Earth Angel

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  About the Author

  Other Books by E. Van Lowe

  Never Slow Dance with a Zombie

  Boyfriend From Hell

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN: 978-0-9836329-3-1

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2011943646

  To request permission to reprint any portion of the book, e-mail [email protected] and in the subject heading, write the name of the book.

  Editor, Christopher Meeks

  Book Design, Adara Rosalie

  Published by White Whisker Books, Los Angeles, 2011

  Earth Angel

  e. van lowe

  White Whisker Books

  Los Angeles

  “…If a kingdom is divided against itself, that kingdom cannot stand. If a house is divided against itself, that house cannot stand.”

  The New Testament

  Mark 3:24

  Chapter One

  I thought if I arrived early that I would have a few minutes to get my thoughts together before all the unpleasantness began. But when I reached the top of the escalator, she was already seated in the food court where we always sat, the three of us.

  Now there were two.

  This was our old hangout spot. The Glendale mall. We’d been coming here since middle school, ever since our parents had given us permission to get on the bus and make the trip across town. Most of Glendale gathered here at one time or another. For Erin and me, it was a safe place to have fun and find adventure in the faces of cute boys.

  “Thanks for coming,” I said as I walked up.

  Her eyes had been on me since I’d gotten off the escalator. Angry eyes. She was wearing a lot of black eyeliner which was new for her. It did nothing to improve her looks. It seemed to highlight her anger.

  “You’re welcome,” she said without the hint of charm.

  The mall had been remodeled, and the food court renamed the dining terrace to go along with all the fancy new, upscale restaurants. But they still served our favorite, curly fries.

  “Wanna get some fries?” I asked. It was an ice-breaker line. One I hoped would chase the anger from her eyes and put a smile on her face. “We love curly fries,” I added, now smiling.

  “Used to.” Ouch! “So, what’s up? What’s so important it couldn’t wait?” The anger leaked from her eyes and onto her lips, which, by the way, were slathered in dark maroon lipstick. Very Goth.

  I hadn’t seen Erin in three weeks, since Matt’s funeral. We used to see each other every day. We used to meet at our lockers in the morning, and gossip about boys and teachers, and share clothing, and had all our AP classes together. We used to be inseparable.

  It was Sunday afternoon and the mall was packed. The spring warm-up brought people out of their homes, flooding the streets, the parks, the mall.

  “I miss you,” I said, taking the seat across from her. She stiffened as if I had violated an invisible barrier.

  I pretended not to notice and reached across the table, touching her hand. It was ice cold. The saying goes cold hands warm heart, but judging from the look in her eyes, her hands and her heart were on the same page.

  “Why do you want to see me?”

  She gently removed my hand from hers. OUCH!

  “Matt wouldn’t want this. He’d want us to be closer than ever now that he’s gone. I’m sorry you transferred to another school, but I still want us to be friends.” My voice cracked. I got the feeling I might cry. “Remember that night he brought you over? I was mad at you and he wanted us be friends again. Now you’re mad at me, but there’s no Matt to bring us together. We have to do it on our own.”

  “How dare you bring up Matt’s name?”

  “Huh? He… was my best friend.”

  “You’re the reason he’s gone!” Her voice was rising. Heads were turning in our direction. “You’re the reason he killed himself. My boyfriend killed himself because of you!” She was practically screaming, making a scene. All eyes were on us.

  “That’s not true,” I lied, trying to get her to lower her voice. “It… it was an accident.”

  She stood, her eyes glowing hot yellow, irises shrinking to narrow slits. I’d seen eyes like these before on the devil himself.“Youuuuu.” The voice coming out of her was thick and guttural.

  “Umm, Erin? Are you okay? Do you have a cold or something?” I was starting to get scared. People were flocking to the food court as if we were a reality show. The Real High School Girls of Glendale Union.

  A crack appeared in Erin’s forehead. Yellow vapor, like steam, seeped from the crack. “You shall pay for what you have done!” The words were coming out of Erin’s mouth, but it wasn’t Erin who was saying them. It was the voice of a monster.

  “Um… in case you haven’t noticed, there’s a crack in your forehead.”

  The crack proceeded to spread, extending down the bridge of her nose and chin. The yellow vapor came spilling out. Erin was splitting in two.

  Somebody screamed.

  Erin’s body fell away like a mascot’s costume. When the vapor cloud cleared, standing inside the shell of what once was Erin, piled up on the floor like discarded fabric, was a monster, its greenish-hued skin percolating with festering sores. “You shall pay for what you have done!”

  Somebody else screamed. I think it was me.

  #

  “Sweetheart… Sweetheart… Sweetheart.”

  I opened my eyes to my mother gently rubbing my arm. I was in my room, in my bed. Safe.

  “You were having another bad dream.” Lines of tension were around her eyes.

