“Thank you. They’re so pretty. Where did you get them?” I asked. They hardly sold flowers in the cafeteria.
“I can fly, can’t I?”
I was horrified, and my face must have shown it.
He pul ed me into his chest. “I’m sorry, El ie. I was joking. I drove to the florist shop right down the road.”
“Thank goodness.” I stayed buried in his chest.
“I figured you needed them today.”
I looked up into his face. “Oh, no, you heard about English.”
Michael winced. “I think everyone heard.”
I groaned and buried my head in my hands. “It real y was nothing like everyone is saying,” I said, suddenly more embarrassed. At his mischievous smile, I groaned again. “I’l never live this down.”
“I have a plan that might take your mind off of it,” he said, and opened the car door for me.
As I climbed in, I asked warily, “What’s this plan?”
“I think it’s time we practiced your flying.”
Chapter Sixteen
Michael didn’t mean that we should take off right there and then. Instead, he took me home, came inside to say hel o to my mom, who’d just arrived from work, and stayed to make smal talk with her before heading home to do his schoolwork. He did al the things you’d expect from a new boyfriend—except for the plan to meet me at my bedroom window at midnight.
Dinner dragged on and on that night. My parents mentioned Michael a few times, but I was relieved that they seemed appeased by his visits that morning and afternoon. Mostly, I felt antsy; I just wanted to get up to my room and get ready for him. It was amazing that I was so wil ing to indulge in our strange abilities. I hated being the odd one out. I hated these “gifts” as Michael cal ed them. Until I met him. Whatever these powers were, not having to face them alone was the gift. And tonight we were going to fly together, while wide awake. No more hiding in dreams.
By the time my clock signaled twelve, I had been sitting at my window seat in the dark for nearly a half an hour. I had chosen sweats that could pass for pajamas should I run into my parents before I left, and I had stuffed my bed with pil ows to make it look like I was in there asleep. Staring out the window, I wil ed Michael to appear.
But when he final y arrived, nothing could quite prepare me for the sight of his face floating outside my window. With his blond hair looming white against the black night and his wide grin resembling a jack-o’-lantern’s smile, I stifled a scream. Breathing deeply to slow my racing heart, I unlatched the window and prayed that the creaky old windowpanes wouldn’t wake up my parents.
“Ready?” Michael asked.
I nodded, even though I was terrified. He stuck his hand through the opening and motioned for me to take hold. My hand was shaking, but I grasped on to him.
Taking a leap of faith like no other, I let Michael wrap his arm around my waist and lift me through the window and into the air. We hovered two stories over the ground, and I clung to his arm like a life preserver. Even though I’d flown before, I’d always believed it to be dream—with no fears, no repercussions. Michael was right; once I understood that it wasn’t a dream, everything changed. This experience was entirely different, almost hyper-real.
“Are you al right?” he whispered to me.
Stil clinging to his arm, I whispered back, “I think so.”
“Okay, let’s go.” He pul ed me tighter and we took off.
I wondered where we were headed, but I couldn’t look. Instead, I buried my face in his shoulder. Sensing and hearing the wind as our speed increased, I could barely make out his words. “El ie, you should real y open your eyes. It’s an amazing view.”
I shook my head. Michael wound his other arm around me.
Other than the wind, we flew in silence. My body began to remember how to fly, and I could feel my shoulders expand and my legs streamline. But then my mind took hold—fear permeated my thoughts—and Michael had to carry me along.
We slowed, and I could feel Michael lower us toward the ground. I peeked out through my formerly hermetical y sealed eyes and gasped. We were stil a good forty feet off the ground. How high had we been flying? I vowed to keep my eyes shut until I could actual y feel the earth beneath my feet.
With a thud, we hit land. Michael removed his arm, and dizzily I fel to the soft grass-covered ground. Rushing to my side, he helped me up with a joke. “You’d think you’ve never flown before.”
I laughed. “I haven’t. Not awake, anyway.”
“You were awake, you just didn’t know it.”
“I think that’s the problem tonight. I know I’m not sleeping.”
I stood up and looked around, my eyes able to see the finest details of the landscape. We were in a flat open field ringed by fir trees. The place seemed safe and secluded, the perfect spot for a first flying date. The very thought gave me pause; what was happening to my life?
“Should we start?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said, even though I real y didn’t want to try. Not only was I scared, but I didn’t want to embarrass myself any further in front of Michael.
He said, “When I was first trying, I found it easier to start high and dive down, rather than lift off from the ground. Unfortunately, we don’t have that option tonight. This is real y the only secure area for practice.”
Michael lined me up in front of him. Straightening both of my arms, he positioned them above my head. Then he whispered, “Relax,” and stepped back to watch.
I felt like a dork. At first, I could not rise off the grass. But then I fol owed Michael’s advice; I closed my eyes and envisioned myself ascending. I tried to stop analyzing my every move and summon up the sensation from my dreams. With a lurch, my feet lifted up, and I started to fly.
The feeling was different from my dreams, more halting and awkward. A sensation I knew al too wel from my daytime life. My instincts competed for my attention, begging me to lengthen my arms and legs as I swooped through the air. When I surrendered to my impulses, I recaptured some of the grace from my “dream” flying.
I began to enjoy myself. I climbed and plunged through the night sky like it was my playground. As I made one particularly steep dive, I noticed Michael on the field below watching me. Instead of sweeping back up before I got too close, I decided to land next to him.
But I didn’t quite know how to touch down softly. I landed on my bottom, knocking Michael down in the process. Laying there in the field, we burst into hysterical laughter. I started to wipe my tears away and sit up when he pul ed me back down. He kissed me with such force it took my breath away.
I forgot al about the flying and the field. I yielded to his hands as they ran up and down my arms and legs, tracing circles wherever they went. I submitted to his tongue as it explored my lips and mouth and neck with the lightest touch. And then I tasted the blood.
I felt the blood—his blood—course through me. It burned like the wine I’d snuck once at a wedding, making me feel weak and invincible at once.
As the blood surged through me, a breathtaking image seared my consciousness.
He broke away. “Tel me what you saw.”
A tiny droplet of blood remained on my lip. I licked it before answering. I wanted more.
With effort, I said, “I saw a beautiful winged woman.”
“Winged?” Michael looked confused.
I closed my eyes and tried to remember the image more clearly. “Wel , she didn’t have wings exactly. More like two arcs of light behind her shoulders.”
He nodded, as if that made more sense. “Did you recognize her?”
I suddenly realized who she was. “Yes, it was me.”
He smiled. “Do you believe me now that we are special?”
“Yes.” I did, even though it went against my parents’ teachings. Whether it was the heady influence of the blood or the flying or merely his proximity, it didn’t matter. I believed him.