Angel Child: Chapter 2


The clock doesn't move. Time has stopped. Why?

I can blame it on my impatience, knowing that some weird guy is using his light-bulb hands to analyze my locker makes me a little itchy. Not the literal need to scratch at invisible splotches on my skin, but an odd itch of curiosity, because as much as I hate to depend so much on a stranger, the idea that he may possibly know what is going on with me, well, it's pretty appealing.

Mr. Jonathan is talking quickly about his lesson on how to calculate the area of a triangle, but I can only tell because of the erratic writing of the other students around me since my ears are deaf to the sound of his voice.

The clock hand is still unmoving and my impatience has become uncomfortable, "Can I go to the washroom Mr. Jonathan?" 

The teacher blinks at my sudden question, which is when I realize that I just spoke without being asked. I see Amanda Gold smirk near the front at her friend Becky Leo who, like a lady let it be known, tucks a loose strand of her shocking black hair behind her ear.

"Sure Angel," he physically relaxes after the shock has left him and quickly adds, "Make it quick."

I am out of the classroom in seconds and let my eyes roam around the hallway, first to the left then to the right. But, not surprisingly, there is no one around. No teenage boy with glowing hands in sight... what is wrong with me?

I take the opportunity to walk around the school instead of heading to the washroom that smells oddly of stale tobacco and lilies. I am heading past the cafeteria and I stop short. The boy that I saw going all fire-fly by my locker sits on his own at one of the long deserted tables.

He is unaware of the stares that various girls are giving him and his size has all ready attracted the attention of the varsity football team. I stand frozen and watch as he sits almost in a trance, a glow slowly emanating from his form. I look around him to see if anyone else notices this strange abnormality, but I quickly realize that only I can see it.

He breathes in heavily and the glow begins to dissipate, he slowly opens his eyes and sees me. His smile is bright, almost, angelic.

The bell for second period rings loudly, waking me from my trance and with one last look at the smiling new boy I quickly make my way to my math class where my stuff still sits, abandoned.


With the first day of class behind me I stand outside of the emptying CHS and smile back at my friends, "I guess, we've survived the first day of class."

Sarah smirks and tightens the straps of her backpack, "Okay, so it wasn't as bad as I thought, but you know, Kyle he still hasn't--"

"Excuse me!" The subject that Sarah was about to discuss runs past us, leaving Sarah with bright red spots on her cheeks. So I guess, I must confess since Sarah confessed to us during freshman year. She is in love with Kyle. Now, I am not talking about the kind of love that a normal teenage girl would harbor, no, this is a full on, old-fashioned, love. Connie and I like to believe that Sarah is an old soul since her ways of thought are so, well, decent. Meaning, that not only does she have the utmost respect for the overly massive jock that is playing catch with his Neanderthal teammates on the lawn in front of us. She somehow feels that he is her soul mate.

Connie and I exchange a knowing glance and I am about to tell Sarah to do what we are always telling her to do when she answers my unspoken question, "I know, I have to tell him, but I feel that he has a quiet soul. I don't want to torment it with my over-enthusiastic love for him!"

See what I mean? Funny what love does to you, isn’t it?

Connie has finished telling us about her plans to lay on the beach to forget the happenings of our first day back to school and I am ready to decline (my skin tends to make me look like a tomato after a long relaxing day at the beach) when the new guy walks out of the door, looking absolutely, stunningly, confused.

I can hear Connie murmur some sort of phrase under her breath when she realizes that the new guy is looking at me. Intently. This is weird, like awkward weird. I am sure any girl would feel flattered that a guy this good looking is left speechless by your beauty, but somehow this doesn't feel like one of those moments.

"Hi," I say, trying to wake this guy up from his paralysis, which may I say makes his blue eyes look exceptional in the sun-light. Okay, bad timing. "Can I help you?"

His smile widens, which I had thought was impossible. "Do you mean, 'may I help you?'."

I blink back the surprise that wants to escape my mouth, but instead come up with, "Er, I suppose."

He unfreezes and walks towards me in a few brisk steps forcing Connie and Sarah to move quickly out of the way. His eyes stare at me intensely and something flickers in them that leaves me breathless. What is this guy? One of his large hands finds its way onto my shoulder and he leans down to the side of my face towards my ear, his warm breath tickling my earlobe. The smile that he had is now untraceable in his deep, silky-smooth voice, "They know that you are here, if I were you--" he looks past me with squinted eyes cautiously, "--I would hide or leave this place, Angelica, you are not safe here."

My breath catches in my lungs and I watch him move back until there are a few inches between us. I can see that his handsome face is plagued by scars, soft etched scars like an art piece of Leonardo Da Vinci and a tiny beauty mark is marked on his lower lip. His blue eyes have flecks of brown and his long eyelashes put mine to shame, and I'm a girl. "How do you... how do you know my name?"

"Do you not know who I am?" His voice, still smoothly powerful asks and a hint of wonder leaks through his demeanor.

"No, you're a new guy, how am I supposed to know who you are?" I say, fighting the urge that I’m currently feeling to touch his eyelashes, there is no way that they are that long.

There is silence between us and I can feel both Sarah and Connie uncomfortably mumble between each other. The hot Miami winds blow my long blond hair towards the stranger who seems to know me, and I can feel the eyes of the cheerleaders and jocks on campus staring up at us curiously, wondering why a guy with such potential would be talking to this loser.

               "I see," he finally says and he does the weirdest thing then, he grabs both of my hands and makes sure our palms are touching and he whispers, "You are a rarity. You are our savior."

The End

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