Unearthly
Page 73
Mom sets down her fork.
“Sorry I didn’t tell you before,” I say awkwardly. “I thought—I don’t know what I thought. I mean, I’ll still save Christian, just like in the vision.”
Only not like in the vision, I think, with the hand-holding and cheek touching and mushy stuff. But I will save him. That much I’ve decided. “I’ve been practicing my flying. I’m getting stronger, like you said. I think I can carry him.”
“How do you know your purpose is about saving Christian?”
“Because in the vision I fly him out of the fire. That’s called saving, right?”
“And that’s all?”
I look away from her knowing eyes. We belong together. That thought’s been like a piece of glass in my brain ever since I had the latest version of the vision. I’ve been going over and over it, trying to find a way that I might have misinterpreted what it meant. I don’t want to be in love with Christian Prescott. Not anymore.
“I don’t know,” I say. “But I’ll be there. I’ll save him.”
“This isn’t some random errand you have to do, Clara,” says Mom quietly. “This is your purpose on Earth. And it’s time. Teton County went on high fire alert yesterday. The fire could happen any minute. You have to focus. You can’t allow yourself to be distracted now. This is your life we’re talking about.”
“Yeah,” I say, my chin lifting a notch. “It’s my life.”
I’ve been saying that a lot lately.
Her face is pale, her eyes stony, lusterless. One morning when we were kids, Jeffrey found a rattlesnake curled up on the patio in our backyard, lethargic with cold. Mom went to the garage and returned with a garden hoe. She ordered us to stay back. And then she lifted the hoe and chopped the head off the snake in one clean blow.
She has the same expression on her face now, stoic and resolved. It scares me.
“Mom, it’s okay,” I try.
“It is not okay,” she says very slowly. “You’re grounded.”
That night’s the first time I ever sneak out of the house. It’s such an easy thing, really, sliding the window open, stepping out, balancing on the edge of the roof for a minute before I summon my wings and escape. But I’ve been a good girl all my life. I’ve obeyed my mother. My feet have never slipped off the path she placed before me. This simple act of rebellion makes my heart so heavy that it’s tough to get airborne.
I land outside Tucker’s window. He’s reclined on his bed, reading a comic book, X-Men, and this makes me smile. His hair’s shorter than it was yesterday. He must have gotten it cut for our monthiversary. I tap lightly on the glass. He looks up, grins because he’s happy to see me, and my heart twists inside me. I’m glad I didn’t turn out to be a messenger angel-blood. I hate to be the bringer of bad news.
He stashes the comic book under his pillow and crosses to the window. He has to force it open, which takes some muscle because the air’s hot and heavy and the window sticks. His eyes dart briefly to my wings, and I see him trying to contain the instinctive fear he has every time he’s confronted with proof that things in this world aren’t quite the way they seem. Then he leans out and reaches for my hand. I put away my wings. I try to smile.
He pulls me into his bedroom. “Hi. What’s up? You look . . . upset.”
He leads me over to his bed and I sit down. Then he grabs his desk chair and sits across from me, his eyes worried but steady, like he thinks he can take anything I have to dish out. He’s with me; that’s what his eyes say.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“Yes. Kind of.”
There’s nothing left to do but tell him. “I’m not supposed to be here. I’m grounded.”
He looks confused. “For how long?”
“I don’t know,” I say miserably. “Mom wasn’t very specific. Indefinitely, I think.”
“But why? What did you do?”
“Uh—” How can I explain that it’s all because I turned Christian Prescott down for a date? That my mom is punishing me because I didn’t tell her about being Tucker’s girlfriend. Not that I hid it from her, exactly. I simply didn’t tell her, because I expected her to frown on the idea. Just not this much.
My face must betray something because Tucker says, “It’s me, isn’t it? Your mom doesn’t approve of me?”
I hate the hurt I detect in his voice. I hate looking at him and spotting the Avery brave face in his expression. This is so unfair. Tucker’s the type of guy most mothers would love their daughters to date. He’s respectful, polite, even downright chivalrous. Plus he doesn’t smoke, drink, or have any crazy piercings or tattoos. He’s golden.
But my mother doesn’t care about any of that. After she grounded me she told me that if I was a normal girl, she would have no problem with me dating Tucker Avery. But I’m not a normal girl. I have a purpose. And it doesn’t involve Tucker.
“Is this about Christian?” he asks.
“Sort of.” I sigh.
“What about him?”
“I’m supposed to be concentrating on Christian. My mom thinks you’re distracting me from that. Hence the grounding.” He deserves a better explanation, I know, but I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I didn’t want to feel like I’m cheating on him, when none of this is my choice, and that’s the way he’s looking at me now.
He’s quiet for another long moment.
“What do you think?” he asks then.
I hesitate. I don’t know any stories of angel-bloods who didn’t fulfill their purpose. I hardly know any stories about angel-bloods, period. For all I know they shriveled up and died if they failed. Mom certainly never presented me with another option. She always made it sound inevitable. What I was made for.
“I don’t know what to think,” I admit.
It’s the wrong answer. Tucker blows out a long breath.
“Sounds like we have to see other people. At least you do.”
“What?”
He turns away.
“You’re breaking up with me?” I stare at him, shock waves moving through me like an earthquake. He exhales, runs his fingers over his short-cropped hair, then looks back into my eyes.
“I think so.”
I stand up. “Tuck, no. I’ll figure it out. I’ll make it work, somehow.”
