Cynthia Hand - Hallowed

Knowing this, by the way, totally sucks. Mom calls it empathy, says that it’s a rare gift among angel-bloods. Rare gift, ha. I wonder if there’s a return policy.

Tucker looks over my shoulder and seems to notice Christian for the first time.

“How you doing, Chris? Have a nice summer?” he asks.

“Yeah, fantastic,” answers Christian, and his mind suddenly retreats from mine into a wave of forced indifference. “How about you?”

They stare at each other, one of those high-testosterone stares. “Amazing,” Tucker says.

There’s a challenge in his voice. “Best summer of my life.” I wonder if it’s too late to get out of this class.

“Well, that’s the thing about summers, isn’t it?” says Christian after a minute. “They have to end sometime.”

It’s a relief when class is over. But then I have to stand at the doorway of the cafeteria and decide what to do about lunch.

Option A: My usual. Invisibles table. Wendy. Chitchat. Maybe some awkward talk about how I’m dating her twin brother now, and maybe her asking about what exactly happened out there in the woods the day of the fire, which I don’t know how to answer. Still, she’s one of my best friends, and I don’t want to keep avoiding her.

Option B: Angela. Angela likes to eat alone, and people usually give her a lot of space.

Maybe, if I sat with her, they would give me a lot of space. But then I’d have to answer Angela’s questions and listen to her theories, which she’s pretty much been bombarding me with for the past few days.

Option C (not really an option): Christian. Standing casually in the corner, deliberately not looking at me. Not expecting anything, not pressuring me, but there. Wanting me to know he’s there. Hopeful.

No way I’m going in that direction.

Then the decision kind of gets made for me. Angela looks up. She tilts her head to indicate the empty seat next to her. When I don’t hop to it, she mouths, “Get over here.” Bossy.

I go over to her corner and sink into a seat. She’s reading a small, dusty book. She closes it and slides it across the table to me.

“Check this out,” she says.

I read the title. “ The Book of Enoch ?”

“Yep. A really, really, ridiculously old copy, so watch the pages. They’re delicate. We’re going to need to talk about this ASAP. But first—” She looks up, then calls loudly, “Hey, Christian.”

Oh. My. God. What is she doing?

“Angela, wait a second, don’t—”

She waves him over. This could be bad.

“What’s up?” he says, cool and composed as ever.

“You’re going out to lunch, right?” Angela asks. “You always go out.” His eyes flicker over to mine. “I was considering it.”

“Right, well, I don’t want to mess up your plans or anything, but I think you and me and Clara should have a meeting after school. At my mom’s theater, the Pink Garter, in town.” Christian looks confused. “Um, sure. Why?”

“Let’s just call it a new club I’m starting,” says Angela. “The Angel Club.” He glances at me again, and yep, there’s betrayal in his green eyes, because obviously I’ve gone and blabbed his biggest secret to Angela. I want to explain to him that Angela is like a bloodhound when it comes to secrets, virtually impossible to get anything by her, but it doesn’t matter. She knows. He knows she knows. Damage is done. I glare at Angela.

“She’s one too,” I say simply, mostly because I know Angela wanted to spring it on him herself, and it makes me feel better to ruin her plans. “And she’s crazy, obviously.” Christian nods, like this revelation comes as no surprise.

“But you’re going to be there, at the Pink Garter,” he says to me.

“I guess so.”

“Okay. I’m in,” he tells Angela, but he’s still looking at me. “We need to talk, anyway.” Awesome.

“Awesome,” says Angela cheerfully. “See you after school.”

“See you,” he says, then wanders out of the cafeteria.

I turn to Angela. “I hate you.”

“I know. But you need me, too. Otherwise nothing would ever get done.”

“I still hate you,” I say, even though she’s right. Kind of. This whole Angel Club thing actually sounds like a great idea, if it can help me figure out what it means that Christian and I didn’t fulfill our purpose, since my mom still isn’t exactly forthcoming on the subject. Angela’s stellar with research. If anyone could uncover the consequences for angel-blood purpose-failure, it’s her.

“Oh, you know you love me,” she says. She pushes the book at me again. “Now take this and go eat lunch with your boyfriend.”

“What?”

“Over there. He’s clearly pining for you.” She gestures behind us, where, sure enough, over at the Invisibles table, Tucker is chatting with Wendy. They’re both staring at me with identical expectant expressions.

“Shoo. You’re dismissed,” says Angela.

“Shut up.” I take the book and tuck it into my backpack, then head to the Invisibles table.

Ava, Lindsey, and Emma, my other fellow Invisibles, all smile up at me and say hello, along with Wendy’s boyfriend, Jason Lovett, who I guess is eating with us this year instead of his usual computer-games pals.

It’s weird, us having boyfriends.

“What was that all about?” asks Wendy, peering over at Angela with curious eyes.

“Oh, just Angela being Angela. So, what’s on the Jackson High menu for today?”

“Sloppy Joes.”

“Yummy,” I say without enthusiasm.

Wendy rolls her eyes and says to Tucker, “Clara never likes the food here. I swear, she eats like a bird.”

“Huh,” he says, eyes twinkling, because that’s not his experience with me at all. Around him I’ve always eaten like a horse. I slide into the seat next to his, and he scoots his chair closer to mine and puts his arm around me. Perfectly G-rated, but I can almost feel the topic of discussion shift in the cafeteria. I guess I’m going to be that girl who holds her boyfriend’s hand as they stroll down the halls, who steals kisses between classes, who makes the moony eyes across the crowded cafeteria. I never thought I’d be that girl.

Wendy snorts, and we both turn to look at her. Her eyes dart from me to Tucker and back again. She knows about us, of course, but she’s never seen us together like this before.

“You guys are kind of disgusting,” she says. But then she scoots her chair closer to Jason’s and slips her hand in his.

Tucker smiles in a mischievous way I know too well. I don’t have time to protest before he leans over for a kiss. I push at him, embarrassed, then melt and forget where I am for a minute.

Finally he lets go. I try to catch my breath.

I am so that girl. But being that girl has its perks.

“Ew, get a room,” Wendy says, stifling a smile. It’s hard to read her, but I think she’s trying to be cool with this whole best-friend-dating-my-brother thing by acting completely nauseated. Which I think means that she approves.

I notice that the cafeteria has gone momentarily silent. Then suddenly everything starts up again in a flurry of conversation.

“You do know we’re now officially the talk of the town,” I say to Tucker. He might as well have taken a marker to my forehead and written PROPERTY OF TUCKER in big black letters.

His eyebrows lift. “Do you mind?”

I reach for his hand and lace his fingers with mine.

“Nope.”

I’m with Tucker. In spite of my failed purpose and everything, it looks like I’m actually going to get to keep him. I’m the luckiest girl in the world.

Mr. Phibbs, my teacher for AP English, which happens to be — thank God! — my last class of the day, immediately gets us started on our first “College English” assignment, a personal essay on where we see ourselves in ten years.