Александра Адорнетто - Halo

“I’m just glad you’re okay,” I said, trying to keep my voice level.

“There’s something else.” Xavier looked uncomfortable, almost embarrassed to be admitting any sort of weakness.

“What is it?” I asked gently.

“Apparently I have a concussion,” he said, emphasising the word “apparently” as though he didn’t take it seriously. “I told them I’m fine, but they won’t listen. I have to stay in bed for the next few days—doctor’s orders.”

“That sounds serious,” I said. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Xavier said. “I just have a killer headache.”

“Well, I’ll look after you,” I said. “I don’t mind.”

“Beth, you’re forgetting something.”

“I know, I know,” I said. “You don’t like feeling like an invalid—but that’s what you get for playing a rough game like—”

“No, Beth, you don’t understand.” Xavier shook his head in frustration. “The prom is this

Friday.”

I felt a sinking feeling in my stomach.

“I don’t care about that!” I said, my voice falsely cheerful. “I just won’t go.”

“You have to go. You’ve been looking forward to this for weeks, Ivy made your dress, the limos are all booked, and everybody is expecting you.”

“But I only want to go with you,” I said. “It won’t mean anything to me otherwise.”

“I’m so sorry this happened,” he said, clenching his hand into a fist. “I’m an idiot.”

“Xavier, it wasn’t your fault.”

“I should have been more careful.” The anger drained out of his face and his expression softened. “Please say you’ll go,” he said. “Then I won’t feel so guilty. I don’t want you to miss out because of me. We might not be there together, but you can still have a good time. This is the event of the year, and I want you to tell me all about it.”

“I don’t know . . .”

“Please? Do it for me?”

I rolled my eyes. “Well, if you’re going to resort to emotional blackmail I can hardly say no.” I knew Xavier would feel guilty for the next five years if I missed the prom on his account.

“Then it’s settled?”

“All right, but just know that I’ll be thinking about you all night.”

He smiled. “Make sure someone takes photos.”

“Will you come over before I leave?” I asked. “So you can see me in my dress?”

“I’ll get someone to drive me. I’m not missing that for the world.”

“I hate leaving you here,” I said, sinking down in the chair beside his bed. “With no one to keep you company.”

“I’ll be fine,” he reassured me. “If I know Mom, she’ll probably set up a cot and spend the night.”

“Yes, but you’ll need something to keep you occupied.”

Xavier nodded toward the small bedside table, where a thick black book with gold lettering lay half open. “I can always read the Bible and learn more about eternal damnation.”

“Is that your idea of entertainment?” I asked sarcastically.

“It’s a pretty dramatic story—good old Lucifer, spicing things up a bit.”

“Do you know the whole story?” I asked.

“I know that Lucifer was an archangel,” he said as I raised an eyebrow in surprise. “He went off the rails in a big way.”

“So you were paying attention at Sunday school,” I said jokingly. “His name actually means ‘light giver.’ In the Kingdom, he used to be Our Father’s favorite. He was created to be elite in beauty and intelligence. He was consulted in times of trouble, and all the other angels held him in the highest esteem.”

“But he wasn’t satisfied,” Xavier added.

“No,” I said. “He became arrogant. He resented human beings, couldn’t understand why

Our Father thought they were His greatest creation. He believed that only angels should be exalted, and started to think he could overthrow God.”

“And that’s when he was booted out.”

“Yes. Our Father heard his thoughts and cast him out, along with his followers. Lucifer got his wish and became Our Father’s counterpart, ruler of the Underworld, and all the other fallen angels became demons.”

“Do you know anything about what it’s like down there?” Xavier asked.

I shook my head.

“I don’t, but Gabriel does. He knew Lucifer. They were brothers—all the archangels were.

But he never talks about it.”

The conversation was cut short when Gabriel and Ivy poked their heads through the curtain to see how the patient was doing.

“Are you serious?” Molly looked horrified. “I thought they were just taking him to a hospital as a precaution. He actually has a concussion? This is a disaster! You’re going to be dateless for the prom!”

I was starting to regret having said anything. Her reaction wasn’t doing anything to lift my spirits. The prom was supposed to be a magical night spent with Xavier that I would remember always. Now it was ruined.

“I don’t want to go at all,” I said. “I’m only going because Xavier wants me to.”

She sighed. “That is so sweet of him.”

“I know and that’s why I don’t care about being dateless.”

“We’ll think of something,” Molly said reassuringly. “There must be someone who can step in at the last minute. Let me think about it.”

I knew what she was thinking. She was imagining the start of the prom, when couples would make their entrance together and have their photos professionally taken. Turning up alone would be tantamount to social suicide.

As it turned out, Molly needn’t have bothered trying to find a solution as one presented itself that very afternoon.

I was sitting with Jake Thorn in our usual place at the back of the literature classroom. He was scribbling in his journal in silence as I struggled to focus on the final verse of our joint poem.

“You know this is quite difficult seeing as you’ve written it from a male perspective,” I complained.

“My sincerest apologies,” Jake replied with his usual exaggerated manners. “But feel free to take some creative license. The first verse may be from a man to a woman, but the next could easily be the reverse. Don’t take forever about it, Beth. I’m over this assignment. Let’s get it done so we can talk about more interesting things.”

“I can’t be rushed,” I said brusquely. “I don’t know about you, but I want to do well on this.”

“Why? It’s not like you need the grades.”

“Excuse me? Why wouldn’t I?”

“Doing well is pretty much a given—Miss Castle likes me.” He smirked, and went back to writing in his notebook. I didn’t ask what he was writing, and he didn’t offer to divulge anything.

Jake’s suggestion had freed my imagination, and it was a lot easier to come up with the next lines now that I could write them about Xavier. All I had to do was picture his face and the words flowed as though my pen had a life of its own. In fact, the four-line stanza I had been allocated hardly seemed enough. I felt as if I could fill every notebook in the world with my thoughts about him. I could devote pages to describing his voice, his touch, his smell, and every other detail of his person. And so before I knew it, my fluid script sat beneath Jake’s swirling calligraphy. It now read, “That works,” Jake said. “There may be a poet in you after all.”

“Thanks,” I replied. “What have you been so busy working on?”

“Jottings . . . observations,” he answered.

“What have you observed so far?”

“Just that people are so gullible and so predictable.”

“Do you hold that against them?”

“I think it’s pathetic.” He sounded so bitter that I shrank away from him. “They’re so easy to figure out,” he continued. “It’s not even challenging.”