Aprilynne Pike: Wings

She saw David and Chelsea chatting by Chelsea’s locker, so she headed the other way and hurried toward the back doors, hoping neither of them would turn and recognize her from behind. As soon as she’d escaped the school, she headed across the football field, not sure where to go in the still-unfamiliar town. As she walked, she couldn’t shake her growing fear. What if it’s cancer? Cancer doesn’t just go away. Maybe I should tell Mom.

“Monday,” Laurel whispered under her breath as the cold air whipped at her hair. “If it’s not gone by Monday, I’ll tell my parents.”

She climbed the bleachers, her feet pounding on each metal step, until she reached the top. She stood against the railing, looking out over the tops of the trees at the western skyline. Being so far above her surroundings made her feel separate and apart. It was fitting.

Her head shot up as she heard footsteps behind her. She turned to see David’s rather embarrassed face. “Hey,” he said.

Laurel said nothing as relief and annoyance warred in her mind. Relief was winning.

He waved his hand at the bench she was standing on. “Can I sit?”

Laurel stood still for a moment, then sat on the bench and patted the spot beside her with a slight smile.

David sat down gingerly as if not trusting her invitation. “I didn’t really mean to follow you,” he said as he leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. “I was going to wait for you at the bottom, but…” He shrugged. “What can I say? I’m impatient.”

Laurel said nothing.

They sat in silence for a long time. “Are you okay?” David asked, his voice unnaturally loud as it bounced off the empty metal benches.

Laurel felt tears burn her eyes but forced herself to blink them back. “I’ll be fine.”

“You’ve just been so quiet all week.”

“Sorry.”

“Did…did I do something?”

Laurel’s head lifted sharply. “You? No, David. You…you’re great.” Guilt settled over her. She forced a smile. “I just had an off day, that’s all. Give me the weekend to get over it. I’ll feel better on Monday. I promise.”

David nodded and the silence returned, heavy and awkward. Then he cleared his throat. “Can I walk you home?”

She shook her head. “I’m going to stay here awhile. I’ll be all right,” she added.

“But…” He didn’t continue. He just nodded, then stood and started to walk away. Then he turned. “If you need anything, you know my number, right?”

Laurel nodded. She had it memorized.

“Okay.” He shifted his weight from foot to foot. “I’m leaving now.”

Just before he passed out of sight, Laurel called to him. “David?”

But when he turned to her, his face so frank and open, she lost her nerve. “Have fun tomorrow,” she said lamely.

His face fell a little, but he nodded and continued walking away.

That night Laurel sat on the vanity in her bathroom staring at her back. Tears slid down her cheeks as she again smeared salve all over it. It hadn’t done anything before, and logic told her it wouldn’t do anything this time — but she had to try something.

SATURDAY MORNING DAWNED COOL, WITH ONLY A light mist that the sun would probably burn off by noon. Laurel predicted a 100 percent chance of everyone at the bonfire diving or being pushed into the chilly Pacific water, and was doubly grateful she had bowed out. She lay in bed for several minutes watching the sunrise with its blended hues of pink, orange, and a soft, hazy blue. Most people enjoyed the beauty of a sunset on a regular basis, but to Laurel, it was sunrise that was truly breathtaking. She stretched and sat up, still facing the window. She thought of the percentage of people in her small town who were sleeping through this incredible sight. Her father, for one. He was an infamous sleeper and rarely rose before noon on Saturday — or Sleepday, as he called it.

She smiled at that thought, but reality trickled in all too soon. Her fingers walked over her shoulder and her eyes flew open wide. She bit off a shriek as her other hand joined the first, trying to confirm what she was feeling.

The bump was gone.

But something else had replaced it. Something long and cool.

And much bigger than the bump had been.

Cursing herself for not being one of those girls with a mirror in her room, Laurel craned her neck, trying to see over her shoulder, but she could only catch rounded edges of something white. She threw back the thin bedsheet and ran to her door. The knob turned silently and Laurel opened the door a tiny crack. She could hear her father snoring, but sometimes her mother got up early and she was very quiet. Laurel let her door swing open — consciously grateful, for the first time in her life, for well-oiled hinges — and slid down the hall toward the bathroom with her back to the wall. As if that was going to help.

Her hands were unsteady as she pushed the bathroom door closed and fumbled with the lock. Only when she heard the bolt click into place did she let herself breathe again. She leaned her head against the rough, unfinished wood and forced her breathing to slow. Her fingers found the light switch and she flipped it on. Taking a deep breath, she blinked away the dark spots and stepped toward the mirror.

She didn’t even have to turn to see the new development. Long, bluish-white forms rose over both shoulders. For a moment Laurel was mesmerized, staring at the pale things with wide eyes. They were terrifyingly beautiful — almost too beautiful for words.

She turned slowly so she could see them better. Petal-like strips sprouted from where the bump had been, making a gently curved four-pointed star on her back. The longest petals — fanning out over each shoulder and peeking around her waist — were more than a foot long and as wide as her hand. Smaller petals — about eight or nine inches long — spiraled around the center, filling in the leftover space. There were even a few small green leaves where the enormous flower connected to her skin.

All of the petals were tinged a dark blue at the center that faded to the softest sky blue in the middle and white at the ends. The edges were ruffled and looked eerily like the African violets her mother painstakingly grew in their kitchen. There must have been twenty of the soft, petal-like strips. Maybe more.

Laurel turned her front to the mirror again, her eyes on the hovering petals that floated beside her head. They looked almost like wings.

A loud rap on the door snapped Laurel out of her trance. “Done yet?” her mother asked sleepily. Laurel’s fingernails bit into her palm as she stared in horror at the huge white things. They were pretty, sure, but who in the world grew an enormous flower out of their back? This was ten — no — a hundred times worse than the bump. How was she going to hide it?

Maybe the petals would just pluck off. She grabbed one of the oblong strips and yanked on it. Pain radiated down her spine and she had to bite her cheek hard to stifle a scream. But she couldn’t stop the whimper that escaped from between her teeth.

Her mother knocked again. “Laurel, are you okay?”

Laurel took several deep breaths as the pain faded to a dull throb and she regained her power of speech. “I’m fine,” she said, her voice shaking a little. “Just a minute.” Her eyes swept the room looking for something useful. The thin, strappy nightgown she was wearing would be no help at all. She grabbed her oversized towel and threw it over her shoulders, pulling it close around her. After a quick check in the mirror to make sure there were no gigantic petals in sight, Laurel opened the door and forced a smile at her mother. “Sorry I took so long.”