Grounded! More Confessions of an Angel in Training (9781310362958) Read online

  “Brrr,” Victor says, rubbing his hands together.

  I put my back to the wall, and Victor leans forward, placing his palm flat against the wall just over my shoulder. My knees wobble. Hoping to find some stability, I press into the wall, which only makes Victor lean in more. He’s trapped me and I don’t mind a bit.

  His mouth brushes my forehead, not quite a kiss. “You can do better than that,” he says. At first I think he’s talking to me, but then I realize he’s convincing himself to give in. He takes his hand from the wall and cradles my face while lowering his lips to mine.

  I melt. Forget about the frigid weather, the taxis, and people upon people. I’m back on the beach in Florida. We’re alone. I want this kiss to go on forever

  He breaks the kiss and backs away, tossing a, “See you. Stay warm,” over his shoulder.

  Stay warm? I touch my lower lip. It feels like it’s burning. I walk through the door in a daze and Jerry, the doorman, calls to me from behind the reception desk. “Got a package for you, Miss Grace.”

  He hands me an enormous box with a handle on top and I wedge myself into the tiny elevator. Inside the apartment, I call, “Aisha!” but there’s no answer. She hasn’t gotten home yet. I tear open the package and it’s the birdcage from Nostalgia, or at least one that looks exactly like it. There’s a small note card tied to the door with a red ribbon. I tilt my head to read the message:

  Because you admired it, as I admire you.

  It’s incredibly sweet that Victor got this for me, especially since he said he couldn’t stand them.

  Chapter 7

  Usually there’s not much to see outside the one window in Aisha’s apartment. Today there’s even less. Everything is blurry like I’m trapped inside a snow globe.

  We’re experiencing an unusual winter storm. Makes me think Michael’s visit to Earth yesterday has something to do with it. On the last Mission, when Aisha and I fought, we created a violent, isolated thunderstorm. This bad weather is affecting the whole east coast. Maybe it’s a coincidence, but Michael did say yesterday he was going into battle. Freaky.

  Anyway, rehearsals were canceled today and being stuck inside means I need to figure out something to do. Aisha’s curled up with a book on her Kindle, so no chance of conversation there. Michael’s advice to me seems like a clue that I should catch up on Angel School studies. I power up the Gateway laptop and see that I’ve got an A-Mail from Mercy.

  From: [email protected]

  To: [email protected]

  Subject: CATCHING UP

  Grace,

  I’m back from the space thing as you call it. It was great. We got to visit the Horsehead Nebula, which has always been on my top-ten list of miracles of the Universe to visit. Monitoring the streams of gas leaving the nebula was amazing, because they’re funneled by a strong magnetic field. We also checked on the young stars that are just in the process of forming at its base.

  Faith mentioned that you’d gone back to Earth. She couldn’t believe you were sent over Angels with more seniority either.

  So why exactly were you picked?

  I hope you’re studying, because I would hate to see another episode of Bloopers starring you.

  Faithfully Yours,

  Mercy Beamkind

  Virtue-in-Training

  Confession: I wish I hadn’t read her A-Mail. Because now I’m even more irritated. Why does she, or Faith for that matter, care about the reason that I was picked? Mercy said it wasn’t her place to question why The Good Guy devoted one quarter of Heaven to Paradise, but she thinks it’s her place to question who gets sent on Missions. And then, she reminds me to study! That’s what I was going to do when I got the message. Now I’m all riled up and can’t focus worth a prayer. Maybe the most irritating thing is that I don’t even know the answer to her question. Does she think I haven’t thought about why me? Probably. She probably does.

  To top it off, she signs as a Virtue-in-Training, like she’s bestowed a new title upon herself. I thought we were all AITs until we got our wings. It’s good she’s going to be a Virtue and not me, because that stuff about streams of gas is just a lot of hot air.

  I close out A-Mail with a vengeance usually reserved for writing essays. It’ll be better to study than to respond to her right now. I launch the login for L’Academie, and my phone buzzes. It’s a text from Victor. This weather makes me wish for a fireplace, hot chocolate and you.