  I sat up, looking around. The horror of the dream was so vivid I was trembling. I fingered the silver crucifix I’d taken to wearing around my neck as I reassured myself I was safe in my room.

  “I think we should get Dr. Kahn to have a look at you.”

  “It’s just a bad dream, Mom.” I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, digging my feet into the carpet. Safe. I repeated the word over in my mind, trying to get my heart rate back to normal.

  “Do you remember what this one was about?”

  “Nope. Nothing. It’s gone already. Just a bad dream, Mom,” I hastily replied.

  It was in my mother’s hospital room when I had done battle with Satan. He had weakened her and had threatened to take her life if I didn’t become his bride. She witnessed some of the battle, but was delirious at the time with a high fever. She’d convinced herself that what she’d seen that night was the result of the fever.

  I’m actually glad she doesn’t know the truth. I want her to believe it was the fever. She has always been one of my best friends. I don’t want to sound
like an old movie, but I’m not sure she can handle the truth.

  “All these bad dreams that you can’t remember. I’m sure it has to do with Matt.” She gently lobbed his name out there. She didn’t say Matt’s death. That would have been too much.

  “Me, too. But I’m not having as many. Time is making the bad thoughts go away.” I brightened my smile. “Go back to bed. You have to get up early.”

  She had missed nearly two weeks of work while I nursed the injuries I received in my battle with Satan. The party line on my injuries was they occurred during a freak earthquake. Right.

  She looked at the digital clock on my night stand. Three forty-five. “Maybe I should bunk with you the rest of the night.”

  “No way! I’m not a little kid afraid of the boogey man, Mom. Besides, you snore.”

  “I do not snore!” She was smiling now.

  “Well, whatever that breathing trick is you do while you’re sleeping, it keeps me up. So, go back to bed and close your door.” I knew I was lucky having a mother I could talk with so freely.

  “Seriously, hon, you going to be okay?” she asked, the smile fading.

  I nodded, keeping up the cheery exterior. “I’m good.”

  A few minutes later she was gone. I turned off the bedside lamp and sat, staring into darkness. It was the third time in a week I’d had a similar dream. They all ended with Erin turning into a monster. I knew they were more than just dreams. It was an omen. I needed to fix my relationship with Erin. The dreams would not end until I did.

  I lay down, resting my head on the pillow, my eyes wide. Erin’s words from the very first dream I had three weeks ago emerged from the depths of my mind: “This isn’t over, witch!”

  I believed her words to be true.

  #

  “It looks like an invitation.”

  Maudrina Salley, my new best friend, was pointing to the tiny envelope taped to my locker. “Open it!” She snatched it off the locker and pushed it at me. “It’s The Explosion. You’ve been invited to The Explosion. I’m sure of it!”

  My hands were full with my book-bag and purse, so I couldn’t take the envelope right away. A hatch of butterflies released in my stomach, as I wondered if the envelope had something to do with the danger I’d been feeling the past several days. One thing was certain—I had not been invited to The Explosion.

  I leaned my book-bag against the bank of lockers, took the envelope and opened it. There was an invitation inside.

  “Am I right?” Maudrina was on pins and needles, mostly because the invite to my mother’s birthday party was the first she’d received since she was a little kid. Maudrina never got invited to parties. Come to think of it, neither did I. I pulled the invite from the envelope and read it.

  “Well? Don’t keep me in suspense.”

  I looked at her, my face awash with disbelief. “I’ve been invited to The Explosion.”

  Maudrina started dancing around me. “We’re going to The Explosion! I knew it! I knew it!” She stopped. “It does say plus one, doesn’t it?”

  I nodded, staring at the invite, still dumbfounded. She went back to dancing.

  The Explosion was a ditch day tradition. Every spring the Poplarati got together and threw the biggest daytime party of the year. If you were invited to The Explosion, it meant you were somebody.

  “This has got to be a mistake,” I said, rereading the invite. “Or a prank.”

  Maudrina stopped dancing again. “Why can’t you be happy? I’m happy!”

  “Because I wasn’t invited.”

  I looked around. It was ten minutes before first period, and the area was teeming with arriving students. I spotted envelopes taped to some of the other lockers.

  Jimmy Calderon walked up, pulled the tiny envelope from the front of his locker, read it and stuffed it into his pocket, practically in one motion. But of course Jimmy Calderon would be invited. His father owned Calderon’s Liquor, making Jimmy the go to guy when it came to supplying beer and wine for underage parties.

  “Look, that’s Ashley Scott’s locker,” I said wagging my finger at the locker with no invite. Ashley Scott was the gold standard, the girl every girl at G.U. wanted to be, every guy at G.U. wanted to have. “How come there’s not one on her locker? She’s a member of the Poplarati. And she’s got a Chanel purse and it’s not a knockoff. This was probably meant for her.” I stuffed the invite back into the envelope, diving into my purse in search of a fresh piece of tape.

