open. Maddy sat paralyzed in the passenger seat. She couldn’t will her limbs to move.
“What’s wrong?” Jacks asked, his face the picture of calm.
“N-nothing,” Maddy stammered, “I just . . .” Her voice trailed off as she watched a photographer hold his camera over the hood of the Ferrari and take her picture. POW! POW! POW! went the flash.
“Oh, that?” Jacks said, looking at the chaos outside the car as if noticing it for the first time. “Yeah, annoying, I know. I wish the paparazzi would just get a life. Trust me, the only way to handle them is to ignore them. Just be yourself, okay? They’re going to love you.”
Maddy nodded numbly. What else could she do? For Jacks the moment could not have been more ordinary. For her, it couldn’t be more extraordinary. Or horrific. Jacks gave her a final, reassuring smile. Then the attendants opened the car doors, and Maddy Montgomery stepped into the lights.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“RIGHT HERE!” “RIGHT HERE!” “RIGHT HERE, DARLING!” “WHAT’S YOUR NAME?!” “GIVE US A SMILE!” “GIVE US A SMILE, BEAUTIFUL!” “OVER THE SHOULDER NOW!” “OVER THE SHOULDER!”
The shouts of the paparazzi were so startling, and the explosion of light so astonishing, that Maddy almost fell right back into the car seat. She wobbled in her heels as she steadied herself with the car door, then tried her best to manage a smile. She turned to look for Jacks but was met with only more blinding flashes from the other side of the car. She was surrounded. Trapped in a prison of unwanted attention like some kind of zoo animal. As she tried to take a shaky step forward, the paparazzi shouts gave way to questions screamed at her by camcorder-wielding journalists.
“IS THAT YOU IN THE PICTURE?!” “ARE YOU JACKSON’S MYSTERY GIRL?!” “HOW DOES IT FEEL TO BE DATING AN ANGEL?!” “WHEN’S THE WEDDING, HONEY?!”
Maddy stumbled again and reached a hand back for the car door, but the attendant had closed it, and the car was gone. Her eyes darted, searching wildly for an escape. She looked to the sidewalk and saw crowds of hysterical fans crashing against metal barricades like the waves of some violent sea. Their focus had instantly shifted from Steven and Sierra Churchson, brother and sister twins who were both getting Commissioned this year, to Jacks and Maddy. The Churchsons gave an annoyed glance back toward Jacks and began moving down the carpet. The crowds were screaming something at Maddy she couldn’t make out and reaching for her with a thousand desperate hands. Maddy was suddenly certain that if they could get to her, they would simply swallow her up. Camera shutters whirred on automatic. Flashes exploded like relentless lightning. The screams of fans rang in her ears. All of a sudden she felt the ground begin to move under her feet, rolling like the deck of a ship. Voices echoed now, coming to her as if she were underwater. As if she were drowning. The world spun, and she willed herself to move forward one final time. When she felt the toe of her heel catch on the curb, she was sure, at last, she was going to go down.
A hand reached out and grabbed her firmly by the arm.
It was Jacks.
“You okay?” he yelled over the roar.
Maddy nodded weakly.
“Come on, this way,” he encouraged, and led her stumbling up the carpet.
Maddy used Jacks’s arm to steady herself as she tried to reassemble the splintered pieces of her consciousness. She kept her head down, but whenever she had to look up, she met pair after pair of disbelieving eyes. They couldn’t all be staring at her, could they? After a moment, a woman wearing a pantsuit and a scowl marched up to them.
“Where have you been?” she said to Jacks. “They’re about to close the carpet and the Angels Weekly bitch
is breathing down my neck. You have a two-hour commitment, by the way, don’t forget that.” Then she turned and assessed Maddy coldly. “Who’s this?”
“Darcy, this is Maddy,” Jacks said, smiling so warmly at Maddy he seemed to glow. “Maddy, this is Darcy, my publicist.” Darcy’s eyes flickered over Maddy’s dress, shoes, and hair. Then she stuck out her hand.
“Hi, Maddy. Nice to meet you.”
Maddy attempted a polite smile. “Nice to—” but Darcy had already turned back to Jacks.
“You have to do the A! interview. And please do the gifting suite after, and actually take something this time.” She looked at her Berry. “Come on; we need to hurry.” She took Jacks by the arm and led him through the crowd. Maddy followed, trying her best to keep up. She could hear the woman hissing something at Jacks, something like, “You couldn’t have told me first so I could have at least done some damage control?” They approached a large white wall with the Angels Weekly logo repeated over and over on it and a firing squad of photographers and TV cameras standing directly opposite. Jacks turned and reached his hand back for Maddy.
