Gabby wrapped her arms around Aria one last time and then pulled away and went inside. Aria watched her go. There was nothing but air and hope wrapped around Gabby’s shoulders.
Aria felt a cool kiss on her wrist. She looked down to see that a small blue feather charm had appeared on her bracelet. It made a sweet jingling sound when she moved her hand.
She smiled and wiped away a tear. And then she looked down at her shadow, and her heart thudded in her chest, because there, just above the shadow’s shoulders and so faint they were barely visible, were the first hint of wings.
“I’m ready to go,” said Aria. She snapped her fingers, and the girl-shaped shadow became a girl-shaped pool of light. And then she took a deep breath and vanished from sight.
Gabby forced herself not to look back.
She’d just come through the doors, a lump in her throat, when she heard two very familiar voices.
“No, his name is Marco Torres,” Charlotte was saying at the front desk.
“I’m sorry,” said the man behind it, “only family —”
“We just want to know if he’s okay,” said Sam.
“We just want to know what room he would be in,” said Charlotte, “if he were out of surgery.”
“Blink once for each floor,” said Sam.
And then Charlotte turned and saw Gabby and said ohnevermind and then flung herself at her.
“You guys came,” gasped Gabby.
“Duh,” said Sam.
“Stupid school wouldn’t let us out early,” said Charlotte, still smothering her. “And the stupid bus was late so we just hoofed it and —”
“Let her breathe,” said Sam, and Charlotte pulled away.
“Sorry. How are you? I mean, how is he? I mean, how did it go?”
Gabby nodded gratefully. “He made it through the surgery.”
Charlotte cheered loud enough that half the lobby turned in their direction.
“Sorry,” she whispered, giving Gabby another squeeze.
“We were about to go room to room,” said Sam. “What were you doing outside?”
Gabby looked back for the first time, past the revolving doors. There was no one there.
“I was just talking to Aria,” she said.
“Who?” asked Charlotte.
Gabby’s stomach twisted. “You know, Aria. Reddish hair. Colored shoelaces. Can’t sing.”
Charlotte shrugged. “Never heard of her.”
Sam tipped his head. “Does she go to our school?”
Gabby’s heart sank. How could they not remember her? Was that how Aria’s magic worked?
“She’s a friend,” said Gabby. “I was just saying good-bye.”
The auditorium was very, very full.
Grand Heights Middle School’s first choir concert turned out to be a really big deal. Gabby stood backstage, trying not to freak out about the size of the audience. Charlotte squeezed her hand, and Sam said she could hold his soccer ball, if she thought that would help. And Charlotte said of course it wouldn’t, and the two began to bicker playfully in a way that almost distracted Gabby from the stage and the lights and the waiting crowd.
Almost.
Marco couldn’t come, not yet. It had been only a couple of weeks since his surgery, and even though he was getting stronger every day, it had been a hard road. But Gabby had put on a warm-up concert for him in the hospital the night before, and he promised to be at the next show. The doctors said he’d be strong enough to go home next week. Home. Maybe the house would finally start to feel like a home with him there.
Her mom was here, though, right in the front row.
“I think it’s time, Gabby,” said Charlotte gently.
“You ready?” asked Sam.
“No,” said Gabby.
“Good!” said Charlotte. “True stars never are.”
That made Gabby smile. Charlotte was always good at cheering her up. Like Aria had been. Sadness flickered through Gabby at the thought. Nobody seemed to remember Aria, not Charlotte or Sam or Mr. Robert or Ms. Riley, but Gabby did. Gabby would never forget.
She adjusted her outfit — a purple skirt with a white polo shirt and a glittery blue bow, the school colors — and took a breath. Then she stepped onto the stage with the rest of the choir.
The audience quieted, waiting. There were so many people. Gabby found her mother’s face, glowing with pride. Gabby grinned and resisted the urge to wave.
Then Ms. Riley appeared. The choir teacher stood in front of the students, with her back to the audience, raising her hands to get their attention.
Gabby was secretly grateful to have something other than the crowd to focus on. Sam went over to the piano, set the soccer ball on the seat beside him, and began to play.
The moment the music started, Gabby’s chest loosened. The choir sang three group numbers, and then it was her turn. The audience fell silent as she stepped up to the microphone and waited for Sam’s cue. She could barely hear the first keys of the piano over her thudding pulse, but there it was, the beginning of the song. Gabby imagined Aria’s hand resting on her shoulder as she closed her eyes and started to sing.
If anyone had been standing outside the auditorium, they would have seen the shadow. It spread across the floor until it was roughly the size and shape of a twelve-year-old girl, and then it filled with light, and Aria rose out of it.
“Good shadow,” she whispered.
She slipped into the auditorium under the roar of applause as the choir finished a group number. She lingered at the back of the crowd, invisible, and watched as a girl with long dark hair stepped forward, away from the group, and toward the microphone.
Gabby Torres smiled, closed her eyes, and began to sing.
As Aria listened, she could hear everything Gabby had been through, everything she felt, in those notes. Being invisible. Being lost. Being scared. New schools. Fresh starts. New friends. Aria. Henry. Marco.
And judging by the audience, who sat in rapt attention, they could hear it, too.
Aria held her breath the entire performance. When Gabby finished, and the room erupted into applause, Aria cheered with them, as loudly as she could. Gabby wouldn’t be able to see her, but maybe she would hear her.
The applause faded away and Gabby rejoined the group, and the next number started. Aria knew it was time to go. But she wanted to do something, to show Gabby she’d been here, watching, listening.
So before she left, she turned Gabby’s laces purple.