  Whoa! My heart starts racing just imagining the scene he described. I swear my intentions to study were good, but I can’t ignore that text.

  I text back: thank you for the gift.

  Buzz. gift?

  at the front door.

  Buzz. oh i call that a kiss, but gift is a nice way to look at it.

  Sheesh! Here I am trying to be angelic and he brings up that sizzling kiss. I’m never going to get my homework done! I take a minute to re-live it and then type: i’m talking about the birdcage, silly.

  It’s quiet for a very long time and I’m starting to think he either didn’t get my text or he got distracted.

  Buzz: i only gave you a kiss, but it was heavenly :)

  That seems like such a weird response. It had to be from him. Maybe he’s just embarrassed about getting me a gift.

  both were very wonderful! i have to go study. you heard michael.

  Buzz: study hard. i’ll see you when the storm passes.

  Proud of myself for my steely will and determination to earn those wings, I put the phone aside and login to the site for L’Academie. Professor Breedlove has posted a new assignment: Write a five-page paper on one of the seven deadlies. Explain why this sin is so detrimental and focus on ways to overcome (kill) it. Please devote a portion of your paper to how you have fallen victim to the sin in the past. The paper is due on Ash Wednesday.

  That’s three weeks away, but with everything going on I’d better get started. I open my Killing the Seven Deadly Sins and glance at the Table of Contents. Chapter One is an overview, Chapters Two through Eight are each dedicated to a deadly and Chapter Nine is a Best Virtue Practices. I consider using sloth for the paper, because it’s the one I battled on my last Mission and, in fact, for as long as I can remember before that.

  Confession: Picking that one seems a bit slacker to me.

  I can’t decide on one of the others, so I flip to the last chapter, because if I know the end, maybe I can work backwards. Hey! What’dya know? This all looks really familiar. It’s almost an exact replica of The Code of Conduct. I pull that from my ugly briefcase to review it again. Hmm…I remember thinking that I needed to work on Kindness, so what’s the corresponding deadly? Hmm…flip, flip. Envy.

  Envy? Really? Me?

  The chapter suggests jotting down a list of things that evoke a feeling of envy. I take my notebook and stare at the blank page for what feels like an hour but what was probably only a couple of minutes. The first thing I write is:

  Angels who have their wings.

  Well, sure, but don’t all AITs feel that way? No, a little voice inside my head answers. Mercy has always been very pragmatic about when she’ll get hers. Next on the list:

  The status other Angels have in the Hierarchy.

  There’s not much I can do about that one. Like Mercy said when we had our fight, “I didn’t come up with The Hierarchy.” Because you’d better believe if I did, Guardians would be at the top, or at least not at the bottom. I think for another minute or two. I guess that’s it. Not too bad, but I don’t see how I can change it, so that kind of stymies me on moving forward with this whole assignment.

  Aisha’s still engrossed in her book.

  “Hey! I have a question for you,” I blurt.

  Aisha jumps so high she could’ve used her wings to land safely. She lays a hand over her heart. “Dear Dad!” She lays the Kindle on her lap. “What’s up?”

  I tell her about the assignment, what I’d picked and had written so far.

  “Is that the only thing you’re envio
us of?” she asks rather pointedly.

  “I think so, but that wasn’t my question. What I wanted to know was—”

  “What about Cherish?” she asks.

  One quick intake of air, and my eyes open wide in awareness. I look down at my paper and add one word:

  Cherish.

  }{

  After the snow stops, Aisha suggests we go for a walk. “I’ve got cabin fever and want you to see Central Park.”

  My list has grown considerably with the most important addition being Mercy’s friendship with Faith. Now I’m just adding on silly stuff, like Aisha’s platform ankle boots.

  She glances at my list. “You can borrow them sometime.”

  “Now?”

  “Not now, dorky. Not for where we’re going. C’mon.”

  We bundle up and walk a couple of blocks east of her building and then we’re there.

  I blink my eyes. It’s stunning. Gorgeous. Magnificent.