“Come on!” he said.
“Jacks, no—” Maddy protested, but with seemingly no effort at all he took her by the arm and pulled her in front of the wall with him.
A blistering explosion of light followed.
Then more shouting: Together! Individual! Together again! They wanted to know who Maddy was wearing. The question made no sense to her whatsoever, so she didn’t try and answer. Instead she focused on staying upright in her heels. After pictures Darcy led them quickly down the carpet and past the press line.
“No press. We’re skipping the press,” she said, waving off the reporters giving her dirty looks. Maddy wondered if the sudden change of plans had anything to do with her. She had the sinking feeling it did. “I’ll just deal with this tomorrow,” Darcy muttered. “We’ll tell them—”
“Jacks!” A voice cut through the clamor behind them. Even Maddy recognized it. The three turned.
It was Tara Reeves of A! She was wearing a bedazzled gown cut up the side to expose her tanned leg and Jimmy Choo heels. She pressed her hands together like she was praying and gave Jacks a pleading expression.
“We’re not doing press, Jackson,” Darcy said sternly.
Yeah, Jacks, Maddy mentally chimed in agreement, we don’t need to.
“Come on, Tara’s really sweet,” he said, and pulled Maddy over to the waiting camera crew. Darcy pressed the heel of her hand against her forehead and made a face like a silent scream.
“The destination for young Angel City tonight,” Tara announced, doing her bubbly lead-in, “this is Angels Weekly’s Pre-Commissioning party in honor of this year’s class of nominees—and especially Jackson Godspeed!” She turned to Jacks and Maddy. “And here is the star of the evening himself! Hi, Jacks!”
“Hi, Tara, very happy to be here,” Jacks said, sounding impossibly relaxed.
“So is tonight the night to cut loose and celebrate?”
“Yes, it is. It’s really an honor to see everyone out to support me.”
Maddy wondered if she might pass for Darcy’s assistant or some other type of attendant who was clearly not intended, or expected, to speak. It would be perfectly fine with her to stand silently next to Jacks like a piece of furniture until the interview was done, thank you very much. But then, without warning, Tara turned toward her.
“And who is your gorgeous date for the evening, Jacks?” No one had ever called Maddy gorgeous before. The cameraman pointed the camera at her and focused his lens. Maddy died inside.
“This is Maddy,” Jacks said, smiling.
“Well, Maddy, how are you?” Tara beamed.
“I’m . . . super,” she answered lamely. She barely got the words out, and her voice sounded strange and gravelly.
“And who are you wearing tonight? This vintage dress is so cute.” Maddy blinked. There was that question again. It was absurd. She was wearing clothes, wasn’t she? She was certainly not wearing a person.
“W-well,” she stammered, “this was my mother’s dress.”
“Oh,” Tara chirped, and raised her penciled eyebrows. “Isn’t that sweet?” Darcy made a circling motion with her finger, telling Tara to wrap it up. Tara gave a big, bleached-white smile. “Well, there you have it, ladies and gentlemen, Jackson Godspeed, the world’s most eligible young Angel, making the most of his time before he becomes Guardian Jackson Godspeed this weekend!” Tara thanked Jacks, and Maddy felt a hand on her back. Darcy led them quickly off the carpet.
As they walked through the doors of the SLS Hotel, Maddy felt her purse buzz. She discreetly pulled out her ancient flip phone and looked at it.
It was a text from Gwen. It read:
Watching the Pre-Commissioning coverage. Am I insane? Is that YOU?
Maddy felt a curl of nausea in her stomach. If Gwen had seen it, everybody had probably seen it. How was she going to explain this to her best friend? Or Kevin? Or anybody else, for that matter?
“Do you need to take that?” Jacks asked, noticing the phone.
“No, it’s nothing,” Maddy said, and quickly hid the phone back in her purse.
Darcy took a hard right at the lobby and led Maddy and Jacks into a dimly lit room lined with booths. At a folding table they were checked in and given large, empty bags.
“What’s this for?” Maddy whispered to Jacks.
“You’ll see,” Jacks said, grinning, and led her to the first booth. The station was set up in front of a wall of Nike Wings athletic shoes. The girl behind the counter was a pretty Asian in a strapless top and latex knee-high boots. She looked Jacks up and down as they approached, then leaned over and said hello with her entire body. Jacks didn’t seem to notice.