And then she turned away, the music following her as she crept out again, unnoticed. The shape at her feet filled with light, waiting, and Aria stepped through.
The shadow took shape on the front steps of the school, between two manicured hedges and in front of a pair of rather imposing doors. At first the shadow was nothing more than a blot on the stairs, but soon it spread, spilling over the steps, growing to the size and shape of a twelve-year-old girl.
The shadow’s skirt fluttered, and an instant later the whole shadow filled with light, and a form rose up out of it, until a girl stood there on the stairs, her shoes resting on top of the pool of light.
Aria blinked. She had no idea where she was, but she knew who she was — still herself — and for that she was thankful.
“Good shadow,” she said, and the light under her feet went out.
She looked up at the stone mantle above the massive doors. It read:
WESTGATE PREPARATORY
… and in smaller print beneath it:
SCHOOL FOR GIRLS
Her blue charm bracelet still dangled from her wrist, a single silver feather hanging from the first loop. Two rings still hung empty, and as Aria gazed up at the front doors of the school, she felt a little thrill of excitement. Someone here, at this school, was waiting for her, even though they didn’t know. Whoever it was, they would be marked for her, wreathed in smoke the same color as Aria’s charm bracelet. And all Aria had to do was find them, and help them, and once she did, she’d be one step cl
oser to earning her wings.
The school loomed, waiting, and she climbed the stairs toward the front doors. When she reached the landing at the top, she hesitated, and considered her laces. They were white, like the tennis shoes they were threaded through. Aria chewed her lip, and the laces turned a pretty purple. She smiled.
A little color couldn’t hurt.
And with that, she pushed open the doors, and went in search of a girl with blue smoke.
She didn’t get very far.
There was an office on the right, and she was only a few feet past the open door when a voice said, “Excuse me?” Aria paused, but didn’t turn back, assuming the voice was speaking to someone else, but then it said, “Young lady?” and Aria realized there was no one else in the hall. She took a step backward into the doorway.
“Me?”
“Yes, you,” said a woman at a desk. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Aria looked around. The woman’s tone made it clear she’d done something wrong, but she had no idea what.
“You can’t just come waltzing in late,” explained the woman in response to Aria’s confused reaction. “That’s an infraction.”
“What’s an infraction?” asked Aria.
“Being late.”
“No, I mean, what is an infraction?”
The woman straightened the glasses on her nose, and cleared her throat. “An infraction means a broken rule.” She pointed to a poster on the wall. It was covered in sentences that began with NO. No chewing gum. No cell phones. No tardiness … “Three infractions equal a detention.”
Aria didn’t know what a detention meant, either, but decided not to ask. “Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t know.”
The woman looked over the glasses now, and squinted. “What grade are you in?”
“Seventh,” said Aria, because she’d been in seventh grade back at Gabby’s school. This school seemed very different, but hopefully the numbers stayed the same.
“What’s your name?”
“Aria,” said Aria.
The woman’s gaze narrowed. “You don’t go here.”
Aria frowned. “Yes I do.”
“Young lady, there are one hundred and seventy-three girls at Westgate Prep, and I know them all. I don’t know you, so you don’t go here.”
“I’m new,” explained Aria, glancing at the laptop behind the woman. “You can check,” she added. She’d been able to imagine herself onto a class roster at Gabby’s school. Surely she could imagine herself into a computer. At least she hoped she could.
The woman began typing away on the keyboard. “Last name?”
“Blue,” said Aria, proud of herself for knowing now that a last name was a second name, and not the name you had before the one you have now.
The woman’s fingers tapped furiously on the keyboard, and then stopped. “Huh,” she said. “There you are.”
Aria smiled. The lights in the office brightened slightly. The woman at the desk did not seem to notice.
“You’re still late,” said the woman, pushing a stack of pamphlets and papers across the desk toward Aria. “Surely you’ve already received all of this in the mail, and had time to read through our policies, do’s and don’ts, etcetera. Normally, we’d have a student ambassador ready to welcome you, but I’m afraid I didn’t know you were coming.”
“Last minute,” said Aria. “I didn’t know, either.”
“Yes, well, here’s your schedule,” said the woman, tapping the paper on top of the stack. “The seventh-grade girls are still at lunch, but it’s almost over. Let me see if I can rustle up a sixth grader to show you where to go —”
“That’s okay,” said Aria brightly. “I’m sure I can find my way.”
The woman hesitated. “Are you sure?”
Aria nodded. She had a student to find and a lot of school to cover, and she wanted to get going. A faint tug in her chest told her the girl was nearby.
“Very well,” said the woman, already turning away. Aria hoisted the papers into her arms, and was nearly to the door when she said, “And, Miss Blue?”
“Yes, ma’am?”
The woman offered a small, begrudging smile. “Welcome to Westgate.”
VICTORIA SCHWAB is the acclaimed author of several novels for young adults and adults, including The Archived and Vicious. Everyday Angel is her first series for middle grade readers. Victoria lives in Nashville, but she can often be found haunting Paris streets and trudging up English hillsides. Usually, she’s tucked in the corner of a coffee shop, dreaming up stories. Visit her online at www.victoriaschwab.com.
Copyright © 2014 by Victoria Schwab
All rights reserved. Published by Scholastic Inc. SCHOLASTIC and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.
First edition, January 2014
Cover photo by Michael Frost • Wings by Shane Rebenschied
Cover design by Yaffa Jaskoll
e-ISBN 978-0-545-53054-5
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permission, write to Scholastic Inc., Attention: Permissions Department, 557 Broadway, New York, NY 10012.
Victoria Schwab, New Beginnings
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