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supernatural,
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going to get that knowledge while playing dumb and suppressing our powers? Wouldn’t any research we undertook—either in a library or by talking to experts like that professor in London we were going to track down—serve as a red flag to our parents or anyone else who might be seeking us? Wouldn’t that be the same as using our powers? Wouldn’t it make the fallen aware of our knowledge and start the end-days clock ticking? We need to act, but what do we do?
My brilliant, brilliant Ellie. Did you drum up any amazing ideas in calculus? We need a plan. Now.
I love you,
Michael
Between the last few periods of the days, we exchanged a flurry of letters. We each had our theories on how best to get the information we required, and they weren’t the same. Among other ideas, I proposed that I undertake some covert research in the university library, under the auspices of visiting my parents at the office. Michael objected; he was adamant that I not do any work directly. Instead, he suggested that, through an intermediary, we reach out to the professor in London that we had intended to visit after our trip to Boston. I reminded Michael that Ezekiel knew about the London professor. Who was to say that Ezekiel hadn’t alerted some of the other fallen that we might try to contact the professor?
Finally, by the end of the school day, we concocted a plan we could both agree upon. It was risky. And it was our only choice.
Chapter Five
When the last bell rang, I walked Michael over to the football field for his practice, as I would any other day. We needed to stick closely to our usual activities and schedule. Just in case any of the fallen was watching and waiting to see what we knew.
Before he headed into the locker room, I leaned in to kiss him, as I always did. Today, instead of the usual “see you later,” I heard him whisper, “Good luck.”
I needed it.
I walked over to the parking lot to meet Ruth for an after-school coffee. I knew I had to face Ruth sooner or later, so before our final class I texted her that my cough had subsided and I felt up to our regular meeting. It sickened me to lie to her; we’d always told each other everything.
Amid all the cars and all the kids preparing to bolt from school, I didn’t spot her at first. Then I caught a glint of her red hair against the backdrop of the gray day. I hustled over to her used, green VW bug, not sure what reaction I’d get. Did she remember seeing me fly, or didn’t she? How was I supposed to behave?
“You look really ready for a latte,” Ruth pronounced, sounding very normal.
“I am really ready for one,” I said, attempting to match her light tone.
As we got into her car, I thought how pretty she looked under those wire-rimmed glasses. I smiled a bit, thinking about how shocked our classmates had been when Ruth unleashed her inner runway model at the fall dance, only to tuck that beauty away again for school on Monday. Loyal, whip smart, yet incredibly reserved, Ruth loathed any unnecessary attention. She saved up her animation and lovely smiles for a select few, and most of Tillinghast High School didn’t make that cut. I hoped that the frank conversation I planned for our after-school coffee wouldn’t wipe the pretty grin right off her face.
I tried to mask my nervousness as we rode to the Daily Grind, and bolstered my courage by remembering the words of Michael’s first letter that day. We chatted away, mostly about a benign argument she had had with her new boyfriend, Jamie, about his chronic lateness. The conversation continued as we ordered our coffees and settled into two brown club chairs that sat side by side. As I feigned interest, I lifted my latte to my mouth for a sip. Suddenly, I noticed that my hand was shaking. I put the cup down on the table; I didn’t want Ruth to see and wonder why. Not quite yet, anyway.
Once she finished, I waited until the Daily Grind buzzed with noise. Then I scanned the room to make sure no