“Do you have women’s sizes?” he asked.
“Of course,” the girl said, and turned unhappily to Maddy. “What size are you, love?”
“Oh. I’m a six, but . . .” Maddy trailed off and flushed deep red. “I didn’t bring my wallet.” She couldn’t afford Nike Wings anyway. Gwen had saved up for two months last year to buy a pair. They were $250. The girl behind the counter smiled tightly as she pulled down a box and handed it to Maddy.
“They’re free, honey,” she said, smirking. Maddy took the box and looked at it. She now owned a brand-new pair of Nike Wings. Her shoes normally came from Payless. It was surreal.
Jacks smiled at the girl, who melted, and then led Maddy toward the next booth.
“Sorry,” Maddy said, impossibly embarrassed, “I didn’t realize.”
Jacks’s expression was warm. “It’s okay. I should have explained what they mean by gifting suite. Just take whatever you want.” Maddy stopped and gazed around the room. Cameras, jewelry, watches, phones, perfume, on and on and on. Every major brand name and luxury brands too.
“It’s all . . . free?”
“Of course it is.”
“B-but,” Maddy stammered, “you of all people can afford this stuff.”
“I know, but look at it from their perspective. If I get photographed with any of these products, do you know how much that’s worth to these companies? It can mean hundreds of thousands—even millions—of dollars in additional sales.” Jacks was looking at her keenly, as if needing her approval.
“Oh,” Maddy said, feeling numb and shell-shocked. She understood the logic, but something about it seemed so wrong. So unfair. Jacks took her around to every booth, filling her bag with the latest gadgets and accessories. It was everything Kevin could never afford to get her. They reached the last booth and Maddy’s eyes grew wide. There was something she really needed. Jacks saw her expression and smiled.
“She’ll take one,” he said.
The kid behind the booth set it up instantly, even calling in and activating the service. Then he handed Maddy her own brand-new BlackBerry Miracle. Maddy couldn’t believe it. Gwen wouldn’t stop talking about this phone, and it wouldn’t even be out for another six months.
She opened the clutch of her purse and dropped it in, along with her ancient flip phone.
“For nostalgia’s sake,” she said, clicking the clutch shut. They left the room and found Darcy waiting for them outside. Jacks handed Maddy’s bag over to Darcy. He himself had taken nothing.
“Okay,” Darcy said, shouldering the heavy swag bag and typing on her Berry, “you guys good? Vivian needs me inside.”
“Yeah, we can take it from here,” Jacks said, nodding.
“Nice to meet you again, Maddy,” Darcy said without looking up, and then sped away, face in her Berry.
Vivian. The name echoed in Maddy’s head, and she was surprised to feel a stab of jealousy twist through her.
“Vivian Holycross is here?” she asked.
Jacks shrugged. “Yeah, just a . . . friend. We share the same publicist.” Maddy nodded uneasily. But Jacks smiled his hypnotizing smile at her, and Maddy couldn’t help but feel good and smile back, Vivian or not.
Jacks stuck his arm out, she took it, and he led her back down the hallway, toward the noise and commotion of the party.
Halfway down the hallway, Sierra Churchson emerged from a bathroom, her twin brother waiting outside for her. Her face instantly turned dark. She was a lithe beauty; her wings were notorious for their resemblance to butterflies’. Jacks pulled Maddy a little closer to his side. Sierra leaned toward Jacks and whispered something in his ear Maddy couldn’t fully make out. She thought she caught the word star. Confusion crossed his face.
Sierra sauntered away, her hips sliding smoothly under her four-thousand-dollar dress.
“What’d she say?” Maddy asked.
“Something strange . . . Never mind,” Jacks said, leading Maddy down the hallway. He tried to put a smile on his face to put her at ease. “Ready?”
For Maddy, stepping into the party was literally like crossing into another world. It was, without a doubt, the strangest place she had ever been. The room was a kind of lounge furnished with mismatched lime-green and orange couches, deer-antler chandeliers, and pink and white chairs of every shape and description. There were life-size plastic pigs for tables and horses for lamps. Nothing matched, and the more Maddy looked, nothing made any sense either. And then, there were the mirrors. They hung everywhere, in every different shape and size, reflecting warped and twisted images of the passing guests. Like they were inside some kind of gigantic fun house.
