A Shimmer of Angels Read Free Page A

move. Spending time in a psychiatric hospital isn’t the best way to learn anything useful. Not when all music, TV, movies, books, magazines, and anything else remotely entertaining had to be pre-approved by the SS Crazy. I hadn’t been out long, but already I hated to think of what life would be like again if I had to give up the new music, horror flicks, and swoony summer beach reads. Even more so, I hated to think about what had landed me there in the first place. I couldn’t go back.
    I turned to Lee and found him staring at a girl in a miniskirt. I shook my head. “That’s two.”
    “What? Nuh-uh. That was only one.” The peppermint candy crackled as he chewed.
    “Nope. Cleavage Waitress at the diner was one. Miniskirt makes two. And it’s only … what time is it?”
    “8:03.”
    Crap. Two minutes until first bell, and we were still three blocks away. Without another word, we ran through Union Square’s busiest streets, dodging cars, dog walkers, and packed sidewalks. We skirted around the corner of Ellis Street just in time to hear the bell ring. We exchanged “Oh, shit!” looks, raced halfway down the block, flung open the fingerprint-smudged glass door, and trampled up the steps of Stratford Independence High School.
    “See you at lunch,” I said, half out of breath. Lee saluted me at the second floor, and we parted ways. Maybe I’d make it to class on time. Maybe if I didn’t, Dad wouldn’t find out.
    Stillness settled over the third floor. I pressed forward, fear of getting caught mounting with each step. The buzz from inside my classroom slashed through the hallway the moment I opened the back door. All eyes turned in my direction. I stopped breathing. In an instant, being late to class became the least of my concerns.
    It was like stepping into quicksand. I felt myself sinking slowly down into something I knew would not be easy to climb out of. I dug the nails of my right hand into the palm of my left to steady me.
    Because there, standing in front of my Honors English classroom, was a boy with brilliantly shimmering wings.

Chapter Three
    It’s happening. Again.
    “Rayna.” I barely heard Ms. Cleeson’s voice over the panic bubbling up inside me. “Can you please take your seat?” I pulled the door shut. It slammed, making me jump. Ms. Cleeson barely glanced in my direction. As if signaled by the door slam, she and the class collectively turned their attention back to the boy, all of them acting like I was the morning’s unwelcome interruption.
    “Cam … Cam-el, is it?” She leaned over her desk, rifling through the paperwork beneath her baby bump.
    “Cam is fine,” the winged boy corrected her politely.
    I couldn’t move my feet, which was a problem because I wanted to run as far away as I could. Sweat started at my temples, trickling down the sides of my face. If anyone had noticed his wings or my panic, I guessed they would have said something by now. I turned away, but I couldn’t escape the light emanating from those enormous wings.
    Ms. Cleeson thanked him. “Rayna, our new student was just introducing himself.”
    That was pretty obvious. What was not so obvious was what a boy with wings was doing in my classroom. I closed my eyes, squeezing them tight until the colored spots dancing in the darkness faded. When I reopened them, I saw the residual imprint of wings. The wings shone, their feathery tips moving in a slow rhythm as they floated up and down.
    Unable to move, I muttered through clenched teeth, “I, uh, I … forgot my book.” Nice save . I spun around, envisioning a seamless escape, and slammed into the door instead. With sweaty fingers I fumbled for the doorknob, unable to perform the simple act of grasp and twist.
    Oh, God.
    My breath came short and sharp. I pressed my body into the door, willing it to open. The inevitable chuckles from my classmates rang in my ears.
    Just then, a hand swooped in and swallowed the doorknob—and my hand—whole. A high-pitched