Angel, Page 25

Page 25

 

  “Why?” I asked faintly. He didn’t answer; the car coughed once, and we pulled away from the curb, leaving the men on the brownstone steps behind. I let out a breath, suddenly sick of him ignoring me. “Why was it highway robbery?” I said again, my voice deliberate.

  A muscle in Alex’s jaw tensed as he drove. Finally he said, “He wouldn’t take less than nine hundred, even in cash. ”

  “Really? He must have been desperate. ” Alex looked over at me with a frown, and I shrugged, slumping back against the seat. I wasn’t really in the mood to explain to him that classic Mustangs were collectors’ cars and that the chassis on this one was in great shape, even with the bodywork it needed. The guy could have sold it to an enthusiast for way more than what Alex had paid.

  As we drove uptown, I spotted a Kmart on a corner, with its familiar red sign. I cleared my throat. “Wait. Can we stop for a minute?”

  “What for?”

  “Just — I need a few things. ”

  He looked irritated, but he pulled into a metered space. “We don’t really have time to go shopping. ”

  I glared at him. “Yeah, excuse me for being so frivolous. You have your suitcase all packed already; I don’t even have any clean underwear. I’ll be right back. ” Getting out of the car, I slammed the door shut. Once inside the Kmart, I found the clothes section and quickly picked out five pairs of underwear in my size. I fingered a T-shirt, wishing I had enough money for it, too, but I didn’t — and I wasn’t about to go back out to the car and ask Alex for any.

  As I waited in line for the cashier, I saw a News of the World headline that said, THE ANGELS WALK AMONG US, SAYS WELFARE MOM. I stared at it, the brightly lit store fading away around me. All of this had really happened. That was why I was here in New York City, buying cheap underwear and about to drive across the country with a boy I hardly knew.

  I was a half angel.

  “Can I help you?” called the checkout girl.

  Coming back to myself with a start, I walked up to the cash register, clutching the tiny plastic hangers. I slid them across the Formica counter. “Um, yeah — just these, please. ”

  When I got back outside, Alex was leaning against the car, drinking a Starbucks coffee, his dark hair ruffled from the breeze. Even just standing there in faded jeans and a leather jacket, he gave off a sense of confidence somehow — of being at ease in his own body. A girl about my own age gave him a second look as she passed; he didn’t seem to notice. For a moment I felt embarrassed that he knew I’d bought underwear, and then I shoved it away. None of this was exactly my fault.

  As I walked up, Alex glanced at me. “How did you pay?”

  With money, I almost said. “Cash,” I told him.

  “If you have any plastic, don’t use it. ”

  “Do you mind not barking orders at me?” I said tightly. “This is all sort of — difficult enough already, actually. ”

  He gave me a look. Then he drained the coffee and tossed the empty cup into a garbage can. “There’s an Internet café across the street; I need to check something out. Do you want to come with me or wait in the car?” His tone was super-polite. I could have kicked him.

  “I’ll come,” I said.

  We crossed the street. The café was one of those places where you can buy cans of soda and sandwiches. “What do you want to eat?” asked Alex as he paid for half an hour’s Internet time. “I don’t want to stop again tonight. ”

  I knew that I should be hungry — I hadn’t eaten anything since an apple at lunchtime — but food had never held less interest for me. I shook my head. Alex bought two sandwiches anyway and handed them to me in their plastic containers. “Here, put these in your bag. ” Our eyes met as I stared coldly at him. I didn’t care how good-looking he was; it didn’t give him the right to boss me around. He let out a breath. “Please,” he added.

  A few minutes later, he was sitting at one of the computer terminals, laboriously typing something into a search engine. The computer next to him was empty. I sat in the plastic chair and watched his screen . . . and then tensed as a white church on a broad green hill appeared. The Church of Angels site.

  “What are you checking?” I asked.

  He didn’t respond, scrolling down the main screen with the cursor. “Great,” he muttered to himself. “They didn’t waste any time. ”

  I stared at the screen. My throat felt like it had sand in it. My own face was looking back at me, with text underneath it that said:

  Willow Fields was seen leaving the Church of Angels parking lot in Schenectady, New York, with a dark-haired youth in a black Porsche Carrera. Have you seen her? Please contact your local Church leader urgently for more information and to find out how YOU can help.

  “Oh, my God,” I whispered. “But how did they get my photo?”

  Alex tapped his mouth with his thumb. “That . . . book with everyone’s picture in it, that you have in high school. ”

  “Yearbook,” I said. Was he trying to be funny? But of course he was right; that’s exactly where it was from. “Come on, let’s get back to the car,” I hissed, glancing around me. Suddenly it felt like everyone in the Internet café was busy going onto the Church of Angels website, scrutinizing my photo.

  “Not yet,” he said tersely, scraping back his chair. “We’d better get you some sunglasses or something first. ”

  Sunglasses at night, I thought inanely as we headed back to the Kmart, remembering the old ’80s song. Nina and I used to do that a lot. We’d quote song lyrics at each other — saying them seriously, like we really meant them in conversation, and then the other one would say, “Hey, I think there’s a song about that. ” I rubbed my arms as I realized I was already thinking about Nina in the past tense. God, what was she going to think when she heard that I’d disappeared?

  “Here,” said Alex once we got into Kmart, choosing a huge pair of dark Hollywood-style glasses from a rack. “And you can shove your hair up under this. ” He picked up a black baseball cap. His tone was flat, impersonal. He was hardly even looking at me, just thrusting things at me as he spoke. “You’d better get some new clothes, too; they’ll probably be circulating a description of what you’re wearing. ”

  Even though I knew he was right, my jaw tensed at the suggestion. “I don’t have enough money. ”

  “I’ll get them. ”

  I hesitated. I didn’t exactly want to take any help from him, not the way he was acting.

  Alex blew out an impatient breath. “Look, what size do you wear?”

  “I’ll pick them out,” I muttered.

  I got a couple of pairs of jeans and a few shirts. I needed another bra, too, and so even though it made my cheeks burn to have to do it, I grabbed one off the rack. I saw Alex glance at it and then quickly away again, his expression stiff. Good, at least I wasn’t the only one who was embarrassed.

  Finally we were back in the Mustang. Alex started it up, making a face at the coughing noise. “Let’s hope this thing makes it to New Mexico,” he said in an undertone.

  I gazed out the window, not answering. There was a lot of traffic, and it took hours for us to make it out of the city. By around ten o’clock that night, I was watching the New York City skyline grow smaller behind us, all twinkles and stars against the dark sky. I stared back at it, keeping it in sight until the last skyscraper finally winked from view. It was stupid. I had never lived in the city; I had only visited there a few times.