  Truly.

  The bare branches of the trees are frosted with a layer of unspoiled snow.

  Aisha smiles at me, her eyes sparkling like surroundings. In that minute, I can picture her as an AIT. “Let’s make snow angels,” she says.

  “What?”

  “Here. I’ll show you.” Aisha falls back into a snow bank. She waves her arms up and down, her legs scissoring in and out. She looks kinda ridiculous, so I laugh. She holds her hand out for me to grab it. “Lift me, so I don’t mess it up.” When she’s standing, I can see the outline of her thrashing—a head, a robe. And wings. “You next.”

  She doesn’t have to tell me twice. I don’t care how silly I look. Laughter bubbles up as I move like she did, sweeping my arms and legs to and fro. After she pulls me up, I check out my angel. Not bad. If only wings were that easy. Still, how can something so simple make me so happy?

  Confession: That seems like a real miracle.

  “C’mon,” Aisha says. “I’ve got something else to show you. It’s a little bit of a hike.”

  We take off, leaving our footprints in the fresh snow behind us.

  As we trudge along, I ask “What’s your Mission this time? It’s more than showing me how to make snow angels right?”

  “I can’t tell you that. You know we’re supposed to keep it a secret.”

  Huh? “I didn’t know that. Why?”

  Aisha looks over at me, one brow arched like she doesn’t quite believe me. Her eyes soften. “Oh, yeah. It’s been so long since I was training, I can never figure out what you’ve already been taught or what’s in future classes. We keep it a secret because when we do something good—an act of kindness—we’re not supposed to glorify ourselves. You can’t be like, ‘Oh look at me. I’m being so angelic.’ That’s a big no-no.”

  It is? Honestly this is another one of those rules that make no sense to me. “I thought that was the whole point of being a Guardian,” I say in frustration. “Credit for being good.”

  “Being good is the point. I’m not supposed to let my left hand know what my right is doing, so I certainly can’t tell you.”

  The rule seems unfair, and I can feel frustration bubbling the same way happiness did mere moments ago. I stop, crossing my arms in front of my chest. “Other Celestial Beings always get credit for their actions. Maybe I picked the wrong vocation.”

  “Maybe that’s why you don’t have your wings yet.”

  This is the version of Aisha who was so hard to put up with on my last Mission, all stubborn know-it-all, but she has been helping me and Michael said no repeats, so I don’t make a rude comeback comment. We walk on in silence until a squirrel runs across our path saying, “Nutsnutsnutsnutsnutsnuts.” Hysterical! Aisha and I crack up, all the tension evaporated. If I didn’t know better, I’d say that squirrel was one of those signs I’m supposed to watch for.

  Aisha catches her breath from laughing. “Grace,” she says, “the more you learn, the more Missions you undertake, the more that rule will make sense. It bothered me at first, too.”

  Okay, so I’ll just have to trust that there’s a good reason for it. She’s always had my best interests at heart, even when it didn’t seem that way.

  Suddenly, we step into a clearing, and a real snow angel takes my breath away. She’s carved from stone and sits atop a beautiful frozen fountain.

  “What is this place?” I ask in a hushed voice. It’s so tranquil, so serene that I don’t want to disturb anything.

  “That’s Bethesda Fountain. You know the story, right?”

  “No. Tell me!”

  “In Jerusalem there’s a pool called Bethesda. It means House of Mercy, House of Grace. An Angel would visit the pool and stir the waters, so that the water would heal the first person to step into it.”

  I wonder if she’s pulling my halo about the House of thing, but the way her face is blissed out convinces me she’s completely sincere. We approach the fountain, and she pulls a small glass vial from her jacket pocket.

  “Is the coast clear?” Aisha asks me.

  I look around, and even the squirrel has disappeared. “Yep.”

