Jennifer Murgia: Angel Star

Luke 4:10

I knew the moment of death was upon me. Strange how in a matter of a few days it had come to this. I realized I was shaking and had to work quickly before …I didn’t want to think it.

I grabbed the tiny dagger. Though deadly, the weapon I held was beautiful. Tiny etchings glinted in the gold handle, retelling the story of the Archangels’ fall from heaven, their story delicately carved into the deadly blade.

I swallowed hard. Would God accept me now?

Splinters of uncertainty swelled within me, but my mind was already made up.

Without another thought, I plunged the dagger deep into my heart, hoping my plan would work. Gasping, I lurched forward, scrambling for anything my fingers could touch. I found the curtains and brought them crashing to the ground, the rod ripping out of my wall, leaving huge gaping holes. As if mimicking those holes, the velvet night ripped itself open, rain falling to the ground in wet torrents. My eyes closed to the haze that was now enveloping me, and I lay there as the rain quickly stained the weary sky and the heavens wept for me.

It was there again.

The fluttering. The wings.

My eyes squeezed shut and I once again convinced myself there was no way this could be real. I was dreaming — again.

But, sure as day, I felt a breeze on my skin, felt my hair shift around my face. The air around me was in motion, my heart beating faster. I gulped down my panic deep into my stomach and did what I knew had to be done.

I opened my eyes.

As awareness slowly wormed its way through my brain, I studied the long, strange shadows that stretched across my ceiling as I recalled the dream.

It was a dream, wasn’t it? A dream that was so very real as soon as my eyes closed. A dream that I desperately wanted to wake up from yet struggled so hard to retain once my eyes opened. I could still feel his eyes on me, the color of a storm, pitch black and fearless, studying me as I searched my sleep for dreams more peaceful, more normal — but it was over now. I was awake.

My room was hot for March; my tiny fan was waiting in my closet for warmer days. So confusion, of course, surfaced as I ran a clammy hand through my long, damp hair that moments before had been blowing gently around my pillow. I couldn’t remember getting under the covers and falling asleep, but here I was in bed, trembling like so many other nights.

Unable to go back to sleep, I pulled myself out of bed and shuffled over to my computer, which I’d accidentally left on the entire night.

An ad for overstocked Chia Pets stared back at me.

Ch…ch…ch…bye-bye.

Two messages were waiting in my inbox and I clicked on them, yawning. The first was a printable coupon for Barnes & Noble.

“Twenty percent off’s not bad,” I whispered sleepily to myself. Sheepishly, I scanned my bookcase and the overflowing collection it now held. “What’s one more?”

My mother, who is a librarian, is forever trying to convince me to borrow books instead of spending my precious allowance on them, but I can’t. I can’t give up the thrill.

I skipped to the next e-mail and instantly felt my skin prickle with fear. It was from Brynn Hanson — the beautiful, pom-pom shaking, self-appointed queen of Carver High School. I, unfortunately, was her favorite poor soul to pick on. Reluctantly, I opened it.

Only one word had been typed but that single word was enough to send irritation all the way to my toes.

Freak.

I read it again. In fact, I read it a few times, disbelieving that her hatred could find its way into my computer — that it was, in fact, meant for me. I quickly clicked the icon that would delete the message, as if I was disposing of a slimy bug.

“Wait until I tell Claire about this one,” I mumbled to myself, thinking of how my best friend would handle the situation. She would most likely forward it back to Brynn, giving her a taste of her own medicine.

But me? I was still hoping the delete button would erase it forever.

6:12 a.m. glowed from the lime-green iPod dock on my nightstand and I stood up to stretch, crossing my arms over my face, blocking the view of my otherwise seriously outdated bedroom. Evanescence posters and angel sketches covered my pale-purple walls, but there was little hope for the rest. I pulled up my covers, put away my dog-eared copy of A Great and Terrible Beauty, and got ready for school, knowing Claire would be honking the horn of her little white Cabrio sooner than I realized. Taking the school bus was most certainly not an option.

Flashbacks of second grade circulated through my head. It was the year Brynn began torturing me, when she poked fun at the crocheted hat my Aunt Karen had made for me. That, combined with the fried-egg sandwich I’d had for breakfast, resulted in my throwing up all over Eddie Carmichael’s new hoodie.

That was a bad day.

These days, I still ride the bus from time to time. And Brynn? Well, Brynn got a BMW Z-3 convertible for her sixteenth birthday last year.

I wasn’t sure why I was at the top of her hate list. In fact, I wasn’t sure about a lot of things.

I let my fingers trace over the tiny silver frame on my dresser, the one photo of my father I was lucky enough to call my own. My parents had never married and my mother never spoke of him. Maybe she was dreading the day I would ask about him, dreading the one moment when I would question the strangeness of it all.

He had simply vanished. There was nothing else to tell.

Other kids had two parents. I had her. It worked. We had a bond between us that stretched and contracted like a rubber band. Best friends one minute, mother and daughter the next. Inevitably, she would cross her arms and huff and I’d roll my eyes, and the elastic between us would snap again.

As I grew older, though, it crossed my mind from time to time that perhaps she was lonely. My father’s absence was an unspoken void that lived within our walls, and although I longed for the day I, too, would fall in love, I was fearful. What if the person who would someday hold my heart disappeared too?

“Left you some hot water, honey!” my mother called.

Mom was turning off the shower and if I didn’t get my butt in gear I’d miss my ride and have to take the dreaded bus after all.

By the time I arrived at school, my head was pounding from stress. I stood staring at the inside of my locker for what seemed like an eternity, silently cursing Brynn’s “happy day” e-mail and the dark eyes of my dream.

“Hellooo? What’s with you? You’re practically catatonic,” Claire said in between bites of a cherry Twizzler.

“My head hurts,” I answered quietly and continued selecting the books I needed for the morning.

The noise level in the first floor hallway was beginning to cause a slight tunnel vision effect on me. I wondered if the nurse turned kids away before first period.

“Up late on the computer again? Trust me, Google has been known to cause serious neurological problems with kids our age. Unless…” In an instant Claire had that all-knowing gleam in her bright eyes. “Did you meet a guy on a chat? Do we know him?”

I slowly turned my head to face her. Claire Meyers and I have been inseparable since the third grade but the mechanics of her brain were still a mystery to me.

“I got hate mail from Brynn,” I admitted, my less-than-cheerful attitude dropping to an even lower notch.