  “Meagan, isn’t your name on the envelope?”

  “Oh. Yeah.”

  So, there it was. I’d been invited to The Explosion. I knew I should have been feeling giddy about it. I am on the debate team and the math team, which makes me a bona fide member of the school’s geek squad. Geeks do not get invited to cool parties. And yet, somehow I had been. I couldn’t help but wonder why.

  The answer came at lunch.

  Chapter Two

  Ever since the funeral, my habit at lunch had been to stop by the cafeteria, grab something portable to eat, then join Guy in the football field bleachers for lunch and whatever else might be on his mind.

  While I enjoyed the time with Guy, the reason I started taking lunch away from the cafeteria was because I could no longer handle the looks. It seemed every time I picked my head up from talking, or eating, I would catch someone looking away. I knew they were whispering about Matt.

  Poor thing. Her best friend committed suicide.

  I hated all the sympathy coming my way, partly because I was still digesting a heavy dose of guilt over Matt’s suicide. I also hated being a sideshow attraction.

  At least I didn’t have to eat in the bleachers alone. I had a boyfriend. I still had to pinch myself when I realized I actually had one. What was even harder to believe is that my mother didn’t put up a stink about it, even though I knew she didn’t like him. I was free to see Guy with some restrictions.

  Obviously I could see him in school. But no dating—and no riding in his car. Since Guy’s wings had been clipped—literally—he’d acquired a white Mustang convertible. Even though I had lost my ride to school, I was forbidden to ride in it.

  The only time I was allowed to see Guy outside of school is when he came over to my house on Saturday evenings, sat on our living room sofa, and watched TV, with Suze always hovering somewhere nearby.

  I am sure the only reason she allowed the relationship was because of how much we’d been through already this year—her illness, then me being hospitalized, along with Matt’s death. The restrictions made my bleacher time with Guy even more special. It was our only alone time.

  I stopped off in the cafeteria and was on line getting ready to pay for a bag of Fritos and a soda when I noticed Jeremy Bowen staring in my direction. He was smiling. I started looking around uncomfortably. He couldn’t be smiling at me.

  Jeremy was a tall senior, bulging with muscles like an NBA basketball player. He wore his shirts a size too small so everyone would notice. Jeremy was the star of the basketball team and the track team, with a scholarship to Arizona State. He was also a jerk, and one of the biggest snobs at G.U.

  Jeremy Bowen has never spoken to me. He has never so much as acknowledged my existence. When Matt would bring Erin and me to sit at the jocks table Jeremy didn’t frown or protest, he did us one better—he pretended we weren’t even there.

  I continued looking around, but didn’t see anyone else he could have been smiling at, so I smiled back, giving a weak wave. His smile widened. He came over.

  “How’re they hangin’, Barnett?”

  Famous pick-up lines of the eighties.

  “Um, Hi, Jeremy.”

  His voice lowered. “You get the invitation?”

  I squinted. “Invitation?”

  “To The Explosion. Ashley Scott was supposed to pin one to your locker. If that dumb chick didn’t—”

  “Oh! Yes, I did get it. Um… thanks.”

  “Well…” his voice lowered even more. “Sorry about Dawson�
�s Creek. He was one of the good ones.” He gave my shoulder a fragile pat.

  “Um, yes. He was.”

  “Hope to see ya there. It’s gonna be a blast,” he said before jogging across the cafeteria to join the other jocks at their table.

  I stood staring after him, frozen to the spot. Matt, aka Dawson’s Creek, was the reason I’d been invited to The Explosion. ThePoplarati felt sorry for me.

  Jeremy knew that Matt and I were best friends. He knew that Matt’s death was shrouded in a cloud of controversy. Everyone at school was whispering about it. This was his way of reaching out to me, of letting me know the Poplarati were closing ranks around Matt, and that I was included in the circle. I suddenly felt sorry for all the times I’d called him a jerk—even though he was… but still.

  A tear I didn’t realize was coming drizzled down my cheek. Matt had been invited to The Explosion last year, but he didn’t go. I knew it was some kind of solidarity thing he was doing for me, even though he didn’t say it. On ditch day last spring we went to a movie—me, Matt and Erin.

  Now there was just me.

  #

  When I got outside I spotted Guy making his way across the field. He moved with the grace of a gazelle, his Carolina blue hoodie slung across the back of his shoulder, as if he didn’t have a care in the world. On his left wrist he wore the braided three color friendship bracelet I’d made for him to replace the gum wrapper bracelet. Black, pink and white. I figured now that I had a real boyfriend, he deserved a real bracelet. A matching bracelet, signifying our togetherness, was on my right wrist.

  “Aren’t you going to grab something to eat?” I said, catching up to him. I was a bit breathy because running is not my thing.

  “You know I don’t eat.”

  Right. I keep forgetting my boyfriend is an angel who had been sent to earth to guard me, but instead, fell in love with me.