  “If anyone shows up you need to Time Bend.” She sprouts wings and flies up to the statue. The Angel statue holds a lily in one hand, and the other hand is extended, blessing the water. Aisha scrapes snow from her hand into the vial, tamping it down while she hovers over the fountain. When the vial is full, Aisha touches down next to me and plugs it with a rubber stopper. Holding the glass between thumb and forefinger, Aisha holds it close to her face and examines the contents, one eye closed. “If I’m careful, I can make that last,” she says to herself more than me.

  Of course, I want to know what the holy water is for, but I gotta believe that info is off-limits, too.

  Chapter 8

  Not wanting a repeat of the bi-location fiasco, I always show up a few minutes early for practice. Usually it’s just me, but at the end of our second week of rehearsals I hear a guitar as I enter the theater. Following the sound, I end up standing outside Izzy’s dressing room. He’s sitting in a shaggy recliner, wearing a cowboy hat pulled low over his eyes. It obscures the top of his face as he concentrates on the chords. The song isn’t one we’ve ever rehearsed, and it’s haunting. The notes almost bring tears to my eyes. I pull back from the doorway, because I don’t want to interrupt what he’s doing, but can’t bring myself to leave either. He hums a melody slightly different from the notes he plucks gently on the strings and then stops. “Who’s there? Is someone there?”

  I peek my head into the doorway. “Just Grace. I like that song.”

  He rests the guitar on the floor between his legs, holding the neck near his cheek, and blushes deep crimson. “Oh, that. I’m fiddling around.”

  “It’s good. Can I hear the rest?” I move into the room like a whisper and sit on the couch across from his chair.

  He shrugs and lifts the guitar back into place, head down, immersed in the music. This time instead of humming, he sings.

  Much more than a word

  Cherish

  More than a girl

  Cherish

  Something so small

  Cherish

  As big as the world.

  I understand intuitively that the refrain of “Cherish” is meant to be sung by the back-up singers. So on the second time through I sing that part. He stops and smiles at me. “It’s not done yet, but I think this comes next.” He plays a riff and alternates between singing and humming, like he hasn’t found all the right words yet, but still every note touches my heart. There’s something special about a song that reaches you like that.

  Cherish is a lucky Angel to have inspired it.

  He stops, arm hanging over the top of the guitar, hand resting on his jeans. “It’s only half-baked, luv.”

  “Well if you want my opinion, you should finish cooking it up, because…” My voice trails off. I was about to say something too blunt.

  “Because why?”

  “I like it better than the songs we’re rehearsing.”
Sometimes it’s like I can’t help myself.

  Izzy laughs. “I like it better as well, but my opinion doesn’t count. And for the record, your opinion doesn’t count either. All that matters is this—” He picks up the guitar and strums the opening notes of “Nighttime”. “When I play that, everyone in the audience recognizes it and they get jazzed and that’s all Roger cares about. By the way, his opinion does matter.”

  “Have you played this new one for him?”

  “No, darlin.’ It’s not an ‘Izzy’ song.” He makes quote marks with his fingers when he says Izzy.

  “What does that mean? An Izzy song?”

  He laughs again. “I haven’t got it all figured out myself, but according to Roger I need to establish a brand, build my fan base, break out, achieve superstardom and only then can I afford to take risks.”

  “That sounds like a lot of mumbo-jumbo if you ask me.”

  “Mumbo-jumbo. I like that. Well, maybe you could speak with Roger about it.”

  I wish I could tell him some of the things I read in my History of Guardians textbook. There was a whole chapter devoted to artists, inventors and their Muses.

  Confession: I skipped ahead to that chapter because my envy got the better of me. I needed to know what Cherish does for Izzy on a day-to-day basis.

  “You know, I don’t think your fans will care as much about the style as they’ll care about the spirit behind your song.”

  “I love that about you, Grace. Your youthful idealism. But this business is about fame. And money. The more I have of those, the more I’ll get to do what I want.”

  “When we were at The Burger Joint, you said you felt close to a breakthrough. What if this song is the thing that does it for you? Roger would support that, wouldn’t he?”

  Izzy raises one eyebrow like he’s considering my suggestion. “Stevie says the business wasn’t always like this. He says musicians today are like caged birds singing for our masters. ”