Dark Hope: Book One of the Archangel Prophecies

Dark Hope: Chapter 4

Michael didn't show up for school on Monday. Or Tuesday. Or Wednesday. By the time Thursday rolled around, I was in a seri­ously bad mood and more than a little hurt. He'd disappeared without even telling me. I had a weird case of road rash around my wrist-apparently from my fall during the bird swarm-that wouldn't seem to heal. Everywhere I turned, that boy, Lucas, seemed to be, leering at me with a crazy look in his eyes. And meanwhile, my afternoons had turned into sheer torture: now that I was forced to ride the bus again, Bus Boy had decided to single me out for special attention.

But none of that was why I was so upset. I was lonely. It was one thing to be the odd girl out in Alabama, where I'd always been left to my own devices. It was entirely another thing here, now that I'd gotten used to Michael being constantly at my side. I was pain­fully aware of the empty desk right next to mine in virtually every class. And the girls who'd been so slighted by Michael's refusal to be smitten now jeered at me and talked behind my back, which made me feel even more alone.

I slid into my Contemporary Issues class, thinking of all the ways I was going to blow Michael off when he finally dared to show his face.

"Okay, class, today we are going to start working on your research papers. As a reminder, this will comprise fifty percent of your grade. Remember"-Mr. Bennett paced around our desks, enjoying one of the few precious moments of rapt attention he would get-"this will be about a current issue that is challeng­ing our society, your views on it, and your recommendations for addressing it. And, to introduce some 'real world' dynamics, you must work in pairs or small groups."

The room broke into the chaos of sliding chairs and people shouting across the room to claim a partner. Mr. Bennett struggled to regain his command of the class amid the squeals of delight and fist bumping.

"Your first task," he bellowed over the cacophony as he walked through the aisles. "Your first task is to review this list of suggested topics and choose one. By the end of this period, you and your partner must submit your choice and outline a preliminary set of research questions."

I tuned out the rest of his instructions as he dealt the work­sheets out. My classmates fell upon the lists, laughing, happy for the excuse to chat the hour away. It only made me feel Michael's absence more acutely, which made me angry all over again.

Around the room, people were paired off, heads together. I looked around, hoping to see a friendly face, anyone who was also looking for a partner.

Just one other person remained. Tabitha.

Tabitha was intimidating. She had all the trappings of a goth: shockingly spiked hair, kohl-rimmed eyes, piercings all over her ears and face, and black boots with platforms so high she probably could have looked Michael in the eye. The truth was, she scared me more than a little. I'd noticed that while most of the other black kids in school kept to themselves in pretty tight cliques, they all steered clear of her-as did everyone else.

Now, Tabitha skewered me with a look of wry amusement, one heavily penciled brow arching high in a question as she swept her long bangs out of her deep mocha face. "I guess since lover boy split, it's you and me, huh?"

I felt my cheeks turning red. "He's not my boyfriend," I protested.

"Whatever," she snorted, grabbing her notebook up in her shiny black fingertips. The chains dangling from her belt rattled as she hopped off her desk toward me. "What d'ya say, partner?"

She cleared her throat and tapped her thick-soled toes on the floor, reminding me that she was waiting for my answer.

"I guess so."

"I hope you've got more in you than 'guess so,' because this paper has got to kick ass," she smirked, stomping over to take the seat next to me. "I already know what we should write about," she asserted, flopping the list of topics down in front of me. "Look."