“Your mom doesn’t know, right?”
“Sorry I didn’t tell you before,” I say awkwardly. “I thought—I don’t know what I thought. I mean, I’ll still save Christian, just like in the vision.”
Only not like in the vision, I think, with the hand-holding and cheek touching and mushy stuff. But I will save him. That much I’ve decided. “I’ve been practicing my flying. I’m getting stronger, like you said. I think I can carry him.”
“How do you know your purpose is about saving Christian?”
“Because in the vision I fly him out of the fire. That’s called saving, right?”
“And that’s all?”
I look away from her knowing eyes. We belong together. That thought’s been like a piece of glass in my brain ever since I had the latest version of the vision. I’ve been going over and over it, trying to find a way that I might have misinterpreted what it meant. I don’t want to be in love with Christian Prescott. Not anymore.
“I don’t know,” I say. “But I’ll be there. I’ll save him.”
“This isn’t some random errand you have to do, Clara,” says Mom quietly. “This is your purpose on Earth. And it’s time. Teton County went on high fire alert yesterday. The fire could happen any minute. You have to focus. You can’t allow yourself to be distracted now. This is your life we’re talking about.”
“Yeah,” I say, my chin lifting a notch. “It’s my life.”
I’ve been saying that a lot lately.
Her face is pale, her eyes stony, lusterless. One morning when we were kids, Jeffrey found a rattlesnake curled up on the patio in our backyard, lethargic with cold. Mom went to the garage and returned with a garden hoe. She ordered us to stay back. And then she lifted the hoe and chopped the head off the snake in one clean blow.
She has the same expression on her face now, stoic and resolved. It scares me.
“Mom, it’s okay,” I try.
“It is not okay,” she says very slowly. “You’re grounded.”
That night’s the first time I ever sneak out of the house. It’s such an easy thing, really, sliding the window open, stepping out, balancing on the edge of the roof for a minute before I summon my wings and escape. But I’ve been a good girl all my life. I’ve obeyed my mother. My feet have never slipped off the path she placed before me. This simple act of rebellion makes my heart so heavy that it’s tough to get airborne.
I land outside Tucker’s window. He’s reclined on his bed, reading a comic book, X-Men, and this makes me smile. His hair’s shorter than it was yesterday. He must have gotten it cut for our monthiversary. I tap lightly on the glass. He looks up, grins because he’s happy to see me, and my heart twists inside me. I’m glad I didn’t turn out to be a messenger angel-blood. I hate to be the bringer of bad news.
He stashes the comic book under his pillow and crosses to the window. He has to force it open, which takes some muscle because the air’s hot and heavy and the window sticks. His eyes dart briefly to my wings, and I see him trying to contain the instinctive fear he has every time he’s confronted with proof that things in this world aren’t quite the way they seem. Then he leans out and reaches for my hand. I put away my wings. I try to smile.
He pulls me into his bedroom. “Hi. What’s up? You look . . . upset.”
He leads me over to his bed and I sit down. Then he grabs his desk chair and sits across from me, his eyes worried but steady, like he thinks he can take anything I have to dish out. He’s with me; that’s what his eyes say.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“Yes. Kind of.”
There’s nothing left to do but tell him. “I’m not supposed to be here. I’m grounded.”
He looks confused. “For how long?”
“I don’t know,” I say miserably. “Mom wasn’t very specific. Indefinitely, I think.”
“But why? What did you do?”
“Uh—” How can I explain that it’s all because I turned Christian Prescott down for a date? That my mom is punishing me because I didn’t tell her about being Tucker’s girlfriend. Not that I hid it from her, exactly. I simply didn’t tell her, because I expected her to frown on the idea. Just not this much.
My face must betray something because Tucker says, “It’s me, isn’t it? Your mom doesn’t approve of me?”
I hate the hurt I detect in his voice. I hate looking at him and spotting the Avery brave face in his expression. This is so unfair. Tucker’s the type of guy most mothers would love their daughters to date. He’s respectful, polite, even downright chivalrous. Plus he doesn’t smoke, drink, or have any crazy piercings or tattoos. He’s golden.
But my mother doesn’t care about any of that. After she grounded me she told me that if I was a normal girl, she would have no problem with me dating Tucker Avery. But I’m not a normal girl. I have a purpose. And it doesn’t involve Tucker.
“Is this about Christian?” he asks.
“Sort of.” I sigh.
“What about him?”
“I’m supposed to be concentrating on Christian. My mom thinks you’re distracting me from that. Hence the grounding.” He deserves a better explanation, I know, but I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I didn’t want to feel like I’m cheating on him, when none of this is my choice, and that’s the way he’s looking at me now.
He’s quiet for another long moment.
“What do you think?” he asks then.
I hesitate. I don’t know any stories of angel-bloods who didn’t fulfill their purpose. I hardly know any stories about angel-bloods, period. For all I know they shriveled up and died if they failed. Mom certainly never presented me with another option. She always made it sound inevitable. What I was made for.
“I don’t know what to think,” I admit.
It’s the wrong answer. Tucker blows out a long breath.
“Sounds like we have to see other people. At least you do.”
“What?”
He turns away.
“You’re breaking up with me?” I stare at him, shock waves moving through me like an earthquake. He exhales, runs his fingers over his short-cropped hair, then looks back into my eyes.
“I think so.”
I stand up. “Tuck, no. I’ll figure it out. I’ll make it work, somehow.”
“Your mom doesn’t know, right?”
